Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 83718 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83718 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
I nudge my empty shot glass toward the bartender. She’s a server from Howell’s, but the Jacksons brought her on for tonight so none of their staff would have to work the Christmas party—an event that’s a work gathering for half of us and family reunion for the other half.
“I can’t.” The peppy bartender bites her lip as she looks to someone standing behind me. She brings her gaze back to meet mine. “You’ve been cut off.”
I turn around to see who she was looking at and spot Brayden. He’s cut me off, and he’s watching me with the same worried look he’s been subjecting me to since I walked in the door and started tossing them back.
He saunters toward me, giving Kitty a nod that sends her scurrying to help someone on the opposite end of the bar. “You okay?”
The worry in his eyes, and his words—God help me. The tequila surges in my stomach. Poor Molly. I’d rather face the sneers of a hundred mean girls than be pitied. I thought I earned this position, even if it was initially given as a favor, but Brayden still sees it as a pity job for a broken girl. “I’m fine, so you can stop looking at me like that.”
“You’ve been avoiding me all night.”
“I haven’t been avoiding you. I’ve been celebrating.” I force a smile. “That’s what we’re here for, isn’t it? To celebrate another great year for Jackson Brews?”
He looks into my eyes for so long that I want to turn away from him or, at the very least squirm, but I’m too stubborn, and I only lift my chin.
“If seeing me cut loose makes you uncomfortable, I’ll go home. Just say the word.”
“Did everything go okay at the banquet center today?”
I grunt and catch myself reaching for my empty shot glass. “Surprisingly well, considering.” Considering you never wanted to hire me. Considering you regret the decision.
He frowns. “Considering what?”
“Don’t you have employees you need to schmooze with or something? Or maybe new hires to sweet-talk into your bed?” It’s a low blow, and I regret it the minute the words pass my lips.
Something flashes in his eyes. “You’re a mean drunk, Molly.”
When he walks away, I keep my ass glued to my barstool instead of running after him like I want to. Hell, he saved my ass when he hired me, so I should be grateful, pity or no.
A man lowers himself onto the barstool beside me. He’s built and tall—maybe not as much as Brayden on either count, but impressive nonetheless. His light brown hair slides over one eye, and when he brushes it back, I can’t help but notice the size of his hands. Big hands. Nice hands. Brayden has nice hands too—big and a little rough.
Don’t think about Brayden. He doesn’t want you. Not even as an employee. You’re broken.
So I throw all my energy into focusing on this new, very attractive man beside me as he studies the tap list on the chalkboard.
“What’s good?” he asks, not looking at me.
“That depends.” I like to think that my words can pass for husky and not drunken and slurred. “What do you like?”
“Blondes,” he says before tearing his gaze off the menu and turning to me. I arch a brow, and he laughs, grimacing only slightly when I flip my hair. “I mean, blonde beers, but, well, also . . .” Damn. Is that a blush creeping up his neck? “Yeah.” He extends a hand. “My name’s Jason, and I swear I’m not typically so awkward.”
I take his hand. Big. Warm. Softer than Brayden’s, but—
I cut off that train of thought before it can go any further. It’s been seven months since my ill-advised night with my boss, and I still can’t stop comparing guys to him. One night with his hands and mouth, and my body decided he was the gold standard by which all other men should be measured. So irritating.
“I’m Molly,” I say softly.
“You’re the one managing the banquet center,” Jason says, a smile curling his lips.
“That’s me. And what about you? A sales manager?” I ask. It’s a reasonable guess, since this is an employee party. There are sales managers all over the country though.
“I’m . . . not exactly on the payroll.” He grins and waves to the taps behind the bar. “Can I buy you a drink?”
“It’s an open bar,” I say, not willing to admit that he couldn’t even if I wanted him to. Because my boss thinks he needs to babysit me.
He grimaces and shakes his head. “Right. Sorry.” Then that grin again.
Before I know what I’m doing, I’m tracking Brayden across the room. I hurt his feelings with my jab about seducing new employees. I should apologize. Or thank him for putting up with me despite my brokenness. Or maybe I should just go home before I do something stupid. Or, worse, someone.