Page 19 of The Businesswoman and the Bartender

April spent another half hour at the market, browsing through a used bookstore. She stopped at the original Starbucks for a coffee, then strolled back to her hotel. As she did, she received another text from Lucy.

Did the bone happen? I’m dying here.

She giggled and replied:

Yes. It was amazing, and he’s great. I’ll call you tomorrow after I land. You can interrogate me then.

Lucy sent back a bunch of celebratory emoji and a few eggplants for good measure.

Because it was still too early for dinner, April returned to her room and took a quick nap. Her legs ached from all the walking, albeit in the most pleasant way. Not to mention the other parts of her body that ached, which she savored wholeheartedly.

When they’d been down at the water, Nick had pointed out a restaurant he’d worked at previously, so she went there for dinner later that evening and indulged in Dungeness crab legs with a roasted veggie medley. After a satisfying meal, she stopped by her hotel room to touch up her makeup and, when the clock approached ten, headed downstairs.

And there he was, standing behind the bar, slinging drinks and looking exactly as he had the first night she’d laid eyes on him. Except nothing was the same. Not for her.

The bar was almost full, but she found a seat between two middle-aged men. Nick approached as if she was any other customer and placed a cocktail napkin down on the bar. “Evening.”

It was difficult to hide a coy smile, but April succeeded. “Evening. I’ll have an old fashioned.”

He balked and then tilted his head to the side, silently asking if she’d lost her mind. She giggled, unable to commit to the joke for long.

“Kidding,” she said. “I’ll have my usual. You know what I like.”

“That I do,” he purred suggestively.

Mercifully, it was too loud and crowded for anyone to overhear, but her face still heated blatantly, and liquid pooled between her legs. However, a busy night meant Nick wasn’t able to lavish attention on her, which worked in their favor. She got her libido under control and enjoyed her favorite cocktail made by her new favorite person, while he focused on his job, and no one was any the wiser of what had transpired between them the night before.

The one downside to being a single woman sitting at a bar? Men often took it as an invitation to converse. When she’d claimed her stool, both men she’d sat between wore wedding rings. But when the man to her right attempted to chat her up a few minutes later, his ring was mysteriously missing, no doubt hastily stuffed in his pocket. Nevertheless, she chose politeness and endured the mindless chitchat. It was a chore to not roll her eyes at his inflated ego—how he was allegedly the most successful real estate agent in the region and had recently returned from a trip to Santorini—but she somehow managed.

Last call was announced at eleven, and the nuisance to her right leaned in and suggested they grab another drink at the pub across the street.

“Thanks, but I’m taken,” she told him with a short smile. It was almost a force of habit to use that lie to rebuff unwanted invitations from men. But this was the first time it feltreal.

And speak of the devil. The object of her affection drifted over and asked if she wanted a final drink, but she declined and asked to settle the bill.

“Put it on my tab,” the man said to Nick, not even bothering to look his way.

Nick raised one eyebrow at her in question. Despite how his mouth curled, hints of worry flashed in his expression.

The eye roll she’d been suppressing for nearly an hour finally won out, which appeared to calm him. “That’s not necessary,” she told the man in the firmest voice she could muster. She handed her credit card to Nick without even asking to review the check.

The man next to her took care of his bill as well before thankfully making a quick exit. After the final sip of her gimlet, she pushed the check holder back toward Nick with a reassuring smile. It contained more than a signed receipt and cash tip—her extra keycard was hidden beneath. As she stepped down from the stool, she peered at him as he deftly slipped the cash and card into his pocket.

He turned to look over his shoulder and met her eyes. Carnal heat swirled in his gaze, but something else was layered into the stare that she couldn’t pinpoint—something tumultuous or troubled—and it stopped her in her tracks.

But then his face softened, and he nodded gingerly, a clear communication that he’d see her again shortly.

Back in her room, she dozed on the bed for a bit and lost track of time. Then she heard the click of the door unlocking, and she jumped up to skip over to the entranceway. The door closed behind him with a slam, and he pinned her with a steady, intent look that sent an electrifying chill down her spine.

“Welcome back,” she greeted softly, taking a few steps closer.

His hand shot out and cupped between her legs, pushing his fingers against the denim. Gasping with the memory of her dream blaring in her mind, she rose onto her tiptoes due to the force of his grip. He pressed her back against the wall and raised his other hand up to eye level.

Between his index and middle finger was the folded-up ten-dollar bill she’d left alongside the keycard. It was an excessive amount for only one cocktail, but she knew that those working in the food and beverage industry depended on tips, and she assumed he was no different. He deserved to be compensated for his hard work, but it hadn’t occurred to her the impression a tip would leave after they’d slept together.

He pushed the bill into her front pocket and said, “I don’t want your money.”

“But you—”

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