Chapter 1 - The Chemistry of a Stain
Leo didn't answer right away. He simply reached out his large, unblemished hand, took the coarse scrub brush from her tight grip, and tossed it into the bucket of industrial lemon cleaner with a loud splash.
"I'm fixing your problem," Leo said, his voice flat and unyielding.
He stood up, adjusted the cuffs of his charcoal suit jacket, and pushed through the double swinging doors into the main kitchen. The head chef, a temperamental man who usually screamed at his staff, looked up ready to roar at the intruder. But the moment his eyes locked onto Leo's cold, commanding gaze, the chef's words died in his throat. There was an aura around Leo that screamed danger, even if he was currently pretending to be a simple import-export consultant.
"Get me a bottle of club soda, a handful of coarse kosher salt, and a clean towel," Leo ordered. "Now."
Thirty seconds later, Leo walked back into the service corridor. The cleaning woman was still sitting on her heels, watching him with an expression that was equal parts bewildered and deeply suspicious.
Leo dropped back into a squat, entirely unbothered by the fact that the hem of his three-thousand-dollar trousers was soaking in a puddle of dirty mop water. He dumped the salt over the bleeding wine stain, poured the club soda over it, and watched the chemical reaction fizz violently against the white grout. Using the clean towel, he began to rub the mixture in with firm, heavy circles.
"You're ruining your suit," she whispered, her voice losing a bit of its defensive edge as she watched the stubborn cabernet stain lift effortlessly from the floor.
"Suits can be replaced," Leo said without looking up. "What's your name?"
"Clara," she said, pulling her knees up to her chest. "Clara Vance."
"Well, Clara, your boss is an idiot for giving you ammonia for tannins," Leo said, wiping away the residue to reveal a pristine, perfectly white floor. He tossed the stained towel aside and looked at her. Up close, the bruised shadows beneath her hazel eyes looked even heavier. "Why are you working twenty minutes past your shift?"
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"Because if the manager finds a single speck of pink on this grout tomorrow morning, I get fired," Clara said, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. "And if I get fired, my landlord locks the door to my apartment. It's a simple equation, suit."
Before Leo could reply, the service door burst open.
