A few minutes later, she was brewing up a row of old-fashioneds but going over nursing notes in her head, picturing the steps necessary to insert a PICC line—a tiny, flexible tube running from the arm into the chest to serve as a heart catheter—when someone leaned across the bar and interrupted her concentration. “Hey,” a man said. Then, louder, “Hey there.”

She could hear the drunken tinge. “Yeah, hold on a sec.”

Then a hand reached across the bar and tapped her shoulder, hard. “I hear you take off your shirt for tips. Is that true? You one fine stripper.”

She snapped.

“Take your fucking hands off me!” she bellowed.

And, without thinking, she threw an old-fashioned in the man’s face.

Oh shit, she thought, shocked by her loss of control.

“Goddamn!” the man shouted, hundred-proof bourbon streaming off the bill of his baseball cap and down his neck. He flipped off the hat with a shake, an orange twist falling on the bar between them. Even with drooping eyelids, his eyes were an unmistakable shade of green.

“You!”

Swiping at the wet on his shirt, he grimaced. “Yeah, me.”

“I, I—” She was trying to decide if her fury was justified with the lit piece of man meat in front of her or if she’d possibly overreacted. “I’m sorry. I—”

“What is this?” Frank charged toward them, his velvet blazer flapping. “I am so sorry, sir! This will be taken care of immediately. Your drinks are covered tonight, on the house.”

“Looks more like they’re on me,” the man said.

Frank caught the man’s eye and turned chalk white. He gulped and turned to Angel. “Get out. You’re fired. And this is coming out of your pay.”

“But—”

“Angel, leave. Now.”

“You’re an asshole, Frank!” She threw a hate-filled glare at him and then at the green-eyed man, who stood emotionless, his face blank.

Frank yelled after her as she stormed out the door, but she wasn’t listening. She was done listening to men.

Chapter Five

So, that happened.

By the time she got back to her apartment building, with the streetlights coming on around her and the construction workers done hammering for the night, she’d calmed down. Regret had replaced rage. She’d couldn’t afford to let her temper get loose. Jose couldn’t afford her mistake. Oh my God, the Claritin. Hopefully, he’d be okay for the night. She’d have to beg Frank for her job back. Her stomach turned to lead. She shouldn’t have to grovel, ever, but especially when she’d just been sticking up for herself. So unfair.

The lights were on in Gabriela’s salon, on the ground floor below her apartment. Surprised, Angel pushed open the doors.

“Hey, how come you’re still open?”

A row of women and her son turned to her.