Chapter 3
Cole
Iswirl the amber liquid around the bottom of my tumbler, grimacing when I realise that ordering another one and drinking alone would really cement this day as the shittiest of the shit—and just weeks before Christmas, no less.
Even so, when Steven, the new bartender on shift, catches my eye, I give him the nod to keep the whisky flowing.
Reed, for his sins, got called to perform an emergency who-the-fuck-knows-what-ectomy, and he'd lit out of the Landmark faster than a bullet.
Jace isn't picking up due to whatever scandal is seemingly on the horizon, and there's no fucking way I'm going back to my room this early.
The whole point of staying in this damn hotel was to avoid a Hollie-less house.
This is what happens when you stop letting people in, Adams...
My phone rings as I drain my glass, and I answer on the third ring, frowning when I note that Harrington Helpers is calling me.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Adams, Miranda Grant here. I hope I'm not disturbing you, but I have some excellent news to share with you. Consider it an early Christmas present!”
I shoot up a silent prayer while desperately trying to tamp down on the flicker of hope in my gut. “A possible candidate?”
There's a smile in her voice when she replies.
“Yes! And I truly think this one is the perfect fit for your requirements.” She pauses before continuing in a more serious tone.
“Though I believe this will be the very last candidate we send your way, Mr. Adams, so please...bear that in mind before you make any further...rash decisions.”
I curse internally, knowing the agency has me by the short and curlies. Having run out of options, I can only murmur my acknowledgement.
Once she's confirmed an interview with a nanny she claims will knock my socks off—advising she will forward the details to my assistant, Jane, by lunchtime tomorrow—she bids me good evening and hangs up, leaving me somewhat hopeful that maybe this time she's onto something.
Tinkling laughter reaches my ears. Something low in my stomach tightens at the sound, and my fingers flex around my tumbler when I realise I'm holding my breath, waiting to hear it again.
I sit up straighter as my eyes scan the space, searching for the owner.
It's far quieter than usual tonight, so I easily spot her sitting at the bar beneath a strand of twinkling lights.
A slender woman with blonde hair covering her face leans forward, looking down at what appears to be a tablet of some kind.
She laughs again, throwing her head back without a care in the world.
Her exuberance is contagious, and I find my lips curling upward ever-so-slightly, my eyes riveted to the woman before me.
She looks back at the tablet, her eye-catching red lips—festive as holly berries—smiling at whatever has her complete attention, and my pulse kicks up inexplicably.
It's only when Tom reappears to place a steaming plate of bangers and mash down in front of her that she lifts her head.
“Enjoy, Rory.” Tom sounds almost loud in the relative quiet of the bar.
The blonde smiles softly at him, making the barman pinken right to the tips of his ears, the flush rivalling the red of his lopsided Santa hat. “You're the sweetest.”
The soft American twang in her tone is noticeable immediately, piquing my interest even further as Steven places my tumbler of Macallan before me.
“Thanks, Steve.”
My eyes don't leave the blonde—Rory—as she begins to eat her food slowly, mesmerised every time the fork disappears between her red lips. I watch shamelessly, entranced for close to thirty minutes as I nurse my glass of amber liquid. Despite myself, I can’t help but smile slightly every time she giggles at whatever she's looking at.
When she's eaten the last bite, she gently places her knife and fork back on the plate before delicately dabbing the sides of her mouth with a napkin.
Tom scoops up the plate with a wink as he mumbles something I can't quite make out, and her laughter once again fills the bar.
“I couldn't eat another bite.” She leans back, patting her stomach. “I'm bursting at the seams.”
Before I'm capable of conscious thought, I'm on my feet, loping directly toward the bar, needing to be closer. I stop several bar stools away when I eventually reach my destination.
“Same again, sir?”
Steve drops a napkin before me, regarding me with questioning eyes. I nod almost curtly and clear my throat as he plucks a fresh tumbler from the shelf.
What the fuck are you doing, idiot?
Instead of walking back to my seat, I slide onto a bar stool and steeple my fingers beneath my chin. I watch Steve begin to prepare my drink, Tom polish some glasses, and several other customers meander out of the bar as I do everything in my power to avoid angling my head to the left.
But my eyes are parched for another taste of her and scant moments after planting my ass on the stool, I cave, twisting about to find laughter-filled sparkling blue eyes watching me.
She arches an eyebrow gracefully. “Do you make a point of watching women eat their dinner whilst reading their smut, or is it just me who's been afforded the privilege?”
I wince internally.
Caught rotten, fucking idiot.
Her playful tone and twitching lips openly contradict her words, and I cock my head to one side, throwing caution to the wind when I decide to own it. Black pupils ringed by the bluest of blue eyes dilate when my face breaks out in what I've been told is a panty-melting grin.
“You look familiar, that’s all... Did we go to school together?”
Soft waves swish around her face when she shakes her head before tucking her hair behind one ear. Her eyes dance merrily as they hold mine until I wink, laying it on thick.
“That's strange. Because I could’ve sworn we had chemistry.”
Her lips twitch almost imperceptibly as she brings her index finger to her chin and taps it as though in thought before she deadpans. “I knew you had your ion me.”
In a move that’s utterly out of character, I burst out laughing and earn strange glances from everyone within ear’s reach, right as a peal of melodic laughter escapes from between her lips until we're both doubled over.
Suddenly, between the call from Miranda and a handful of words exchanged with this woman, the Same Shit, Different Day Club is looking a lot less shit.
I barely manage a nod of gratitude for a disturbed-looking Steve as he deposits my Macallan on the bar before my gaze returns to a smiling Rory.
Suddenly, she hops down from her stool and strides around the bar until she's standing by the seat next to me. Her eyes never once drop from mine, and she grins brightly as she extends a petite, well-manicured hand.
“I haven't laughed like that in forever, so you've at least earned my name.” Our fingers glide over one another’s when my hand engulfs hers, and the simple touch sends a jolt of electricity up my arm that radiates through my chest. Her skin is soft, warm, and I find myself holding on for a beat longer than necessary, my thumb brushing unconsciously across her knuckles before I force myself to let go.
“I’m Rory.”
When I pump my arm slowly up and down, I can feel my smile reach my eyes—a response usually only Hollie elicits from me—as they greedily absorb her beautiful face.
From across the room, this woman effortlessly drew my attention, but it's the depth in her eyes that holds it now.
We're close enough that I can see flecks of darker blue ringing her pupils. I could almost count the barely-there freckles dusting her nose. My eyes flicker between hers as mutual attraction fills the air around us. When her delicately sweet vanilla fragrance mixed with something like cinnamon reaches my nostrils, I inhale sharply, feeling my cock stir to life for the first time in longer than I’d care to admit.
“Cole. And I have to say, I wasn't expecting that comeback.” I tip my head in acknowledgement, a wry grin tugging at my lips. “Though, to be honest, I don't usually do this sort of thing—”
“What thing? Stalk strangers in bars?” She quirks a mischievous eyebrow, to which I narrow my eyes even as a smirk dances around the edges of my mouth.
“Toss cheesy chat-up lines at beautiful women who are clearly miles out of my league.”
She snorts, pulling out the stool beside me and settling in comfortably. “Now I know you're full of crap, Hotshot.” Her eyes slowly encompass every inch of my face before they find mine again. “If you've looked in the mirror lately, you'll be in no doubt as to how gorgeous you are.”
I press my lips together, attempting and failing to stifle a shit-eating grin. “Please do elaborate.”
She giggles when I toss her a naughty wink.
“Flattery will get you everywhere, Sweetheart.”
Her light laugh prompts several patrons to glance over and smile, her joie de vivre being wholly contagious. I find myself leaning forward unconsciously, drawn like a moth to flame, unable to remember the last time I felt this simultaneously relaxed and electrified.
“May I buy you a drink?”
Her eyes flash with indecision as I rush on, shameless in my pursuit of basking in her presence.
“I mean...it's not every day I make an ass of myself with the cheesiest chat-up lines known to man. And in front of someone as breathtaking as you, I don’t know if my ego will ever recover.”
A smile that brightens the entire room lights up her face, outshining even the twinkling festive lights overhead, and my hopes rise ever-so-slightly until she nods carefully.
“I don't usually do this either, but there's a first time for everything, right?” Her eyes glitter with delight, and the sight makes my stomach dip despite her innocuous tone. “After all, 'tis the season for taking chances.”