Page 1 of The Businesswoman and the Bartender

ONE

Jet lag was a killer.

It was only seven in the evening, but April Markham could barely keep her eyes open. She’d been awake hours before the sun for an early six-thirty flight out to Seattle, only to sit on the grounded plane at JFK for two hours, delayed because of a light bulb that blew before takeoff.

By the time she finally arrived in the Emerald City, she was thankful to hear that her hotel room was ready early. She napped for a few hours, hoping that a quick bit of shut-eye would reset her inner clock. Yet she struggled to stay sharp as she headed down to one of the hotel’s restaurants. She’d traveled often enough for business to know she had to push through the fatigue, make it through dinner, and nurse a few cocktails before finally passing out for the night.

A chorus of happy chatter filled the lobby as she approached the steakhouse in the hotel, praying a spot would be available at the bar. While she had no problem dining alone—was truthfully used to it by this point in her life—she preferred eating at the bar instead of taking up an entire table in a restaurant. Fortunately, the lounge area was quieter, with only one person at the bar and a few clusters of people at high-top tables. The space was separate from the main dining room, complete with low lighting and sophisticated touches. Plush stools lined the bar, and a large bookcase stretched across the back wall, filled with trinkets and antique tomes. It was as if she’d stumbled into the library in a gothic manor, and she loved every inch of it.

She settled on the stool at the far side of the counter and glanced over at the bartender, who was chatting with the other patron at the bar. When he looked her way, her stomach leaped unexpectedly.

Oh, he wascute—albeit a little young at first glance. He was of decent height, around six foot, with a shade of light-brown hair that was nondescript and average but somehow suited him perfectly. He was the epitome of all-American good looks, complete with a body undeniably in shape but not obnoxiously ripped.

As he moved toward her, her focus subtly dipped to his left hand.No ring.That didn’t mean much when discerning his relationship status, but checking for a ring had become a natural habit the older she got.

“Evening,” he greeted with a friendly smile, his dimples emerging like a sneak attack. “Dinner? Drinks?”

She returned the smile and said, “Both.”

He nodded and passed her a gilded booklet. “This is our dinner menu. Specialty cocktails are on the back page. But I can make almost anything you’d like.”

“I’ll take a gin gimlet, please.”

“Any gin preference?” He filled a glass with ice water and placed it in front of her.

“I’m not picky. Whatever you suggest.”

“You got it.”

As he prepared her drink, she perused the menu. Since she was traveling on behalf of her job, she expensed her meals, and the best part was that her company didn’t require itemized receipts. Still, she knew better than to run up an insanely expensive dinner bill, and she usually opted for a smaller plate or salad so she could indulge in more alcoholic beverages. She had business travel down to a science by now.

The bartender tossed a cocktail napkin onto the sleek onyx bar and placed the gimlet down with a flourish. “My favorite is the steak sandwich,” he said. “But if you’re looking for a salad, the wedge is probably our most popular.”

The wedge salad was what she’d had her eye on, and his recommendation solidified her choice. She snapped the menu shut and ordered that before taking a sip of her cocktail. “Oh, that’s good,” she praised with a sigh.

Butterflies flapped in her stomach as his heady laugh echoed between them. “Glad you approve. I’ll put your food order in. It shouldn’t take too long to come out.”

“Great, thank you.”

Their fingers brushed when she handed the menu back to him. The light touch sent a delightful shiver through her body, and her eyes shot up to find his gaze. Such an innocent caress, but it didn’t go unnoticed by him. The masculine column of his throat bobbed as he swallowed thickly. They both averted eye contact, rife with awkwardness, as he placed the menu to the side.

In her periphery, April saw a couple take a seat at the bar. The bartender noticed as well, and soon they’d moved past the brief and unintentional touch. Before he went to greet the new customers, he gave her one last dazzling smile and said, “My name’s Nick, by the way. Let me know if you need anything.”

She nodded demurely as he sauntered to the other end of the bar to welcome the new arrivals. Watching discreetly, April observed his easygoing charm—a facet all excellent bartenders possessed. Clad in respectable black dress pants and a white button-down shirt—ostensibly his work uniform—there was still an enticing roughness to him. A hint that he’d be just as comfortable wearing flannel while riding a dirt bike or hiking trails in the Pacific Northwest. She imagined how satisfying it would be to rub her face against his firm chest, feeling the soft fabric against her cheek as they lounged by a roaring fire. A fire filled with wood he’d chopped himself, like those lumberjack social media personalities who slammed an axe down while shirtless. Not that she followed any of those guys religiously or anything.

Christ, she was pretty hard up if she was already imagining romantic scenarios with a man she’d uttered only a few words to. Sure, he wasn’t wearing a ring, but he must have a partner of some sort. It was impossible for someone that classically handsome to be single. Not to mention she guessed he was in his late twenties. Some might say age is nothing but a number, but April couldn’t imagine being romantically involved with anyone that much younger than her own age of thirty-five—even if it was only for one night.

A burst of laughter sounded from a group at a table behind her, a blunt indication that she was ill-advised to fall victim to lofty fantasies while in public. Shaking off the silliness, she pulled out her work phone and skimmed emails that came in earlier that day despite her out-of-office automatic reply. There was nothing super pressing in her inbox, so she opted to wait to answer the correspondence until she returned.

Smooth and sexy jazz echoed throughout the space, contrasting hilariously with the basketball game playing on the wall-mounted television at the far end of the bar. April relaxed into her chair, wiggling against the cushiony velvet of the stool, as she enjoyed the tangy and sweet taste of her gimlet. Never one to actively follow sports, she pretended to care about the basketball game as she waited for her dinner; otherwise, she’d gawk at the bartender all night long.

Soon enough, Nick returned with the salad and a set of utensils. “Fresh ground pepper?”

“Please,” she said, trying to focus on anything other than his large hands as they worked the mahogany pepper mill. After a few turns, she signaled she was good, and he pulled the mill away.

“Enjoy.”

“Thank you.”

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