Hewasatall,middle-agedwhitemanwiththebeginningsofapaunchandarecedinghairline.Hisfacewasflushedanunhealthyred—probablyfromdrinking,Junthought—andhelookedlikesomeonewithhighbloodpressureandabadtempertomatch.

        "Whyareyouworkinghere?Youarenotgoingbacktotheamusementpark?"Junaskedquietly.

        "Onebeefnoodle?Gotit!"Reyarepliedloudly,hertonebriskandprofessional,asshejottedsomethingdowninhersmallnotepad.

        "You''retheonewhoaskedmetomeethere—"

        "AndoneHongKongmilktea.Sir,willthatbeall?"sheinterrupted,stillkeepingupheract.

        Shescribbledafewmorewords,thentoreofftwoslipsfromthenotepad.AsshereachedouttotakeJun''smenu,shedeftlyslippedoneofthenotesintohishandbeforeturningawaywiththeotherandheadingtowardthekitchentoplacetheorder.

        Junwatchedherwalkoff,thennoticedtherestaurantowner—stillbythekitchendoor—watchingherlikeahawk.Heslippedhisphonefromhispocket,pressedthenoteagainstthescreen,andpretendtoreadhisphone.

        "Igetoffinanhour.Waitformeinthebackalleyafteryoufinisheating."

        Juncouldn''thelpbutchuckle.Whatisthisgirluptonow?

        Thenamuffledvoicecamefromthekitchen—low,angry,andclearlytheboss''s.

        "Youshould''vetoldhimtoordersomethingmoreexpensive...Can''tyouevendothatright?Iguessyoudon''twanttopayoffyourde—"

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