CEO
Adele
I’m asking for trouble now. I should have kicked him out with his ‘friend’, who he says isn’t a friend. It’s not my business what is going on between the two of them.
Just like everyone else, I witnessed him standing up to the prick. What I also saw was him stepping in front of the women to prevent them from being hurt.
That’s the only reason he is here, in my private bathroom in the back office. Running a washcloth under the warm water, I hold it out to him to wash his face, then hold out the bag of ice I picked up from behind the bar on the way back here.
His jaw is already bruising. He rotates it and winces.
“I’m guessing it’s not broken?”
“He didn’t hit me that hard,” he says, peering at his reflection a moment, then turning around to face me.
I’m suddenly aware of how small this bathroom is. And the insanely attractive man is right there in front of me. Now that we’re standing this close his scent overwhelms the room. A mixture of vanilla and sandalwood and heady musk. He smells divine.
In his dark shirt and pants, the bruise forming on the side of his mouth and the remnants of blood on his lip, are completely at odds with one another. Is it wrong to think of him bruised and bloody as sexy? Oh God. Stop it.
I lean back against the wall and cross my arms over my chest, watching him pick up the ice and wrap it in the washcloth before putting it against his bare skin.
“You’ve done that before,” I lift my chin at him.
“Once or twice,” he sighs. “I’m pissed he hit me.”
“Well, if it’s any consolation it was a sucker punch,” I shrug. He looks at me as if that is the most annoying thing he ever heard. I ignore the look. “You said he wasn’t your friend. Explain that to me, because my gut is telling me I should have let my security throw you out too.”
“Why did you stop them?” he counters.
“You stood in front of them.”
His eyes narrow for a moment, then he realizes what I mean. He turns and rests his ass against the sink. For a moment, I wonder if the weight of him is going to knock the tiny ceramic basin off the wall, but it holds. It wasn’t obvious in the dim light in the bar, but the man is built. He takes care of himself.
I get why he’s pissed about the other guy laying one on him. Male ego.
“He’s the son of a potential business partner. We just made an important deal between our companies,” he winces as he talks, and shifts the ice. “Luckily, it was only verbal.”
“You’re not going to go ahead with it?” I ask, trying not to show how much I hope he doesn’t let dollars override good sense.
“No,” he growls. “I’m not in the habit of doing business with an asshole who gets drunk, harasses women, and is violent.”
“Good to know.” I let my arms drop but keep my shoulders pressed to the wall. “He better not show his face in here again.”
“He lives in Boston, so you don’t need to worry.”
“Not worried. We can take care of assholes like that.”
“I don’t doubt it,” he dips his head, but keeps his eyes on mine.
There is no reason for us to be standing in here like this. He’s cleaned up, taken care of the swelling as best he can. I should show him out. There is this weird pull between us.
“You sound local,” I say. “Like you’re trying to hide it. But it’s there, the accent.”
“Are you asking if I live in Chicago?”
“I’m just concerned that if you go back to Boston with your non-pal out there, you might get into more trouble.”
His lip kicks up on the uninjured side. His eyes crinkle. Why does that make him more attractive? He keeps his gaze on mine, his eyes full of curiosity.
“How long have you owned this place?” he changes the subject.
Okay, I’ll go along with it. Though it’s odd, getting to know a random man who was involved in a fight in my bar. In my bathroom. Alone.
“It’s been in the family for decades. I took over three years ago.”
“It’s popular.”
“I’m aware.” I try to hide the grin. He looks flustered now and runs a hand through his hair to hide it. He doesn’t seem the shy type. My eyes drop to his hand, which has fallen to his side. No ring.
“I’m Daniel, in case you were wondering,” he states.
“I wasn’t. But thanks for letting me know.”
Now he smiles. I can’t help but smile back. His eyes lower to my lips.
“Adele,” I respond to the unanswered question.
“Huh,” he frowns.
“What?”
“Nothing,” he shakes his head.
“No, what is it?”
He lets out a short laugh. “In my head, you were called something different?”
“Yeah?” I cock my head to the side. “What?”
He thinks about it for a moment before answering. “Blue.”
“Not the first time someone assumed that.”
He frowns, like the thought of someone else calling me Blue pisses him off. I don’t know why it sends a thrill through me. Something comes over me and I push away from the wall. Daniel watches me, letting the hand holding the ice lower to his hip.
“Do you want a drink?” I ask.
“Back out in the bar?” he replies.
Shaking my head, I walk out of the bathroom and into my office. Daniel follows but remains in the doorway, leaning his shoulder against it as he watches me round the desk and open the bottom drawer. I take out a bottle of scotch and grab two glasses. His brows lift as though surprised. When I hold it up, asking if this is okay, he nods.
Leaving the ice in the bathroom sink, he comes into the room. I pour two fingers each and reach out with the glass. When our fingers touch, a shiver runs down my spine. It’s the chill from the ice on his skin, that’s all.
We sit. This room is a throwback to my uncle. He used to have meetings here, so there is a seat facing the desk.
I haven’t changed anything since he passed. I remember playing here with my cousins and brother when we were younger. Everything about it reminds me of those times. Even if the bar is mine now, a part of my heart still thinks it belongs to him.
“What is it that you do?”
“I’m in the aviation business.”
“You make planes?”
“No, we own airports.” He says it matter-of-fact, like he isn’t part of a multi-million-dollar business. “Deputy ,” he adds. He isn’t bragging.
“What was the deal you were making?”
“His company builds airplanes.”
“So, losing that deal is a big… deal for you?”
He smirks at my wording. Then shrugs a shoulder, taking a sip of the scotch. “I’m prepared to take the hit.”
“Literally.”
He stares for a few seconds, then laughs, stopping abruptly, wincing again as he rubs his jaw. “Still can’t believe he did that.”
“Will you press charges? You have enough witnesses.”
“No,” he shakes his head to back up the statement. “Walking away from the deal is a big enough sting.”
“Will it affect your business reputation?”
“Possibly, but I don’t care. His dad might try to finesse the deal again but once I tell my what happened, he’ll back me.”
“Nice, having a boss that would let a deal like that get away, because he hit you.”
“I’d be pretty let down if he overlooked it.”
For a moment, we stare at each other, then I grin. “He’s family?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, it’s good that your family has your back. Under the circumstances. I’m not sure many people would turn away money for the sake of one punch.”
“You don’t know my family.”
We both sip our drink and silence descends. It’s not uncomfortable, which is strange. I feel relaxed in his company. He looks around as I watch him, taking everything in. There are awards on the wall and more of those stupid online reviews my family have framed and stuck up.
Maybe in here it’s not so bad having them on display. He gets up to take a closer look, cradling his glass in his palm, pressed against his chest. Please don’t let him talk about us broadening our reach with the 312. That will shift the mood.
“Was it your idea or has it always been that way,” he points to a picture of me and two of my cousins leaning against the bar with a crate of our beer between us.
“From the first barrel, it was agreed we’d never sell our family secret.”
“A secret ingredient,” he glances at the picture again, then back to me. “Adds to the mystery.”
“You going to ask what it is?”
“No,” he sips his scotch, his glass almost empty. “What would be the point, you won’t tell me.”
“Damn straight.”
He grins, a dimple puckers his cheek giving him a boyish look. He’s definitely not a boy though. Absolutely not. I’m not hiding my appreciation very well because the smirk remains on his face when my eyes reach his again.
Okay. I down the scotch and get to my feet. I can’t hide in here all night and leave the others to run the bar. Even one man down and things get hectic.
Daniel gets the hint. He finishes his drink and walks over, setting the glass on the table.
“Thanks for the scotch,” he says, his voice almost as smooth as the drink. “And the ice.”
“No problem,” I resist the urge to lick my lips. No flirting with the .
I see him out of the office, flicking off the lights. The noise from the bar is loud as we leave the small sanctuary. He steps around the bar as I go behind it. Brie holds out a jacket to him and his brows lift, as though he forgot he had it, or that someone had handed it in for him.
He thanks her with a smile, gives me a small wave, then heads out.
Brie turns to look at me, her head tilts downward, her eyes wide and knowing.
“What?”
“Tell me you did not let that fine ass man walk out of here without getting his number.”
“A customer just punched him in the face, I was making sure he was okay.”
She leans in and sniffs. “Is that why I smell the good scotch.”
“Get back to work.”
“Adele, the way he looked at you almost had me combusting. The man is hot.”
“The man is gone, and we are still packed to the rafters,” I ignore her as someone holds up their hand for service. I will neither confirm nor deny her statement about the temperature of that man.
Daniel.
I serve the customer, and Brie goes about her business. Not before setting something down on the counter beneath the bar where I’m reaching for some ice. It’s a small rectangular card. When I pick it up, and flick it over, I try to hide the smile.
She should be scolded for pick-pocketing and I’m not sure what I’m going to do with it. Before I get embroiled in overthinking anything, I shove Daniel’s business card into the back pocket of my shorts and get back to serving customers.