Chapter 2
“THAT LOOKS GOOD,” THE SUIT said, casually, as if he were interested in the drink and not the woman enjoying it.
He wore the uniform of the financial assholes who made up a significant portion of my business.
Expensive suit, no tie, and a dress shirt open at the collar.
After a drink or two, he’d slip off the jacket and show off a stomach kept flat by too much self-indulgent time in the gym in the absence of actual physical work.
I was aware of the irony, considering the time I spent at the gym, but that was different.
I couldn’t say how; it just was. He was exactly the kind of guy Charlotte probably took home to work off some tension.
I hated him and his smug “that looks good” comment.
“It is.” She shifted slightly on her stool, giving him a three-quarter view of her gorgeous body clothed in a silk blouse and skirt that with a jacket would project power.
With the top three buttons of her sheer blouse open and the barest hint of what I was sure was a spectacular lace bra, she looked like expensive sex.
She’d also slipped on another persona. She’d replace the genuine smile I’d started to expect with one that managed to seem predatory and guileless at the same time.
Stupid suit didn’t stand a chance. He watched her like she was a cupcake and he was a five-year-old boy, thinking he was in control.
She’d only said two words, and she already owned his ass.
“I’ll have one of those,” he said, poor clueless bastard.
I arched an eyebrow at Charlotte, but she seemed to be deliberately not meeting my gaze. Or, more likely, she was focused on the prey in front of her, and she’d forgotten all about the bartender. Fuck me for caring.
As I mixed the drink, I heard the suit explain to her that vermouth was the most important part of any good gin cocktail.
Cochon. The fucking prick was trying to seduce her with my drink, and he was wrong.
I set the rocks glass on the coaster in front of him, barely avoiding sloshing gin over the rim of the glass.
The last thing I needed was to have to remake the drink for the asshole. Or worse, waste the good gin.
“To new friends,” said the suit, raising the glass to her.
She gave him the barest of smiles, just a curve of her lips that would keep him guessing.
Nothing like her real smile. She raised the straw to her mouth, and his gaze tracked her lips like a dog, waiting for its owner to throw the ball.
Cochon. I ignored for a moment that I was paying a lot of damn attention to her lips too.
It wasn’t the same thing. I’d made the drink she was sipping.
It was my work she was tasting. Any pleasure she got from it was because of me, not the clueless bastard getting her second-tier smile.
I had to get a grip on myself. I had no claim to her and no right to have an opinion about how she spent her night.
If she decided to take the dumbass suit home, I needed to respect her choice.
I glanced around the mostly empty bar—where was the after-dinner rush when I needed it—to make sure everyone was taken care of, and then I retreated to the other end of the bar.
Not so far away that I could avoid hearing bits of their conversation, but far enough that the car crash wasn’t right in my face.
I picked up my phone and thumbed open the e-reader app. I’d never let one of my employees get away with fucking around on their phone behind the bar, but I wanted a diversion.
She told him her name was Charlotte, but she also told him she worked as an interior designer, so who knew where the bullshit started and ended.
It didn’t matter. Dumbass suit didn’t care beyond getting off, and with the way he was leaning into her, finding excuses to casually touch her, he was looking more and more like he’d won the lottery.
I was going to have to watch her leave with him.
God dammit. Forcing my attention back to the book on my phone, I tried for something—anything—resembling a proportional response.
There was absolutely no reason for me to be so twisted up over a woman who’d only walked into my bar that night.
Shaking my head in disgust at myself, I tried to care about the witch and her vampire and the book that would only show itself to her, but I was doing a rubbish job of it.
When Charlotte—it was her name; I’d looked it up on the credit card tab on file to be sure—slid off her stool and headed to the restroom, I gave up and put my phone away.
“I need to close out my tab. Hers too,” said the dumbass, waving his credit card at me.
“Sure,” I said, finally faced with the inevitable. And then I had another thought. “It’s so good to see her happy. She doesn’t get out often anymore.”
The suit looked at me, curiosity carving a crease in his forehead.
“Oh really? Why?”
“Really bad breakup. She was torn up about it for a while. It’s good to see her moving on.
” The dumbass had the nerve to look almost giddy.
No doubt visions of healing Charlotte with his magic dick running through his head.
“The guy was a beast, too. Looked like a fucking linebacker.” I shook my head, imagining Charlotte’s behemoth of an ex.
“He didn’t take her leaving him well. Might even have stalked her for a while. ”
“God, that’s awful,” said suit dude, clearly reconsidering his life choices.
“He only came in here that one time, but it was enough for me. Thought I was going to have to call the cops.” I turned my back on him so I could run his card, making sure to include Charlotte’s tab from earlier, and hide my grin.
Lying was wrong. I knew that, but honestly, if he scared that easily, he didn’t deserve her.
He didn’t deserve her regardless, but one problem at a time.
“That’s crazy,” said the dumbass, inching closer to the edge of his stool.
“Yeah. There was that guy early on who looked at her. He ended up in the hospital, but they never found the guy who did it. Probably wasn’t related.” I gave my shoulders a who the fuck knows shrug and handed the guy his card and the slip to sign.
He snatched the card from my fingers and scrawled his name on the slip. Glancing in the direction of the bathroom, he stood.
“I forgot. I’ve got a thing tonight. Can you let her know I’m sorry and had to run?” He phrased it as a question, but he didn’t bother waiting for my answer. He was across the room and out the door so fast it was like someone was chasing him
I should feel bad. When Charlotte came back and saw the empty stool, I almost did.
“He said he forgot an appointment and had to go.” I watched her for a second, judging her disappointment—not much. She looked more resigned than anything.
“That makes perfect sense,” she said in a voice that made it clear she understood exactly what happened. Well, not exactly. She didn’t know my part of it. “I should close out my tab.”
If I wasn’t careful, she was going to leave anyway. Her going home alone was better than her taking the suit home, but it felt like winning the battle to lose the war.
“Dumbass covered it.” I motioned with my head to the empty stool in case she had any doubt who was the dumbass.
“Well, that’s something, I suppose.” She smiled but it didn’t reach her eyes and for a fraction of a second, I almost regretted my actions. Almost.
“Sit down. Let me make you something.” I let the offer hang in the air and waited to see which way she’d turn. Push a woman like Charlotte, and I imagined she’d bolt faster than a mortal man could run. Which meant I’d have to entice her. Seduce her. My favorite thing.
The wrinkle was back in the center of her forehead, and I picked up a bar glass to polish to keep from reaching out to smooth it. I was going to have to take some serious time to debrief when this was over. I didn’t usually have this kind of urge to grope a woman I hadn’t even officially met.
“Please?” I asked, pushing the tiniest bit.
I watched the battle play out on her face and saw the exact moment when things tipped in my favor.
“Show me what you’ve got,” she said, climbing back up onto the barstool.
I fucking loved how small she was next to me. My mind raced ahead to covering her body with mine, cradling her against me, coaxing every bit of pleasure out of her. What I wouldn’t do was underestimate her. That way was carnage littered with the bones of lesser men.
“It would be my pleasure.” I smiled at her, holding her gaze for a fraction of a second longer than normal. Just long enough for her cheeks to flush, a response I felt confident was rare for her.
I grabbed the bottle of my favorite infusion distilled gin from the freezer, along with the jar of giant green queen olives stuffed with blue cheese.
I rinsed the inside of an ice-cold martini glass with some of the brine from the olive jar, pouring almost all of it out again.
I topped the thin film of brine with a healthy shot, dropped in three fat olives, and finished it with a spray of bitters on the surface of the icy gin.
Holding the glass out to her by the stem, I watched her flinch the slightest bit when her fingers touched the cold glass.
I’d taken such care to make sure every component of the drink was as close to frozen as possible.
I should have set the drink in front of her and let her pick it up by the stem, but I couldn’t resist the urge to get her to take something—anything—from my hand.
She took a sip and her eyes drifted closed in pleasure. I could get addicted to putting that look on her face.
“Oh my God, this is good.” She took another sip and my pulse kicked up a notch, which was a little fucked up. I made drinks for people. I didn’t get off on it. Usually. “There’s something different.” She licked her lips, like she was trying to isolate the taste.