Irish Throwdown (What Happens In Vegas Book 4) by Matt Lincoln (short books for teens .TXT) 📕

“Oh, ok,” was all I managed to say before he slammed the door shut. I felt a rush of shame, and a nasty little voice in the back of my head sneered that I was stupid for thinking he’d want to hang out with a loser like me, anyway.

I forced the negative thought away. I knew that it was just my anxiety talking.

“Whatever his problem is,” I muttered to myself, “it’s because of him, not me.”

“Agent Gardner!” a voice called out from my right, and I snapped my head up to find Nelson watching me from the entrance to his office next door. I flushed even harder, embarrassed to think that he might have seen the entire altercation. “Is everything alright? Are you heading out somewhere?”

“Oh, yes, I am,” I answered awkwardly. “I was just going to go get some coffee and maybe a muffin or something. Have a little walk to clear my head.”

“Of course,” Nelson smiled warmly. “The office can get stifling, especially when it’s so quiet. You don’t have the advantage of being able to go out regularly like the other agents.”

“Yeah,” I nodded, feeling a little less insecure at his reassurances.

“Do you think I could trouble you for some coffee as well?” he asked. “I’d join you, but my leg is acting up today. I’m not sure I’m up for a walk right now.”

“Of course not,” I replied quickly. “I mean, of course, it’s no trouble. Yes, I’ll bring you something. What would you like?”

“I think I’d like a latte,” he answered. “With a lot of sugar.”

“Got it,” I smiled before turning to leave.

“Thank you,” he called. “It’s on me next time!”

Nelson was such a nice guy. I’d often wondered why he wasn’t officially titled as the Assistant Director when that was clearly what he was. He oversaw things around the office just as much as Wallace did, and he was the one who handled travel arrangements and dealt with the media most of the time. I think it had something to do with his leg injury, which in most cases would have led to immediate early retirement. Regardless, I was glad that he was part of our team.

I’d told Howard I was stepping out for some fresh air, but that probably wasn’t the best term to use in hindsight. The atmosphere in downtown Las Vegas could hardly be described as fresh. It wasn’t unpleasant, necessarily, but it certainly wasn’t the clean, crisp air I might find in a suburban area of Nevada or even out in the desert. Las Vegas was constantly permeated by a kind of smoky scent that could only be found here. Car exhaust billowed up from the never-ending traffic. The smell of cooking emanated out of buffets and restaurants. Concentrated cigarette smoke wafted out of casinos and onto the street. Dazzling pyrotechnic explosives went off every night at shows across the city and filled the area with the scent of fire. It all conglomerated into a distinct smell that never really went away.

It helped to clear my mind, though. I watched as a group of overly energetic frat boys marched down the street chanting some mantra as they tossed back shots. On the other side of the street, a couple wearing matching oversized cowboy hats and carrying oversized drinks excitedly pointed at a giant electronic billboard that showed a short clip of an acrobatics show. Just walking through the city helped me forget, just for a moment, that I was tasked with protecting it.

The air inside the cafe was much more pleasant. It smelled of sugar and vanilla and freshly-baked pastries. I eyed the display case greedily as I attempted to make my selection.

“I wonder if I should get Nelson a pastry, too,” I muttered quietly to myself.

“I recommend the mixed berry scone,” a voice murmured in my ear, and I jumped away reflexively and looked up at the person who’d spoken. It was a man with curly brown hair and hazel eyes that were currently sparkling with amused mirth.

“Sorry,” he laughed. “I didn’t mean to startle you. You were staring so intensely, I thought maybe you couldn’t decide.”

“Thank you for the recommendation,” I answered a little dryly. I hadn’t liked hearing someone’s voice so close to my ear, and that side of my body was still prickling uncomfortably.

“No problem,” the man smiled charmingly. “So, is Nelson your boyfriend?”

“I’m sorry?” I raised an eyebrow at him.

“You were talking to yourself,” the man explained. “You said something about buying a pastry for Nelson.”

“So you were eavesdropping,” I retorted.

“It’s not really eavesdropping if you’re talking to yourself,” the man corrected. “And besides, I can’t help but listen when a beautiful woman speaks.”

I pursed my lips and refrained from rolling my eyes at his lame pickup line. He was very attractive if I was being honest, and I might have been charmed by his clumsy compliment if he hadn’t come up and whispered in my ear like a weirdo.

“He isn’t my boyfriend,” I replied. “He’s my boss, sort of. And I really need to be getting back to work.”

“You can’t stay for a little longer?” he asked.

“No,” I replied. “I’m a very busy woman.”

“Can I at least pay for your coffee?” He smiled at me.

“No,” I responded curtly, a little annoyed that he wouldn’t just take the hint. “I don’t think my boyfriend would like that.”

“But you said-” the man attempted to protest.

“I said that Nelson wasn’t my boyfriend,” I snapped. “Which he isn’t. That doesn’t mean I’m not spoken for, and even if I wasn’t, you should really learn to bug off when a woman clearly isn’t interested.”

I huffed and turned around to put my order in at the counter. I could hear the man grumbling behind me, but I tuned him out as I ordered the coffees and pastries I’d selected to go. Luckily, the man was gone when I turned back around, so I could wait for my order to be ready in peace. I fidgeted uncomfortably as I went over