Mr. Mysterious: A Mister Standalone (The Mister Series Book 4) by J.A. Huss Page B

points to a section of tables.
    “Thank you,” I say, smiling sweetly. I have no intention of going to my seat. I head to the bar and order a mint julep.
    “It’s not the Derby, ma’am,” the bartender says with a wink.
    “I just like them.” I shrug.
    “Coming up.” He steps away to make my drink and I turn around, come face to face with Paxton, and hold my hand over my chest, startled.
    “Jesus, Pax. You don’t have to sneak up on me.”
    He grins like he’s got a secret.
    And he looks… fuck hot. I’ve seen him in suits. I mean, he wears them all the time. Usually with one of those red power ties. But they are usually black and formal.
    Today he’s wearing a light gray suit with a coral tie and matching pocket square.
    I have to take a deep breath as I stare up into his eyes, trying my best not to overly appreciate him.
    “One mint julep,” the bartender says behind me.
    “I’ll have bourbon,” Pax says, eyes never leaving mine as he reaches behind me for my drink.
    “Yes, sir,” the bartender says.
    “These things will kill you,” Pax says, looking me up and down with far less self-control than I exhibited as he hands me my drink. What a possessive little move with the drink. It makes me flutter a little. “What the fuck did you do to your hair?” he asks.
    I shrug. “You didn’t seem to like the dark.” I paid three hundred dollars that I didn’t really have for a salon in Malibu to get my natural color back. But I like the result. It’s been dark for years now and I’ve missed my natural look. “So this is me.”
    His fingers find their way into my thick head of golden locks, rubbing them between his fingers. “That’s quite a trick.”
    “It was time.” I sigh, then take a sip of my drink. “I haven’t been blonde since I left home at eighteen.”
    “Why not?”
    “Bourbon,” the bartender says, still behind me.
    Pax reaches into his pocket, pulls out his wallet, then puts two twenties on the bar as he takes his drink.
    “Change?” the bartender asks.
    “Keep it,” Pax says with the smooth assurance of a man with money. “Have you seen my mother? I’m going to assume you know what she looks like, seeing as how you’re a private investigator. With firearms permit,” he adds, taking a long sip of his whiskey.
    “I just got here. You?”
    “Same.” He takes another drink. “Let’s go find her then.” He takes my unoccupied hand and places it on his forearm, leading me away.
    “Why are you being so nice?” I ask, suddenly very, very nervous.
    “Don’t mistake cautious for nice, Cinderella. My mother wants to talk to me. She wanted you to be included. And I can’t help but think there’s a reason for that.”
    “Like what?” I ask. We step down a few stairs into the main dining room. There is an unobstructed view of the finish line directly ahead, and Pax leads me all the way down to the front to a group of empty tables. “Where have you been all week?”
    “Busy.”
    “Doing what? You told your mother you had to do something for your friend Nolan. He’s Mr. Romantic, right? Don’t you think it’s odd that you get a call from Mr. Romantic and then that Liam guy shows up asking you to take care of Mr. Corporate for him?”
    But Pax ignores me, takes out his phone, and sends a text. He gets a ping back before he can redirect his attention to me. “She’s in the barn.” And then under his breath, “Of course. Come on. We’ll meet her down there. The race she’s interested in is later tonight. She’ll hang out there until post time if I don’t pull her away.”
    “Are you going to answer me?” I ask, stopping so he has to stop too.
    “What do you want me to say?”
    “Where have you been all week?”
    He downs the rest of his drink and then sets his empty glass on a shelf the bettors use to pore over their racing forms. I decide to do the same, slamming my glass down a little harder than I should.
    “I was on the East Coast. With Nolan. Some