Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 59939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
As we leave the lounge, Trisha keeps pushing. “So will you find out if it’s him?”
“Nope. Ask Matt.”
“I did. He told me to leave the poor man alone.”
“I second that notion.” I stop at the counter and reach over it to retrieve an apron. Then I grin at the bartender. “Booth Five slipped you a hundred, huh?”
“Yep. And I suppose Trish told you she thinks he’s a big star in disguise?” Matthew shoots her an annoyed look before growing serious. “Look, he said he doesn’t want to be bothered, which is why I’ve been keeping this one”—Matt hooks a thumb at Trisha—“away from the poor guy.”
Trisha glowers at him. “If you’d just let me go over there, I promise not to bug him.”
“Yeah right,” he hoots.
Lynda, our manager, walks up with a frown, and the good-natured bantering comes to a halt. Lynda isn’t strict by any means, but her conservative nature and lack of humor turn off most of the staff.
No matter how grumpy she can be, I still like the older woman and greet her with a smile. “Hey, Lynda.”
She ignores the greeting. “Guys, I’ve been here for an hour and not once has someone gone over to Booth Five to refill the customer’s drink.”
Looking sheepish, Matt opens his mouth to reply but Lynda silences him by holding up her hand. “You know I have no problem with the casual atmosphere we’ve created here, but we’re going to need to change a few habits and start acting in a more professional manner. Jeremy is flying in next week to check on his investment, so it’s time to shape up, all right?”
Jeremy Henderson is the owner of the Olive, but as far as I know, he’s only stepped foot in this place half a dozen times since the grand opening. He leaves the day-to-day running of the bar to managers like Lynda, and the only sign that Henderson actually owns the Olive is his autograph on my paychecks.
I can see, though, why the owner’s sudden decision to pop in would unnerve Lynda, who’s pretty much singled-handedly run the Olive for six years now.
“No problem,” I assure my manager. I tie the pinstriped apron around my waist. “I’ll check on Booth Five and see how he’s doing.”
As I head for the booth, I can feel Trisha’s eyes boring into my back. I’d seen the flicker of irritation on my friend’s face when I volunteered to handle it, but too bad. Considering Lynda just gave us a speech about professionalism, I don’t think letting Trisha approach the alleged movie star is a good idea.
Like Trisha said, the mysterious stranger has his face hidden behind a newspaper, which really isn’t all that suspicious when you think about it. People read newspapers every day. People read newspapers in bars every day. It doesn’t mean they’re celebrities.
“Sorry to disturb you, sir, but would you like some more water?” I ask the Sports section.
There’s no response from the man behind the paper.
“Or maybe you’d like something else. A beer?”
Very slowly, the newspaper lowers.
A second later, my gaze collides with a pair of familiar blue eyes.
“Hello again,” my stranger says pleasantly, the corner of his mouth lifting in a small grin.
“Oh,” I squeak.
8
Maggie
Oh? Oh? I can’t think of anything better to say to the man I hopped into bed with last night?
I try to look casual despite the incessant thumping of my heart. God, I didn’t think I’d see him again. Yet here he is.
And either I’m crazy, or I hadn’t paid close enough attention yesterday, but he seems to have gotten even better looking. Has to be the clothes. Naked, he had sex written all over him. But now, in a leather jacket, white T-shirt, and faded blue jeans, he looks sexy and dangerous and completely edible.
As if the hotel-room disaster happened seconds ago rather than hours, my embarrassment returns with full force, slithers up my spine and settles in the back of my throat. Along with it, though, comes a spark of arousal at the memory of how incredible this guy’s mouth felt on mine. How warm his hands were when they’d gripped my waist, and how hard his—
“No need to look so terrified,” he quips, running a hand through his dark hair. “I won’t bite, you know.”
Yes, you will. You already did. I fight a shiver as I remember the way his teeth nibbled on my bottom lip.
“Um, I didn’t think we’d see each other again.” I lower my voice so that nobody can overhear. “I guess you’re here for that free drink.”
“Actually, no.” The other side of his mouth lifts so that a full-blown grin plays on his lips. “I’m here to return something.”
“Return…?” I blush when I realize what he means. “Oh,” I say, because once again it’s the best I can come up with.