Well, damn. He had a point. What the hell was she doing? Drinking Ash away wasn’t working so she’d screw him away instead?
Gathering what little dignity she had left, Veronica tucked her tiny clutch beneath her arm and slid from the stool, but the spinning from earlier intensified, and she swayed. The bartender caught her hand, a lifeline in the storm.
“Get back on the stool until I come around,” he ordered. “Trina, announce last call. I’ll be back in a few.”
With one butt cheek on the seat, Veronica leaned on the bar and tried to remember when she’d last eaten, but nothing came to mind. There’d been a bagel for breakfast. A small Cobb salad right before Ash’s call. His voice played back in her mind. Full of excitement and love. For someone else.
“I’m pathetic,” she mumbled as a warm body drew up behind her.
“You aren’t pathetic. Just drunk.” Lifting her chin, the bartender searched her eyes. “Think you can make it outside?”
Veronica nodded slowly, careful not to intensify the vertigo, and rose to her feet once again. Two steps later, she staggered, and strong arms kept her upright. Embarrassed that she’d let herself get this bad, she caved to the inevitable and leaned into his solid frame. In her heels, Veronica stood at an even six foot, but the bartender was still half a head taller. Instead of leading her to the stairs, he headed for a black door in the corner.
In a moment of clarity, she understood that allowing a stranger to lead her into an unknown room in her current condition wasn’t the most prudent decision. He’d already turned her down for sex, so the odds of him assaulting her seemed low. If not a rapist, he could be a killer masquerading as a bartender waiting for a drunk woman to fall helplessly into his clutches.
As the scent of his crisp, woodsy cologne filled her senses, Veronica accepted her fate. If this was how she died, so be it. They slipped through the door into a bright hallway, and she raised an arm to shield her eyes.
“Sorry,” he muttered. “I should have prepared you for that.”
Halfway down the hall, her eyes adjusted in time to see him press a button beside elevator doors. Still drunk enough for filters to be disengaged, she said, “Are you going to kill me?”
“Wasn’t planning on it.” The doors glided open, and he helped her inside before pressing another button.
“If this place has an elevator, why did I walk up three flights of stairs in these heels?” Veronica teetered as she stepped out of the shoes and bent to pick them up. “God, that feels better.”
“I wouldn’t go barefoot on Broadway.”
“Of all the poor decisions I’ve made tonight, going barefoot won’t even make the top ten.”
“I’ve kept you from making one more.”
Veronica eyed him suspiciously. “What? From falling down the stairs?”
He sighed. “Two then.” Before she could get clarification, the doors opened. “Do you have a ticket for coat check?” he asked.
Opening her clutch, she drew out a small green ticket. “Is this it?”
“Ours are red.”
Well, damn. “I don’t have a red one.”
Seeming put out now, the bartender leaned her against the wall and said, “Stay here.”
Since Veronica had no idea where she was or how to get out, she obeyed. While her annoyed escort disappeared down the hall, the sounds of pots and pans knocking together traveled through the wall behind her, and the smell of something deep-fried, made her stomach churn. Feeling queasy, she slid down the wall to land inelegantly on her bottom, literally and figuratively hitting a new low.
“No napping,” admonished the bartender, returning with a black coat thrown over his arm. “Back on your feet.”
Taking her hands, he hefted Veronica off the floor. Her stomach protested the sudden change in altitude. “I don’t feel good,” she murmured.
Brushing the hair from her eyes, he examined her face. When her body convulsed, he muttered, “Damn it,” and whisked her through a narrow door she hadn’t noticed before.
Veronica didn’t have time to worry about where he was taking her as the moment they reached the toilet, she heaved into the bowl. The bartender held her hair out of the way while keeping her upright with an arm around her waist. By the time the horrifying incident ended, tears were streaming down her face. She’d never been so mortified in her life.
Without a word, he handed her a paper towel. Shivering, Veronica tried to put space between them.
“Relax,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”
The words did little to ease her embarrassment. Veronica took two deep breaths and used the towel to dry her cheeks.