“Be nice,” Sofia says at the sight of my stunned face.
Wren takes the beer Killian pours her and leans forward. “So I take it you do nails or massage people or something?”
Why do they keep asking me that? “No, I’m sorry. I’m not employed.”
“Ah, I get it,” Finn says. “You’re on welfare. Tough break, kid.”
I throw out a hand when they all nod like everything finally makes sense. “I’m not on welfare. I work for your other brother, Declan.”
“You his secretary?” Finn asks at the same time Wren says, “I thought you said you’re unemployed.”
“It’s an unpaid internship.” I glance around. For some reason, no one seems to understand what I’m saying. It’s as if I’m speaking another language, so I do my best to clarify. “I’m in my last semester of law school. I’m working at the district attorney’s office without pay for the experience.”
Instead of making things better, my words seem to confuse them more. “You’re in law school,” Finn repeats, like he doesn’t believe me.
“Ah, yes. I attend the University of Pennsylvania.”
“You seriously don’t do nails?” Wren asks, unable to move past this concept.
Sofia and Killian exchange another round of flabbergasted glances. Finn shakes out his hand. “Wait, wait, wait. I got this.” He looks at me. “What’s the cube root of seven hundred and twenty-nine?”
“What the fuck, Finn?” Killian asks him.
This is clearly a test. One I’m obviously failing, but one I can’t just walk away from. I give it some thought. “Nine?” I offer.
“Sofe, is that right?” Wren asks her.
She nods slowly. “It sounds right.”
Finn whips out his phone. “Siri, what’s the cube root of seven hundred and twenty-nine?”
“Let me check on that,” Siri says.
Killian snatches the phone out of his hand. “Quit being an asshole.”
“The answer is nine,” Siri responds.
“Holy shit,” Finn says, grinning back at me with what appears to be newfound respect.
Heat flushes my skin, and it’s all I can do not to climb out of the booth and run. Killian leans in. “Tess, ignore these morons. You have to understand, Curran doesn’t usually bring women around.”
“And when he does, they’re not of your…caliber,” Sofia adds.
“Hell, they can’t even spell ‘caliber,’?” Finn quips.
“Neither can you, dumbass,” Wren fires back. She looks at me. “So you’re in law school?”
“Yes.”
“Ivy League, even.”
“That’s right,” I say, nodding like an imbecile.
“And you’re with Curran?”
Not after tonight. I straighten and clasp my hands together. “Yes.”
“Why?” she asks. “You’re not—what I’m saying is, you’re not—”
Finn huffs. “Psycho, money-grubbing, evil.”
Wren points at him. “What he said. You see, Curran usually dates outside his race. He’s a white Caucasian male, and his women are typically demon spawn from the planet Slut.”
My eyes widen. “So his typical companions are these, ah, fanatical, unemployed, hellish manicurists?”
“Yes,” they all answer, taking a drink.
Wren downs her beer. “I’m not trying to put you on the spot here, but you’re one hell of a breath of fresh air from what we’ve had to deal with.” She nudges Killian. “Remember crazy Miranda—the hairdresser? Do you think that asshole could have warned me he dumped her before I walked into her salon?” She pours herself another beer. “Freaking nutcase came after me with scissors, yelling about him having no dick. I was like, ‘Yo, you can’t be spreading rumors about my brother having no dick, seeing how you straddled that shit in the back of his car.’?”
Killian laughs. “What about Crazy Alexis? The girl with the pet monkey?”
“Or Shania?” Finn points excitedly. “Oh, remember Shania? The one who spray-painted ‘LYING PUSSY’ on your truck, thinking it was Curran’s.”