Текст книги "Pretend It's Love "

Автор книги: Stefanie London

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One fake relationship shaken not stirred…

Bar manager Paul Chapman is sick of his family’s traditional ideals. Marriage, babies, and a white picket fence? Not his gig. But now that his ‘golden child’ big brother is tying the knot, Paul’s screwed. His ex will be there…and she’s having his cousin’s baby. Unless he wants to show up to the wedding alone and face his family’s scrutiny, he needs a girl on his arm. Now.

Cocktail specialist Libby Harris has spent her life earning the nickname Little Miss Perfect, all to win the love of her wealthy, controlling father. But she deviated from his plan, and now her business is on shaky ground. If it fails, she might as well kiss his respect—and her dream—good-bye. Her only hope? Convince the hottest bar in town to take on her product.

Luckily for her, the owner’s brother is sexy as sin and in need of a perfect girlfriend…

Table of Contents

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Also by Stefanie London…

The Rules According to Gracie

Find love in unexpected places with these satisfying Lovestruck reads…

Neighbors with Benefits

Fiancée for Hire

Tempted by Mr. Write

The Surrogate Husband

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2015 by Stefanie London. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

Entangled Publishing, LLC

2614 South Timberline Road

Suite 109

Fort Collins, CO 80525

Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.

Lovestruck is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.

Edited by Alycia Tornetta

Cover design by Heather Howland

Cover art from Shutterstock

ISBN 978-1-63375-458-4

Manufactured in the United States of America

First Edition September 2015

To anyone who’s ever chased a dream against the advice of others.

Chapter One

There were plenty of other things Paul Chapman would rather be doing than watching two people make goo-goo eyes at each other. He could stab himself in the eye with a steak knife. Or listen to his mother talk ad nauseam about the intricacies of the floral arrangements.

Either would be preferable.

“Man, you’ve got to lighten up.” Noah Reid, his best friend and soon to be fellow groomsman, elbowed him in the ribs. “You look like you’re about to go all Friday the Thirteenth.”

“I hate pretentious parties.” He shoved a bite-size piece of toast with smoked salmon into his mouth. “And I hate this stupid, tiny food.”

“What did you expect?”

Noah had a point. Paul should have known what he was in for the second his brother announced the engagement party would be held in his fiancée’s family home in Toorak, aka the “old money” part of Melbourne. The Greenes were rolling in it. It was fitting that they’d be drinking the fanciest champagne on the market and eating food that looked fit for a dollhouse.

“Is it so bad that I want a burger and a beer?”

Noah laughed. “If you’re still hungry we’ll do a Macca’s run on the way home.”

“Deal.”

Paul watched the happy couple. His big brother looked more satisfied than he’d ever seen him, and Gracie, his pint-size wife-to-be, wore a smile that managed to out-sparkle her impressive engagement ring.

“Reckon that will be us one day?” Noah asked, studying Des and Gracie as though they were an alien species.

“No way. Marriage is for chumps.” Paul screwed up his nose. “I’m only here because of Des.”

Stomach grumbling, his eyes roamed, already on the hunt for something else to eat. The current options were miniscule sushi rolls and pieces of raw fish. What was the point of eating something if you weren’t going to bother cooking it first?

He brought a champagne flute to his lips and knocked back the remainder of his drink. It wasn’t his poison of choice but it was alcoholic. Better than nothing.

A gloomy funk had descended over Paul ever since the engagement had been announced. He was happy for his brother, of course. Gracie was good for him and they’d worked hard to get past the early hurdles in their relationship. But it was just another opportunity for Des to prove to their family that he was the favorite. The golden child. The chosen one.

The son who would live up to all their expectations.

Des ran the restaurant and bar, First, where Paul worked. His big brother’s success in business would be further complemented by a wedding. Then it wouldn’t be long before the bambini arrived, and Paul would never have a hope of catching him.

A waiter walked past carrying a tray of freshly filled champagne flutes. Paul switched his empty glass for a full one and downed half of it in a single gulp.

“Whoa there. You’re drinking like an eighteen-year-old girl at O week.” Noah shook his head, laughing. “I don’t want to be holding your hair back later tonight when that all comes back up.”

Paul opened his mouth to retort, but Des and Gracie were coming their way. He put on his best “happy brother” face and held his champagne flute up in salute. Gracie launched herself at the two guys, collecting them both in a hug that was impressive for a girl her size.

“How are my future brothers-in-law?” she asked.

Noah might not have been a flesh and blood brother, but the Chapman boys—and now Gracie—treated him as if he were part of the family.

“Enjoying the festivities. Paul here has taken a liking to the champagne.” Noah smiled innocently as Des rolled his eyes.

“Me, too.” Gracie leaned forward and winked at him, her cheeks flushed.

“Too many drinks, not enough dinner,” Des said with a frown. “We should get something into your stomach.”

“Don’t be a bore. I haven’t drunk like this since university—it’s a special night!”

“Can I get that in writing so when you’re glued to the bed all day tomorrow I can remind you the hangover is worth it?”

She poked her tongue out at him before turning to Paul. “Was he always this straight-laced growing up?”

“Uh, yes,” Paul replied. “Hard to believe it, but he was worse.”

“Yikes.” Gracie giggled, covering her mouth with one hand.

When she wandered off to dance with her sister, Des shook his head. “The wedding planning has been a little…tense.”

Noah frowned. “Because of Mrs. Greene?”

No one ever referred to Gracie’s mother as anything but Mrs. Greene, although Paul had been led to suspect her name might be Cecilia. Despite sharing her daughter’s petite stature and flair for style, she lacked any of the warmth and charisma that Gracie exuded, and had a reputation as being a bit of a dragon.

“Yeah.” Des raked a hand through his dark hair. “She’s driving Gracie bananas, but I can’t get involved. She gets worked up if I mention it. Good thing it’ll be over in a few weeks.”

Paul choked on his drink. “A few weeks?”

“Yeah, we’re going to announce it tonight. The wedding is going to be in six weeks.”

“Is she…” Noah looked around to see if anyone else was in earshot.

Des folded his arms across his chest. “She’s not pregnant.”

“Not yet,” Noah said, waggling his eyebrows.

“Why the hurry?” Paul set the champagne flute down.

Des looked over his shoulder. “I don’t want this planning phase to go on any longer than it has to. Besides, we’re ready to be married. It sounds corny, but I don’t want to wait any longer.”

Paul made a gagging motion. “What chick flick did you pull that from?”

“Mock me, oh little brother. One day this will be you, and I’ll be the first one to remind you of this moment.” Des turned to Noah and slapped him on the back. “And when it comes to the wedding you have to wear a suit. No excuses.”

Noah had worn black jeans and an open-collared shirt under a leather motorcycle jacket, despite the fact that the invites had said Dress Code: Cocktail. “It’ll be the first time.”

Des moved on to talk to Gracie’s older sister and left the two men to their drinks. The engagement party was intimate. Private. Immediate family and the bridal party only.

But the wedding would be filled with people Paul didn’t want to face. Most of all, his ex-almost-fiancée and the guy she’d married…who just so happened to be his cousin.

“Six weeks, can you believe it?” Noah shook his head. “How are we going to plan a buck’s party in that time?”

“Yeah…”

But Paul’s mind was consumed with the wedding itself. He’d thought that Gracie and Des would have a more standard engagement, like one or two years…five, if he was lucky. Then he would have time to get his shit sorted, find someone he trusted enough to bring to a family function, and do something noteworthy so he didn’t have to rehash the overdone conversation about his lack of direction in life. He could hear his aunts now.

Paul, why can’t you be more like your brother? Why haven’t you settled down with anyone yet? Don’t you want to get married?

And the underlying question beneath it all: what did you do that was so bad your girlfriend cheated on you with your own cousin?

Like it was his bloody fault.

“Hey.” Noah waved a hand in front of his face. “I said, do you think Des would want a weekend away for his buck’s?”

“Maybe.” Paul wanted to talk about anything that wasn’t connected to the wedding, but his concentration had deserted him.

“You giving a speech?” Noah asked.

Paul looked up. “Huh?”

His friend pointed to a piece of paper sticking out of his suit pants pocket. “I thought you hated speeches.”

“I’m not giving a speech, but I did get her number.” He nodded toward the blond catering assistant who flushed when the two men turned to look at her.

“This is a family event.” Noah shook his head.

Paul grinned. “Girls love me, what can I say?”

“You’re so full of shit.”

Truth was he hadn’t really wanted her number, but old habits die hard. At one point women were the center of Paul’s life, though not any one woman in particular. However, lately he’d stopped going out partying with Noah. He’d even deleted all the numbers in his phone that weren’t family or his mates. Empty encounters had begun to fill him with resentment.

The kind that burrowed deep down and made you question everything.

The sudden decline in socializing hadn’t gone unnoticed; both Des and Noah had questioned him to no avail. He didn’t want meaningless sex anymore nor did he want to be chained up in a relationship hell. If only he could have some kind of in-between solution…

But now Paul had bigger problems to deal with other than his sex-life limbo. Tonight’s announcement meant he had only six weeks to find someone to stand by his side at the wedding and do something meaningful with his life. No big deal, right?

There was no way in hell he’d front up to his ex alone being exactly the same guy as when she’d dumped him two years ago. Not going to happen.

Libby Harris begged her cell phone not to ring again. After four calls bearing bad news, she was about ready to hurl the damn thing out a window. This couldn’t be happening.

One press release and her business—which was on the brink of launching—was going down the drain faster than a Britney Spears comeback. Maybe if she stopped answering her phone the bad news would disappear.

“Stay calm.” Her best friend, Nina Bauer, sat cross-legged on the couch in Libby’s office and mimicked deep breathing. “I know it seems bad, but there’s room in the market for more than one person. Everything will be fine, and we’ll probably laugh at this in a few months.”

“Laugh?” Libby held up her iPad with both hands and thrust it in Nina’s general direction. “My business is going to die because I didn’t launch early enough. That’s nothing to laugh about.”

“Freaking out isn’t going to help the situation.” Nina pushed off the couch and grabbed the iPad, gently setting it down on the coffee table. “And stop waving your gadgets in my face.”

One month out from her launch party, Libby’s business—a line of girlie infused vodkas and cocktail mixes—was in peril. That morning a press statement had been released that the infamous reality TV star turned sex-tape celebrity, Kandy K, was launching her very own line of flavored vodkas.

What were the friggin’ odds?

Now all the businesses she’d lined up to stock Libby Gal Cocktails were dropping like flies—they wanted to jump on the celebrity bandwagon. Despite her social pedigree, Libby Harris was not a celebrity.

“We don’t know how many places are going to pull out. Maybe the worst of it is over.”

Libby dropped her face into her hands and tried not to hyperventilate. “I’m going to fail because I never made a sex tape. How ironic is that?”

Her phone rang again, and Libby threw it into the drawer of her desk, slamming it shut with a resounding bang. She couldn’t take hearing one more restaurant owner tell her that they were “very sorry” but they needed to put their business first and “explore other options.”

They didn’t even have the guts to admit why they were dropping her.

“Trust me, in a few years you’ll be happy you don’t have a sex tape.” Nina pulled open the desk drawer and retrieved the phone. “There’s no point sticking your head in the sand. We need to focus on fixing this problem. How many are we down to?”

“Six, I think.” Libby flipped open her laptop, scanning down the details neatly typed into a spreadsheet. “I had ten restaurants lined up for the soft launch in Melbourne; four have pulled out so far. But I’m pretty sure that”—she pointed at her phone, not daring to pick the damn thing up. It may as well have been a venomous snake baring its fangs—“was Lulu Bar.”

“So we go into damage control. Let’s meet with the restaurant owners and see what we can do. Don’t they say market competition is good?”

Libby balled her fists. “This is not good, it’s a bloody disaster!”

Nina sighed and grabbed one of the bottles of Libby Gal Cocktails infused vodka that sat in an open box, awaiting shipment. “Marshmallow and rose petal, my favorite. Just what the doctor ordered.”

She screwed the top off before Libby could protest and fished out two of the branded shot glasses that were supposed to go along with the order. The sight of her business logo—a martini glass with a lip print on the side and her initials in pink and green—made her suck in a breath.

“We shouldn’t be drinking the stock, Neens.”

“Heavy drinking is often recommended in times of intense stress.” Nina winked and waved the bottle in front of Libby’s face.

Libby laughed despite herself. This was exactly the reason she was friends with Nina. The woman could put a smile on her face no matter how dire life seemed.

“I’m pretty sure that’s the opposite of what’s recommended.”

Nina shrugged and set the shot glasses on Libby’s desk, free pouring until the liquid reached the edge of the glass. “Bottoms up.”

Libby brought it carefully to her lips. She downed the drink in a single gulp, shutting her eyes and letting the alcohol work its magic. The sweet scent of marshmallow and rose petals danced in her nose. It was the first flavor she’d ever made.

The business had started out as a hobby when she’d infused store-bought vodkas in pretty jars and given them as gifts for Christmas and birthdays. When Nina got married she asked Libby to make her a special blend for wedding guest gifts. Compliments and requests came rolling in, and Libby put her medical degree on hold to turn her passion into a business.

It was the first time she’d ever taken a risk on herself.

“Hit me again.” Libby slammed the glass down on her desk and gritted her teeth.

She would not let her business die. She would not admit defeat because of bad timing. And she most definitely would not crawl back to her father and tell him that he was right.

“That’s my girl.” Nina grinned and blew a strand of her electric blue hair out of her face as she refilled the glasses. “Cheers.”

Libby tipped back the second drink and dropped down into her desk chair, surveying her office. The room was originally a spare bedroom, but she’d turned it into her own personal command center. Boxes of product were piled up in one corner, and her adorable vintage couch and coffee table were covered in Nina’s artwork for the launch party. Her desk was a bit of a hot mess, but she still had her beautiful makeshift flower vases—some of the prototype Libby Gal Cocktails bottles—holding rainbow bouquets of roses and oriental lilies.

This was her dream, and she would fight for all of it. Kicking off her towering emerald-green stilettos, she turned her laptop to face her. Slowly, she ran one pink lacquered nail down the column of restaurant contacts and jotted down names and addresses on a notepad.

“What are you going to do about The Chief?” Nina jumped onto the desk, swinging her bare feet back and forth. “You know he’s going to be all over this like a rash.”

Though her father was a world renowned surgeon, he approached everything from parenting to washing his car with a style more suited to the military. Hence the nickname.

“I’m hoping that he’ll be too wrapped up in his latest wife to have noticed,” Libby said.

“You think he won’t mention it? Yeah right.” Nina twirled a strand of her blue hair and let out a sigh. “He’ll latch onto anything right now if it means dragging you back to his life plan.”

“I guess I’ll have to cross that bridge when I come to it.” Libby pursed her lips. “But I know one thing for sure, I’m not going back to med school.”

Chapter Two

Libby gritted her teeth and strode along the footpath, ignoring the throbbing pain from a nasty blister on her heel. She’d been on her feet all day, dashing from one meeting to another in shoes that were better suited to a stilt walker than a burgeoning entrepreneur.

But her look was part of her brand—bright hair, big heels, in-your-face lipstick. People noticed her because of the way she looked, then she made sure they remembered her for what she said. She wasn’t giving that up, blister or no blister.

Sadly, nothing had helped her today. She was zero for ten…every single business she’d signed for her launch had backed out. If her life was a game then she’d hit the biggest damn snake on the board.

Her phone vibrated in her hand, but she didn’t bother to check who was calling. Her father had been trying to get a hold of her for three days, ever since the press release that ruined her business had hit the papers. She hadn’t even bothered to listen to his numerous voicemails, because she knew exactly what they would say. Her father was circling, sensing a chink in her plan—an opening, a weak point, a precious sliver of vulnerability.

After all, daughter dearest had deviated from her path, and he’d been hating every minute of it.

Libby laughed to herself, it was the only response that wouldn’t encourage the onslaught of tears. She’d done right by him her whole life, she’d tried to be the daughter he always wanted. The perfect Grade A student, the Mini-Me to his Dr. Evil. And now that she finally wanted to do something for herself, was he happy?

Hell no.

Still, at least he called. That was more than she could say for her mother.

She shoved the still-buzzing device into her handbag and kept walking. Eventually she’d need to take his call, but after an abysmal day of rejection she needed a drink. Normally getting home to work on a new cocktail or test out a new infusion idea would be priority. But not today.

The buzzing started up again, and Libby rummaged around in her bag to find her phone. She wouldn’t give her father the satisfaction of answering his call, but she could turn the damn thing off so she didn’t go insane. She continued walking as she hunted for her phone, her blood pressure rising with each step. Maybe she should answer his call if only so she could tell him what an arrogant, selfish, mean—“Hey!”

Libby looked up at the sound of the warning but her shoe connected hard with a solid mass. Pain ricocheted through her ankle as the world tilted beneath her feet. A strong hand wrapped around her arm, wrenching her back to standing just as the sound of glass shattering pierced the air around her.

It took her a moment to realize her eyes were squeezed shut, although against what she wasn’t sure. Pain and mortification were neck and neck.

Libby cracked an eyelid open, her breath catching in her throat. The man holding her wore a tight black T-shirt that amply showed off solid arms and broad shoulders. But it was his face that made her chest squeeze and her mouth run dry. The fading daylight cast shadows across him, highlighting razor-sharp cheekbones and full lips. His eyes—edging on black—were covered with heavy lashes, and his hair had been cut short, though it didn’t hide its natural kink.

He held a now-empty tray in the hand that wasn’t wrapped around her arm. Libby risked a glance at the floor and cringed.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his dark brows narrowed in a way that made her unsure whether he was concerned or furious. Maybe it was a little of both.

Her brain grappled for a response, but the fireworks going off in her body were more than a little distracting. It seemed that if you spent long enough away from the opposite sex that first “re-introduction” would wreak havoc on one’s hormones.

“I’m fine.” Libby mustered a smile; she was not the sort of girl who got flustered by a hot guy…usually. Now embarrassing failures of coordination on the other hand… “Uhh…thanks?”

“Was that a question?” He released her slowly, his dark eyes tracking her movement.

She tried to put pressure on her foot but fiery pain shot up her leg, making her gasp. “No.”

“You’re not okay.” He put the drinks tray down on the table. The bar’s name, First, was artfully carved into the wood in funky, tattoo-style font.

For some reason the name sounded familiar.

“Neither are your glasses,” she said miserably looking down to the glittering shards decorating the footpath. “Did I get them all?”

“Every single one.” A smile twitched at the corner of his lips. “But glasses can be replaced. That ankle looks like it needs some TLC, though.”

“I’m fine.” She tried to stand normally while keeping all her weight on her good foot.

Stupid weak ankles and stupid, stupid heels. This day could not get any worse.

His face told her he wasn’t buying it. “Let me help you inside. You can take a seat, and we’ll call you a cab.”

Did she have to embarrass herself in front of the hottest guy on earth? No scratch that, guys like him weren’t best described as hot. Striking, perhaps…or exciting. Darkly sensual.

She swallowed. What happened to being a confident, intelligent, and powerful woman? That was the Libby Gal Cocktails brand. Her signature. But today every ounce of confidence she owned had slinked off with its tail between its legs, and now she was playing damsel in distress. Ugh.

“You look like you could use a drink anyway.” He smiled, holding out a hand to her. “I make a mean Negroni.”

“Can you make it in a vat?”

“That bad, huh?”

She hesitated for a second and then took his hand, a shiver running through her at the slide of his palm against hers. The grip was sure, strong…yet gentle. He abandoned the drinks tray and came closer to her, tugging her arm around his shoulders and supporting her weight against him. They moved slowly, and each step made their bodies press together.

Libby clamped her lips together to keep from crying out as the pain in her ankle worsened.

The bar looked warm and inviting. Golden light spilled through the open door, and the calming sounds of chatter and jazz music beckoned.

“How you holding up?” His easy smile and dark eyes made her heart thump as they stepped into the restaurant.

“Apart from the mortification,” she muttered, “I’ll be fine once I get that drink.”

There were a few steps down from the doorway to the main area, and she could already feel her ankle protesting.

“Are you going to be able to get down the steps?” he asked.

She hesitated and a second later he’d scooped her up into his arms and was carrying her down the steps and across to the bar.

“You can put me down now,” she protested, covering her face with the hand that wasn’t clinging desperately to him.

She hated heights, and he had to be at least six one…which would mean a painful landing if he dropped her. But he walked with her in his arms as though he was only carrying a bag of sugar. Confident, in control.

He probably thought she was a hot mess.

“Do you normally rescue clumsy girls in the street?” she asked as he stopped at the bar and set her down gently on a barstool.

“I’m a bartender; clumsy girls are my specialty.” He flashed her a smile as he reached over the bar and grabbed a pile of folded dishtowels. Placing them on the stool opposite her, he dragged it closer so she could rest her foot there. “You need to keep this elevated. I’ll grab you something cold to put on it.”

“You’re a regular first aid specialist,” she quipped as he came back with a bag of frozen peas.

“Our barista has a habit of burning himself, so we always keep these handy.” He placed the peas on her ankle and removed her shoe.

Each brush of his fingers against her bare skin made her stomach flutter. Talk about a real Cinderella moment.

“There,” he said, standing back and admiring his work. “Now how about that drink?”

“Thank you.” She chanced a look at him, and the dark stare sent shockwaves through her.

Oh yeah, this guy had lady-killer written all over him.

“So you’ve had a rough day?” he asked, heading behind the bar.

She sighed and checked out her surroundings. “The roughest.”

The bar was actually a bar and restaurant, the intimate tables obscured from the street’s view. Being a Tuesday night the room wasn’t especially packed, but they’d filled enough tables to take home a respectable amount, she suspected. The other barstools were empty, except for a lone beer drinker at one end.

“What’ll it be?”

How about you? Naked. Now.

“I’ll take you up on that Negroni. It’s been a while since I’ve had one.” Libby dug her hand into the bag on her lap, hoping to hell he couldn’t read her mind. She pulled out her phone and saw the four missed calls from her father. Ignoring them all, she texted Nina with a pleading request to come and pick her up.

“Now that’s a crying shame. I don’t get to make them too often, a lot of the ladies who come here either drink wine or vodka sodas.” He screwed up his nose and grabbed an orange from a container below the bar. “Pretty boring.”

“I’m definitely more of a cocktail girl.”

“Music to my ears.” He looked up, flashing her a brilliant smile that just about had her panties dissolving.

He deftly sliced the orange so a chunk of peel curled away from the flesh. Gin, Campari, and vermouth were added to a glass filled with ice and stirred. Then he ran the peel around the edges of the glass, squeezing it before dropping it into the sunset-colored drink.

Between his bartending skills and the way he’d carried her, Libby could tell this man was good with his hands…very good. A tingle ran the length of her spine, stirring her in all the right places.

“That looks delicious,” she said, hoping to hell he didn’t realize that she was referring to him and not the drink.

“It’s on the house.” He placed the glass in front of her. “On one condition.”

She sipped the drink and let out a small sigh as the perfect flavor danced on her tongue. An artful medley of sweet and bitter. “Which is?”

“You tell me why your day was so crappy…you know, other than crashing into me and breaking all my glasses.”

She flushed. “I’m working on a business venture, and it’s not going as well as I would like,” she said, fighting her natural desire to put on a confident face and sweep the bad bits under a rug.

He leaned forward, bracing his hands against the bar. “What’s the business?”

“I sell infused vodkas and cocktail mixes.” She took a sip of her drink. “Well, I was going to before all the places I’d lined up pulled out at the last minute.”

“No wonder you were walking like you had a train to catch.”

“I put my studies on hold to start up this business.” The words came tumbling out as though this gorgeous bartender had pulled out an invisible cork. “If I can’t make it work then I’ll have to go back to university. My father’s doing everything in his power to manipulate me into giving up…”

“Ah, family.” He laughed, the sound hollow. “They always complicate things.”

Libby nodded, looking down into her already half-empty glass. Warmth spread through her, loosening her limbs and her tongue, dulling the throbbing in her ankle. The Negroni was a serious cocktail and could do a lot of damage on an empty stomach.

But getting drunk seemed like an excellent idea right about now.

“How come you decided to be a bartender?” She took another swig of her drink.

“All the jobs for rocket scientists were taken,” he joked. “I don’t know. It chose me as a career… I’m good with alcohol.”

“Drinking or mixing?”

“Both.” He chuckled, raking his hand through his hair and offering her a devilish smile. “Although I’d say slightly better at drinking.”

“Cheers to that,” she said, picking up her glass and draining the rest of the cocktail. “How about another?”

“That problem is still going to be there tomorrow.” He accepted the empty glass from her and commenced making another cocktail.

“Can’t a girl have one evening of denial?” She dropped her chin into her hands and sighed.

Flattening his palms against the bar, he leaned forward. “Why did all the restaurants decide to pull out?”

Swallowing—and trying not to stare at how perfectly defined the muscles in his arms were—she considered her options. There was no harm in telling him the real reason, as horrible as it would be to repeat.

“Do you know who Kandy K is?”

He shook his head.

“She was on that reality dating show where they stick everyone on a remote property and they have to fend for themselves and they all end up sleeping with one another by the third episode?”