2. Mia
Mia
“No, we’re not doing Jell-O shots!” I semi-yell at Adam while laughing. I tell one story about taking too many of those things at a Halloween party, and now that’s suddenly all he can recommend for signature drinks. “I run a top of the line bar—pick something else.”
The gorgeous man has this massive smile on his face. I swear I’ve never seen anything like it, especially from him. For months, I thought he was the type of guy who didn’t know the definition of fun, but the more we’ve talked about this party—the more fun he gets.
An argument could still be made for the semi-serious front, though. You want to know what’s hot? A man who makes decisions. Good decisions at that. He knows exactly what he wants for this party, and the initiative is damn impressive.
We’ve practically got this whole event planned out to a T. There are only a few items that I need to look into further before making the final call, but damn, we got shit done in this one-hour meeting.
Except for right now, considering he won’t drop this drink thing.
“Heaven forbid you make Jell-O shots fancy, Mia. Maybe you can redeem yourself with them.”
“No way! They have sealed their fate. Locked in their moment in my college years. You’re making me regret telling you that story!”
I can’t explain why I told him, really. Somehow, while figuring out the details of this party we started sharing personal stories.
It started with a simple task of figuring out the menu, which led to Adam telling me about the family chefs in constant rotation growing up, which I followed with sharing about the one family chef we’ve had my whole life, who I love dearly.
We touched on our private school experiences, our shared hatred of all things “go with the flow,” then when it came to the drink menu, Adam told his story where a game of King’s Cup led to him not even being able to smell Smirnoff without getting queasy, and in return I told my Jell-O shot story.
Adam leans forward, tapping a finger on the notepad tracking all of our decisions. “All I’m saying is having someone hop on the bar Coyote Ugly style really sells a party. I’m going to need you to take one for the team on this one.”
A massive smile has taken up permanent residence on my face. I reach for my pen then jot down my words. “Adam to dance on the bar at eleven p.m. sharp. Mia to get plenty of videos and photos for future blackmail.”
“No, no, switch that.” Adam reaches for my pen, so I swat his hand.
“Back off, I’m the lead planner here.”
He reaches one more time, and I playfully hit his hand again.
“Adam!”
He leans back in his seat with this megawatt smile. Holy hell, that’s such a good smile. I can’t decide if I’m mad about just now seeing this side of him or grateful.
I’ll admit—when the Blues players came in, my interest was immediately piqued by Adam.
The man is gorgeous and massive. He has to be at least six four with broad shoulders and muscles that scream I could throw you around—in the best way possible.
However, anytime I saw him, it was as if he always had this serious look on his face.
I’m rarely an intimidated woman, but the first time I waited on him I was a little nervous.
Flirting with Beck was sort of this safe fling option.
The same gut-punch feeling with Adam wasn’t exactly there with Beck.
He was attractive and easy to talk to. I’d been so busy pouring my all into learning everything about this business that the idea of a temporary thing sounded like a good time, so I just leaned into it.
Finding out he actually had a thing for my best bartender was a pleasant surprise. They’re perfect for each other, and I knew Beck and I weren’t this insane love match.
“Okay, okay, what you say goes, Captain.” He holds his hands up in surrender.
“No, don’t you start.” Pressing my lips into a thin line, I take a deep breath to tamper the laugh that threatens to come out.
I’ve talked to plenty of attractive men in my bar—hell, I don’t know if in my thirty years of living that someone has held a single inkling of my interest like Adam has.
I’m supposed to be having a business meeting. My father would be very disappointed in my professionalism right now, and he’s rarely upset with me. It just doesn’t feel like a business meeting…I wonder where we would be if Adam had opened up like this to me sooner?
“You know my grandfather would lose his mind if he knew the entire roster of the Boston Blues was going to be in his bar.”
Adam tilts his head. “In a good way? Or…”
“Oh, in an amazing way. He loved the Blues, so does my dad, actually. That was sort of their first ‘bonding’ moment, according to my dad.”
“Well, if they ever want tickets, just let me know.”
A small tightness forms in my chest. “That’s really sweet, and I should’ve been more clear, but my grandfather passed away a few years ago.”
“Mia, I’m so sorry.”
“No, it’s fine. He lived a great life and was very happy to be reunited with my grandma.
” The tightness I had seconds ago melts as the memories of him behind the bar come to my mind.
“This was his ‘retired’ job. He always had to be doing something, and this sort of became his happy place, so in a way I think it’ll always feel like his place. ”
Part of me stays stuck in that moment in time, the memories, and many bickering arguments my grandparents had over this bar, but once I snap out of it—there’s this look on Adam’s face.
It almost looks as if he was in that memory with me, but that’s impossible—he was just looking at me while I was off in thought.
Clearing my throat, I adjust in my seat. “My dad might take you up on those tickets, though.”
A grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. “You just let me know. Anytime, Mia.”
The energy in the room has quickly shifted. There was something in the way he just said my name that had chills popping up on my arms and a thrill traveling down my spine.
A knock comes to my office door, and I jump, finally breaking eye contact with Adam. “Come in.”
One of my new hostesses, Emily, peeks her head in. “Um, Mia, your parents are here for your weekly lunch.”
My eyebrow raises. “Really? They’re early.” Our lunches are usually at noon—on the dot—and my and Adam’s meeting was supposed to end at eleven. I tap my phone, and my eyes widen. 12:05? How the hell did that happen? Have I really been talking to Adam for two hours and not realized it?
The sound of Adam’s chair sliding pulls my gaze to him. He almost looks as confused at the time as I do.
He stands with a half-smile. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you.”
“No, you’re fine. I lost track of time with…the planning of it all.”
I lost track of time in your freaking smile. Your face…your everything, really.
Ope, okay. Shutting our notepad, I stand up and round my desk. “Emily, if you’ll go ahead and seat my parents, let them know I’ll be right out.”
I wait for her nod then the click of my office door before turning back to Adam. “Well, rather productive meeting, I guess you could say. I’ll look into the photo booth timeline and custom details, then let you know.”
Adam gives a small bob of his head. “Could I get your number?”
Damn butterflies in my stomach flutter at full force, and while I’m too busy getting them under control, Adam adds on, “You know, for the party. Just in case.”
Well, it’s just for the party… “You have my email.”
Adam doesn’t miss a beat. “Yeah, but I want your number.”
I should say no. I just completely lost track of time talking to him. I’m afraid that Adam’s Mr. Serious demeanor was misplaced…he’s what could be serious. Flirting with Beck immediately felt like a fling, but with Adam…I think I’ll get flung right into a fully-committed relationship.
The odd part is I’m not sure if that terrifies or excites me about him.
I’ve said no countless times to giving out my number, but I don’t want to do that this time. That alone should be reason enough to keep our communications as professional as possible—I meet those searing copper eyes again…ah, screw it.
“Alright.” I scribble my number on a sticky note. “There’s gonna be a fee for having your event coordinator on-call, you know that, right?”
“Send me the invoice. I’ll pay it.” The look on his face shows nothing but pure cocky confidence. Lucky for him, I can go toe to toe with him on that front, too.
I peel off the sticky note and playfully press it on his hard chest. “I charge per message, All-star.”
Adam takes a small step in, careful not to be in my face, but close enough that the scent of him nearly threatens to have me breaking my cool, calm, and collected exterior. “I’ll make every text worth it then.”
I hold my smile, watching him as he moves to my office door. “Nice talking business with you.”
Adam lets out a hushed laugh. “We’ll pick it back up later. Have a nice lunch, Mia.”
I wait a solid five seconds after the click of my door before I let the chill roll through my body. “Gah, he’s hot,” I mumble to myself.
I let out one more shake of my body in hopes of getting this giddy, charged feeling out. Come on, ovaries, get your act freaking together. Yes, he’s hot and knows how to actually hold a conversation, which somehow makes him hotter—still it was just a conversation.
I definitely don’t want to take this happy schoolgirl blushing smile to the table with my parents.
My mother would see the smitten kitten look from across the bar, and while I don’t think it should be viewed any type of way—I don’t want my father to see me as anything but a professional now that he’s officially signing Winedown over to me.
Walking out my office door, I weave through the kitchen and the bar while getting hellos, nods, and smiles from my employees.
To anyone else, I might appear too flirty, too personable, or a woman who lucked out by having rich parents—and with others, that’s fine.
I’ve spent the past year proving to my staff that while I may appear that way, I am the boss and I am not to be trifled with.