Текст книги "The Allure of Dean Harper "

Автор книги: R. S. Grey

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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

Chapter Four

 

 

 

Lily

In the last two hours the bar had turned into a circus. I’d lost track of how many drinks I’d made. My feet hurt, my hands ached, and I’d gone through enough lemons and limes to rival a key lime pie factory. The only silver lining was the tip jar steadily filling up smack dab in front of me. Whenever exhaustion started to creep in, I’d let my gaze linger there for a second. I’d have to split it all with Brian and Allen, but still, my cut would be massive.

I handed two drinks off, shook the excess club soda from my hand, and then watched as a suited man slipped into a newly vacant bar stool. He wasn’t the first available guy to come to the bar, but he was the first one who made me do a double take. I had a very specific type, and pretty boys were out—I didn’t want a guy with better hair than me. (Jared Leto, I’m lookin’ at you.)

Suit Guy’s features weren’t pretty, they were striking. Rough around the edges with a permanent scowl and punch-you-in-the-gut brown eyes. His dirty blond hair was unruly and probable evidence of a bad habit of running his hands through it when he was stressed.

I opened my mouth to ask him his drink order, but another customer spoke up first.

“What was that drink you made me earlier?” the young girl beside him asked, swaying her empty cocktail glass back and forth in front of her like a fast-paced metronome. I’d made her a drink hours ago; I had a good memory, but not that good.

“Describe it,” I said, leaning forward so I could hear her over the sound of the crowd. The effort brought me closer to Suit Man and it annoyed me that I noticed his cologne. Or maybe I’m annoyed that I liked it.

“You recommended it,” the girl slurred. “It was like a pineapple made love to a boozy banana.”

I ran through the drinks I’d made earlier in the night that had pineapple in them. There’d only been a few, and the cocktail glass she was waving around helped me narrow it down.

“It’s called a Juliet,” I told the customer, already reaching for a new cocktail glass. “It has gold tequila, banana-flavored liqueur, pineapple juice, and grenadine.”

Her eyes widened. “Yes! More please!”

I smiled and turned to the bar shelves to reach for the gold tequila. Suit Man spoke up behind me and my back stiffened.

“I don’t see that drink on the menu…”

His voice was sexy, but his tone sounded seriously annoyed.

I glanced over my shoulder at him. “No. It’s just something I like to make.”

His dark brow arched as he assessed my answer. “The city’s top mixologist spent weeks crafting this drink list.”

Top mixologist? I had flipped through the leather-bound list earlier, completely uninspired by the generic drinks. I’d assumed it was thrown together by some busboy that had Googled “how to make hipster cocktails”.

I set the gold tequila down on my station and shrugged. “I like to play by own rules.”

Brian came up behind me, nearly shoving me out of the way to reach Suit Man.

“Sir, I didn’t see you there. Can I get you anything? The usual?”

I smirked. The guy must be one hell of a tipper to elicit that sort of ass-kissing from Brian.

“No. I’d actually like her to make me a drink,” he said with a dark tone.

I was looking down, measuring out a shot of tequila, or he would have seen my eyes narrow. What is his angle?

“Lily,” Brian whispered under his breath, trying to get my attention.

I glanced over at him from beneath my lashes. His eyes widened as he inclined his head toward the man. The message was clear: make his drink. Now.

Unfortunately, I’d never been very good at taking orders.

I plastered on a fake smile and met Suit Man’s annoyed stare.

“I’ll be happy to take your order, right after I finish up with these fine folks who were here before you.” My tone was clipped and cool, but no one could accuse me of being outright rude. It was the voice adopted by anyone who’d ever had to work a shift in a service job.

Suit Man sat and watched me mix three more drinks. I was still faster than Brian, but compared to earlier, I was taking my sweet time. His dark eyes stayed pinned on me as anger palpably boiled off of him. I selected my ingredients with care and measured them out like I was creating a work of art.

I caught fragments of his shattering composure as I twisted and turned behind the bar: his clenched, clean-shaven jaw; the gap in the top of his shirt where his tensed, tan chest peeked through; his knuckles, motionless but growing whiter as he gripped the edge of the bar.

By this time, the crowd around the courtyard had diminished, which left Brian with no other orders to busy himself with.

“Sir, are you sure I can’t get you anything?” Brian asked, his voice a tad more shrill than it’d been only minutes before. “Seriously, Lily—”

Suit Man shook his head, leaned forward, and propped his elbows on the bar.

“Brian, go clean up the other end of the bar,” he ordered.

I met his stare and took off the friendly mask I usually wore for customers. Our eyes locked with unspoken fury. I’d been on my feet all night, I was exhausted, and now I had to deal with a customer from hell. He had no clue who he was dealing with.

“Make me a Collins,” he said through seductive lips. They were the sort of lips made for giving orders and delivering on promises.

He offered no please. No thank you.

I held his stare as I reached for a highball glass. I took pride in every drink I made, but I knew his drink would be irre-fuckin-proachable. I expertly poured two ounces of dry gin by sight, and then added a touch more. One teaspoon of superfine sugar and half an ounce of lemon juice went into the glass next. I stirred it all together and spritzed it with a touch of club soda. He took the glass out of my hand before I could slide it across the bar. I watched him bring it to his lips, holding back every snarky remark that came to mind.

“Too heavy on the sugar,” he declared, dropping the glass back onto the bar. “Make it again.”

He’d hardly taken a sip.

I had to bite down on my tongue until I nearly drew blood. The customer is always right. Even if the customer is full of shit, he’s always right.

“Are you for real?” a nearby customer asked in my defense before turning to me. “Don’t worry girl, your bartending skills are on point. Don’t listen to him.”

Mr. Suit didn’t acknowledge her and I knew I had no choice. I had to make it again.

I measured out the ingredients into a new glass as my hand shook with anger. I held out the drink again, ignoring the touch of his fingers as he pulled it from my grasp. His brows furrowed into a line as he took a belt of the new drink. I watched him and waited for him to concede and thank me for the second drink.

He shook his head. “Not enough lemon.”

I could count on one hand the number of times I’d had a customer ask me to remake a drink. He didn’t know what he was talking about. I reached across the bar and took the glass out of his hand. His jaw dropped.

“Lily! Jesus,” Brian said, trying to pull the drink out of my hand. I held on to the glass and watched the man’s nostrils flare as I took a sip of my own creation. It was good. Chilled and flavorful.

“You are impossible,” I hissed. “Sorry, but we don’t need your money this badly.”

He smirked and shook his head, reaching into his back pocket. He unfolded his leather wallet and pulled out two one-hundred-dollar-bills. “Wrong. We always want the customer’s money.” He tossed the bills across the bar and scooted his bar stool back. “You’re fired. Consider that your severance.”

My heart leapt to my throat.

Wait.

What?

“Dude, you’re oblivious,” Brian moaned. “Do you know who that was?”

I could barely hear Brian through the ether; I was too focused on the man slipping back through the crowd.

He was just another customer…right?

“That was Dean Harper.” He laughed, answering his own question. “It was nice knowin’ you.”

Chapter Five

 

 

 

Dean

Zoe: You didn’t fire the new girl did you? Tell me you aren’t that stupid.

I ignored Zoe’s text and laced up my beaten-up running shoes. My phone buzzed again and I reluctantly read the text.

Zoe: The bar brought in four times the amount it usually does last night. JUST FYI.

Zoe had been with my team for the last five years. We worked well together because she was a good manager and one hundred percent uninterested in me—or any other man for that matter. I brought her in as a temporary manager at the start of every restaurant. She helped me hire and train the new staff for the first few weeks, and she was damn good at her job. Her knack for annoying banter was not why I kept her around.

Zoe: Why’d you do it?

I would have ignored her question, but something told me she wouldn’t stop until I appeased her.

Dean: She’s not Provisions material.

My phone buzzed instantly.

Zoe: Yeah, you’re right. Making money is overrated.

I plugged my headphones in and pulled up my workout playlist. Zoe could text her fingers raw, but I had to start my run. My calves were tight from my last workout, but the tension would ease up by the time I reached the park. I locked up my apartment and slipped my spare key into the laces of my left shoe. Then, I took off.

I had to do some form of exercise every day, and I wasn’t particularly committed to one specific thing. Running, biking, rowing, anything that got my limbs moving made it easier to tame the fire burning inside me. I’d pound the pavement and feel the pieces of my life fall into place.

I’d thought I’d be happy after I made my first million, my tenth, my twentieth. I’d thought by the time I had a solid grip on New York’s restaurant scene, I’d be satisfied. I was wrong. The fire never died and I always wanted more.

Any freshman in college with a handful of psychology credits could connect the dots that I was using work to fill an emotional void in my life, but objectively speaking, they had to be wrong. I didn’t have voids. I’d had more than my fair share of women and I’d even truly loved one or two of them along the way. I yearned for nothing, lacked for nothing, and yet still, I pushed myself harder.

Why?

Because some people just like a challenge.

I was rounding a trail in Central Park when my phone buzzed with an incoming call. I checked it, prepared to ignore Zoe again, but Julian’s name popped up instead.

“Julian, what’s up?” I asked, using the opportunity to catch my breath. I was only halfway done with my run, but I stretched my hamstring with my free hand, careful not to overextend the muscle.

“Hey man, are you back in town?” he asked.

“Landed last night.”

“Let me guess, you went straight to work, barely slept, and now you’re what—working out?”

I smirked. Julian and I had been friends since college. He knew my habits better than anyone. “Touché, jackass. What do you want?”

He laughed and then I heard a female voice in the background. Likely, he was with his girlfriend, Josephine.

“I’m over at Central Park taking pictures for Jo’s blog. You should come by. I think we’re going to head to breakfast after we get all the shots she needs.”

I couldn’t do breakfast, but I was already in Central Park. It wouldn’t hurt to stop by for a few minutes. I’d finish the other half of my run afterward.

“Where are you?”

“Lower east side, right by 72nd.”

I glanced up at the street sign. I was at 66th and Broadway, so if I cut straight over, I’d be there in no time.

“All right, see you in a sec.”

Central Park was packed with families and tourists trying to make the most of their Saturday morning. In a few hours, the park would almost be too hot to inhabit, but with the sun hidden behind townhouses to the east, the temperature was still cool. I slowed to a walk when I neared 72nd Street and scanned the park for Julian and Josephine. I rounded Rumsey Playfield, and then kept walking along the trail. I was just about to hit 5th Avenue when I heard laughter.

“Lily. Shut up! I can’t take serious pictures if you’re making jokes the whole time.”

“What am I supposed to do?! Your face looks weird! I said to look like a tiger, not a constipated house cat.”

I veered toward the voices and scanned the trail until I spotted them off to the side, nearly hidden in the trees. Josephine posed up on a rock with the forest as her backdrop. She was dressed to the nines for her fashion blog and an unfamiliar blonde was snapping photos of her a few feet away. Julian stood off to the side, probably trying to stay out of the line of fire.

“Try doing something like this,” the blonde said, angling her body into a pose I’d seen celebrity women do a thousand times. The effort revealed an inch of tantalizing skin between her jean shorts and her white shirt. The simple outfit and her matching pair of Converse reminded me of the girls back home in Iowa.

I took a step closer, paused my music, and wrapped my headphones around my neck. My movement caught Josephine’s attention; she grinned and hopped off the rock. “The titan of industry made it!”

“Hey Jo,” I said before throwing Julian a nod.

Her photographer was the last one to turn to greet me. She was tinkering with the camera, staring down at it so that her hair covered nearly half her face. I focused on the half I could see, that single high cheekbone and the pink lips that curved into a smile.

I took another step closer and she glanced up, lazily flicking her gaze up my workout shorts and tank. I recognized her a moment before she made the connection; when my identity finally sank in for her, a flame flared behind her bright eyes.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” she asked.

Chapter Six

 

 

 

Lily

Dean Harper had some nerve. (And a seriously toned physique, if you were someone who paid attention to that kind of thing. I, of course, could not have cared less.) After he’d axed me the previous evening I’d known we were bound to have a run-in sometime. I just hadn’t really anticipated that it would happen the very next morning.

I was still licking my wounds for Christ’s sake.

I stepped closer and gripped Josephine’s camera with enough fury to turn it to dust. She took notice and gently pried it from my fingers before it became a casualty of the turf war that was about to ensue.

To his credit, Dean looked just as pissed as I did. His dark eyes scanned me up and down, seemingly disgusted to see me standing there. “You’re Lily?”

“Lily Noelle Black,” I sneered. “Don’t worry, I’m not offended—it must be so hard for you to keep track of all the people you’re an asshole to.”

Julian stepped into no-man’s land, holding his hands up between us. With his dark hair and chiseled features, he usually seemed intimidating, but in front of Dean, he couldn’t compare. They were about the same height, but Dean had more muscle—muscle he probably wanted to use to strangle me at that very moment. “Jesus. What is wrong with you two?” Julian asked. “What happened last night?”

I crossed my arms, cocked my hip, and flashed Dean an “I got you, bitch” sort of smirk. “Go ahead, tell them, Dean. For the second time in twelve hours, I yield the floor to you.”

Dean tugged his hands through his hair, confirming my suspicion about his habit. Then he pulled his gaze from mine and looked to Julian. For what, solace? Moral support? Yeah right, bucko.

“Lily had her first night at Provisions last night and she turned my bar into a Coyote Ugly knockoff.”

My eyes bulged out of my face. Literally. They had to have fallen out of my skull in response to the amount of bullshit he’d just spewed. I glanced at the ground, confirmed my eyeballs were not in fact lying there, and then stepped closer to Dean with my finger pointed right at his chest.

Julian straightened his arms out between us, prepared to keep us apart if it came down to it.

“I did not mess up your bar. I made you so much money it’s ridiculous!”

Dean’s eyes flared with anger. “You insulted my menu in front of the customers! You disrespected me and my staff—”

“Oh c’mon! That drink menu sucks and you know it! Bahama Mamas? How innovative.”

“Okay! Whoa.” Josephine stepped in, grabbed me by the upper arms, and cut off my view of Dean’s death stare. I focused on her and for the first time since Dean had arrived, I was able to take a calming breath.

“Lily. You need to cool it,” she said.

“And Dean,” Julian cut in. “What the hell has gotten into you?”

We both grunted in annoyance, so in sync that I would have laughed had I not despised him so much. Jo turned to Julian and they exchanged a worried glance.

“Why don’t we go to our separate corners for a bit,” Julian suggested.

Jo nodded. “I was thinking the exact same thing.”

I hated being patronized. Dean and I didn’t need mediators. He and I could work out our problems on our own, but Julian had already turned and directed Dean back to the trail. I watched his back, waiting for him to turn around and throw me one last death stare, but he never turned back and Josephine pulled me away before I could think to hurl one last obscenity his way.

I kicked up dirt on the path, still reeling from the skirmish. Josephine squeezed my shoulder as we walked toward 5th Avenue.

“Wow. So that was—”

I glanced up at her. “Horrific.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Colorful.”

“You should have seen the way he treated me last night.”

She rolled her lips together and slid her green gaze my way. “Well, I can guess that it wasn’t very good.”

“He pretended to be a shitty customer and then fired me on the spot. Right in front of the other bartenders.”

She stopped dead in her tracks. “Seriously?”

I nodded.

“Do you want to go back? I’ll hold him down and let you kick his shins.”

I smirked. The idea of attacking Dean with Josephine as an accomplice sounded tempting, but there had to be a better way to get under his skin. I just had to think.

“No, it’s fine. Let’s just go to the apartment. I need to get back to my job search anyway.”

I caught her frown out of the corner of my eye. “I’m so sorry Lil, but I can’t. Julian and I have breakfast plans with his sister and then she wants to show me some of the designs from her upcoming collection.”

I’d been in New York for two days and already I felt like Josephine was too busy for me.

“Will you be back in time for dinner?”

“Vogue bloggers are meeting up for a work happy hour,” she recited, eyeing her phone’s calendar.

I nodded. Perfect. I had very important plans too. They included: emailing my resume to every restaurant within a one hundred mile radius while streaming a Pretty Little Liars marathon for background noise to fool me into thinking I wasn’t alone.

Chapter Seven

 

 

 

Dean

“Dean, you have to hire Lily back.”

I glared at Julian and he arched his brows for emphasis. “I’m dead serious.”

I’d walked with him through the park, explaining my side of the story from the night before. I knew I wasn’t one hundred percent in the right, but Lily definitely wasn’t an angel. Her attitude? Her personality? She was like a cat backed into a corner: claws out, ready to strike.

“Look, I know she’s your friend, and I don’t doubt that she’s probably a delight to be around most days, but those hotheaded employees never last long. Why do you think I have to work for myself?”

Julian shook his head.

“She just moved from Texas two days ago. She moved in with Jo and needs work. She isn’t going to make or break you or your restaurants. This is about helping out a friend.”

“Well, you’re asking too much of me, man. Josephine? She’s like a sweet southern peach. If she needed a job, I’d give her one in a second.”

He laughed. “I don’t think she’d ditch Vogue to go roll silverware for you.”

I clapped my hands. “Well there you have it. The job fair is closed.”

“You’re being a dick.”

I whirled around to face him. “Did you not just listen to me? I-do-not-like-Lily. I’m not going to hire her in my restaurant. Not now. Not ever.”

He crossed his arms and studied me. What he was looking for? I had no fucking clue.

“Wipe the slate clean and give her one more chance. You two didn’t meet in the best circumstances. Let’s go to dinner so that you can both bury the hatchet. If it still doesn’t work out after that, fine, but at least you can explain to Josephine that you tried not once, but twice to help Lily out.”

I hated being told what to do. Always had. I liked to listen to my own instincts, especially when it came to my companies. Unfortunately, I knew that banishing Lily from my professional life wouldn’t matter if she had already spilled over into my personal life. I considered Julian and Josephine to be my closest friends. For that reason—and that reason alone—I nodded and agreed to dinner.

“7 PM Monday. You pick a neutral territory and I want her patted down before I arrive.”