Page 80 of Love or Tequila in Unexpected Places

The bartender’s brows furrowed as she looked at him, clearly wondering if he was crazy. He realized he’d been staring into space for the past few seconds.

“Vermouth, neat. Please.”

She nodded, her red hair swishing, and Angelo found himself momentarily mesmerized. She was undeniably hot, but hot had never been enough for him.

The redhead placed his drink in front of him and moved on to the next customer. The place was busy for a weekday, but it made sense—the bar was new, and everyone wanted to check it out. He assumed most of these people had jobs to get to the next day, just like he did.

Fuck, how am I gonna survive at the office?

Tomorrow was his first day as CEO of Taylor Co., the first day he’d be fully in charge of a conglomerate. The thought alone was enough to make him want to down his drink in one go.

He’d known the business inside and out since he was fifteen, had run the Athens office by twenty-six, and now, at thirty-two, he was about to become CEO. He still couldn’t believe it.

He thought he had more time.

His father had been doing fine as the head of the company, enjoying every meeting like he always did. Angelo had been thriving in Athens, reconnecting with his mother and sister after so years of distance. He had his daily routine set, every minute of every day planned down to the second.

It had been perfect.

Then, out of nowhere, his father retired.

“I’m stepping down, son. You’re in charge now.”

Angelo hadn’t been thrilled to hear that over the phone, but he didn’t have a choice. His father loved the business too much to step down without meaning it, and with Angelo’s sister, Katerina, wanting nothing to do with Taylor Co., the responsibility fell squarely on his shoulders.

The move had been sudden. He’d left Athens three days ago, leaving his thankfully capable intern to handle meetings until he could appoint a replacement. After a midnight flight and a day full of exhausting paperwork and meetings, here he was—atThe Olive, sipping vermouth, trying to take a break from everything and everyone.

The bartender’s fiery hair caught his eye again as she moved to the other side of the bar, and Angelo followed her with his eyes—he was too much of a people watcher.

Then something else—or rather, someoneelse—caught his attention, and he froze.

She’s beautiful.

Not the bartender, though she was objectively attractive. No, his focus was on the woman a few paces away, chatting with the redhead.

Sandy-blonde waves cascaded down her back, moving fluidly with every word she spoke. A curvy figure, with thick thighs he wanted to disappear between, was hugged by a dark pink dress. The dress’ neckline was modest but revealing enough to leave him wanting more and adjusting himself in his slacks.

She practicallyglowed, and it wasn’t the makeup—he knew just enough about that to recognize it. It was her excitement, radiating from her like a beacon calling all his ships home. It was the way her body moved as she adjusted her seating position on the barstool. Her presence, her soft-but-present confidence.

It was her.

Shewas magnificent.

Angelo was entranced, watching her like the little creep he was. How could he even approach her? What would he say? It had been so long since he’d had the time—or the energy—to flirt, and frankly, he felt out of the game.

So, he did nothing. He finished his drink, ordered another, and then one more. By the time he’d downed his fourth, he’d mustered just enough courage to get up and approach her. A million scenarios played out in his mind as he tried to think of something to say that wasn’t cliche, corny, or—God forbid—creepy.

He stepped closer, took a deep breath and—

“Hey, baby. Haven’t seen you around before.”

And that’s exactly what I meant by creepy.

Thankfully, Angelo hadn’t been the one to say it. The woman in front of him tensed as the sleazeball who’d spoken invaded her space, leaning against the bar with all the charm of a wet sock. Typical douchebag.

Angelo was about to swoop in with a dashing rescue when the damsel beat him to it, proving shewasn’tin distress. “You have five seconds to move away from me.”

The sleazeball chuckled, dripping with condescension. “Or what, doll? You’ll bite me?”

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