Page 49 of Bidding War

“Go get dressed!” I point deeper into the closet, and he laughs at me. I experiment with a few ways to hide the throat bruise and settle on some makeup along with a jaunty short scarf tied in a cute bow. This way, my shirt can frame my cleavage, and I can keep my injury to myself. Minutes later, we regretfully have clothes on, bagels are in hand, and we are running out the door.

As we get into the elevator, he asks, “So, do you make all your tips from cleavage?”

I snort a laugh. “Maybe not all of them, but a lot of them. Judging me?”

“Not at all. Use the assets you have to make your money. Brains, boobs, whatever.”

“My thinking, exactly.”

Just before the doors open, he says, “Just so long as you know those are mine.”

I laugh at him. “Pretty sure they’re mine, actually.”

The doors open, but he doesn’t step out. “Okay, technically, they’re yours. I just don’t want to share them with anyone but us.”

“Me, either.”

“They can look, but don’t touch.”

“It’s not that kind of bar, Anderson.”

That seems to mollify him. “Good.”

The mad dash to work is tricky. It must have snowed today because the sidewalks are icy. Twenty minutes of haphazard slips and dodges of cars and foot traffic, and soon, we’re in front of the bar. The place is hopping, so when we bustle in at the same time, no one notices. He just looks like another patron trying to cram in. Happy hour has swamped the place.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I shout over the din as I duck behind the bar and tie my apron on.

Kelsey looks both annoyed and relieved to see me. “You’re almost an hour late. You’re killing me, Devlin.”

Those words. Why did he have to say those words?

I must look stricken because he softens his glare. “You alright?”

I shake myself out of it. “Yeah.” I try for a lighthearted laugh and fail miserably. “What makes you ask?”

But Kelsey knows me too well to buy it. He also knows now is not the time to grill me. “Great. Then let’s go.”

I work the crowd, one after another. It’s packed tight, but the guests keep it quick and succinct, and I am utterly grateful for it. Not chatty types, not soccer moms, no evil college kids. Just order after order in a constant stream. Kelsey and I do our dance behind the bar while the servers do theirs in front of it, and I can tell they’re relieved I’m here. I am, too.

I almost wasn’t. Not if Neil had his way about things.

When that thought clicks in, I instinctively search the crowd for Anderson. He’s in a far corner, simply observing. Sometimes, he’s on his phone. I’m not sure if he’s pretending to be busy or if he actually is. Whatever the case, I am so glad he’s here. I wasn’t ready for him to leave my sight, either.

As things slow down, people get chattier. It’s like they knew not to do it when we were too busy, which is a remarkable amount of consideration for a group of drunks. One, who keeps glancing down my shirt, says, “You have a sexy librarian thing going.”

Can’t tell if that’s a thing or an insult. But I give him a bright smile anyway. “Thanks.”

“Can I get your number?”

“Aw, you’re sweet.” And I keep making other guests’ drinks.

“That wasn’t a no,” he presses on.

I keep my bright smile plastered on my face. “Yes, it was.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “Damn. Gotta boyfriend or something?”

“I don’t date.”

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