One Night Charmer

Madison leaned in, still careful not to touch the counter. “I’ll call you. I hope you’re keeping garlic under your pillow.”

“Why?”

“To ward off Natalie, the undead fiancée.”

“Ha. No. No garlic. I hung a crucifix on my door, though. That seemed to do it.”

“Good.”

“If I get infected, promise you’ll kill me.”

“I promise. Because I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Sierra said, her heart tightening a little.

Madison turned away, offering a small wave as she waded through the crowd at the bar and walked out the door. Sierra looked out at all the people, all the orders she had to fulfill. Well, she’d chosen this now. So she was going to wait some damn tables.

Tonight’s shift went much faster. She didn’t have any unpleasant encounters with people she knew. In fact, most people she recognized had been nice to her, if a little concerned-looking at seeing her so out of context.

But by the end of the night she wasn’t as ready to fall into a heap on the floor. She actually felt energized, even though it was well past time for her coach to turn into a pumpkin. She might actually get used to this.

Maybe waiting tables was like training for a marathon. You could work up to it. Or maybe she was on some weird high that would end tomorrow when she had to roll out of bed feeling like crumpled newspaper wrapped around chewed-up gum.

The bar was empty, most of the employees heading out. And she was lingering. Because Ace wasn’t anywhere to be seen and she didn’t want to leave before she was in his eye line. She wouldn’t let him accuse her of slacking off or leaving early or...going out to get emergency eyeliner or whatever BS he would try to pull to both compromise her job and mock her poor little rich girl status.

She wasn’t going to give him an opening. She had performed perfectly tonight, and she was not going to give him a chance to say otherwise. He wanted her to fail. She had no idea why he seemed so invested in her failure, even as he had her here on staff. Honestly, it didn’t make sense.

But, regardless of what she had said the other night, she actually hadn’t ever read the hipster bartender handbook. So the workings of his brain truly were a secret. And she was content to keep it that way.

She walked by his office somewhat conspicuously, hoping that the sound of her footsteps would make him open the door. Nothing.

She paced in front of the door again, making sure to stomp a little bit louder this time. Still nothing.

She let out an exasperated sigh, then turned to face the door, raising her hand, getting ready to knock. As she was about to bring it down, the door swung open, and there was Ace. Looking as cranky and attractive as he always did. His dark hair was disheveled, the stubble on his jaw looking all rakish and sexy.

She supposed he didn’t always look cranky. He didn’t scowl like this when he was dealing with women in the bar. That seemed to be reserved for her.

She wondered if she should feel special.

“Hi,” she said.

“Yes?”

“I just wanted you to know that I’m going to leave now, because everything is clean.”

“Okay. Go. You don’t have to check in with me, no one else does.”

“I didn’t figure you would trust that I hadn’t knocked off work early and had a couple of the other employees carry me out of here on a rickshaw.”

He leaned against the doorjamb, rubbing his forehead with his hand. “I don’t think that. Anyway, you can go.” He turned, preparing to go back into his office.

“Are you staying?” She had no idea why she was asking. She should be leaving as quickly as possible. Staying was like willingly putting her foot into a badger trap. “Because it’s awfully late to be doing things in the office.” Foot. Trap.

“Oh, I’m not working. I’m just watching porn.”

“What kind?” What kind? Really?

He turned toward her again, treating her to a lopsided smile that was a whole lot more interesting than it had any right to be. “The kind with spreadsheets. And fabric swatches.” At her blank look, he shrugged. “Actually, it’s just some planning that I’m doing for the new brewery I’m opening.”

“Okay, that makes a lot more sense than the porn thing.”

His smile broadened, and she felt compelled to return it. “I guess that depends on what you’re into.”

“Not spreadsheets. But you do you.”

“I really hate this, actually. Especially all the decorating stuff. It all looks the same to me. There aren’t any curtains in here. Most of the decor was in place when I took over. This is kind of all new. Plus, the brewery is supposed to be a little more upscale. Meanwhile, I’m not all that upscale.”

“You’re not?” she asked, planting her hand on her hip.

He was making her smile. And she realized now that the gesture was a little bit flirtatious. She wasn’t sure she cared.

You should. You’re supposed to be proving that you’re a good waitress, not that you’re good at picking up guys.

She dropped her hand back to her side.

“Do you think I could use flannel upholstery on the furniture? The curtains, too?”

“Why not? Maybe you could go with the whole lumberjack theme. Individual fireplaces by the tables, people could chop their own wood. It would be cozy.”

“I think you might be overtired.”

“I’ll bet you are, too,” she said, not quite sure why she cared, only that she did.

“Sure. But I’m basically running two businesses right now. And one is a little bit of a problem child.”

“I can help you with that,” she said. And as soon as the words slipped out, she realized she should. She had done a good job waiting tables today, but she wasn’t exactly going to win an award for it. It was also a skill a lot of people could hone, possibly faster than she could. But there were a few skills in life she knew she’d honed to perfection. Event planning, interior design. She was such a cliché. She blamed her mother. Or had her mother to thank. She wasn’t sure which. “I mean, my mother hosts a lot of charity events, and I’ve spent a lot of time helping with menus, and wine lists. Decorations... Anyway, I’m just saying this type of planning isn’t hard for me. It’s something I actually know how to do. So if you ever get tired of hanging out in your office until three in the morning, I’m on hand.”

“You have experience with all of that?”

“Yes, I do. And you can pay me minimum wage to help.”

“But you won’t make tips like you do here.”

She didn’t even have to weigh that. She would take less money to do something that made better use of her skills. She was willing to do her best at waitressing, but managing a project like this and helping with decor sounded much more appealing than spending all night on her feet. “That’s okay.”

He shook his head. “No, it isn’t. I’ll pay you more than minimum wage to help.”

She eyed him skeptically. “And why exactly would you do that?”