Page 2 of Captivated By You

Right above being groped at an interview for my dream job.

As my hotel came into view, the idea of going inside and sitting in the dreary room with its itchy bedcovers and scuffed white walls, and a carpet that put the “bare” inthreadbare, depressed the hell out of me.

My belly rumbled. I’d been so nervous about my interview that I’d only managed an apple at breakfast and hadn’t eaten since. Good to know I could still eat, despite the tattered fragments of my dreams scattered all over Seattle. Then again, very little put me off food. I was one of those rare species who could chomp my way through a rack of ribs while suffering a stomach bug.

I made a left and wandered the streets, looking for a place that appeared welcoming. Darkening skies called a halt to my meandering, and I ducked inside the first bar I happened upon before it began to drizzle.

The place was dimly lit and a bit too chic for my tastes, but it seemed welcoming enough. Despite the early hour, the after-work crowd had crammed inside the bar, all having a beer and probably congratulating themselves on surviving another week in corporate America. A seat at the bar came free, and I dove for it, hanging my jacket on the back in a possessive move. I sat and waited for the bartender to notice me. Thirty seconds later, he strolled in my direction, slid over a napkin, and set down a bowl of peanuts, then jerked his chin.

“What’ll you have?”

I had a rule. Never drink before six thirty.

I glanced at the clock behind the bar.

Five fifty-nine.

Ah, screw it.

“Gin and tonic, please. Make it a large one.”

The bartender chuckled, dipping a tumbler into a tray of ice and adding a healthy slug of gin. “Bad day?”

I rolled my eyes. “You have no idea.”

He set down my drink and added two slices of lemon. I checked his nametag. Saul.

“Hey, Saul?”

He arched a brow. Maybe in surprise that I’d noticed his name. Or maybe because I’d used it.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Can you do me a favor?”

That brow crept higher. “Depends on what it is.”

I laughed. “Don’t worry. I’m not hitting on you. You’re right. I’ve had the most awful day, and while drowning my sorrows in the bottom of a gin glass sounds like a good idea, it really isn’t. So I only want you to serve me three drinks. After that, you’re to tell me to leave. Agreed?”

Getting shit-faced and falling over my feet wouldn’t help my career prospects. And a hangover plus a four-hour flight equaled a miserable journey home.

Saul winked. “You got it.”

He wandered down the bar to serve the next waiting customer. I picked up my G&T and downed a third of the glass, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

“If that’s the speed you drink, it’s probably a good idea to limit your intake,” a throaty voice drawled, a hint of teasing in the tone.

I turned my head to see if the owner matched the delicious voice.

Ohhh, I’ll say.

The stranger’s dark brown hair was cut close at his nape, and his topaz eyes sparkled with mischief. Add a square jaw covered with designer stubble, sharp cheekbones, and the perfect nose to those eyes, and bam! Hotty alert.

I ran my gaze over him. His suit was well cut, and he’d paired it with a crisp white shirt and a tie that matched his eyes. I’d bet the thirty bucks I had in my purse that he’d done that on purpose. I shifted my attention to his hand wrapped around a cut-glass tumbler. He was drinking whiskey or scotch, or maybe bourbon. Something maple-syrup-colored. It suited him. Far better than a bottle of beer or a glass of wine.

I fidgeted in my seat. “I suppose you’re the kind of man who is always in control.”

His lips tilted up, which I took as a sign of amusement.

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