Claimed by the Sicilian Tycoon(3)
“And?”
“He’s a member of the House of Lords.”
“Is this supposed to impress me?”
Mitch’s smile widened. “Just filling you in on all the facts.”
“I’m not interested, so tell him no.”
Mitch shrugged, removed the glass, and wandered over to the man in question. House of Lords? Lyra smirked as she took a sip of her own water. He’d likely be pissed at her rejection. Moneyed men always expected people to jump the moment they said so. It pleased her in a very small way to leave him hanging.
“I don’t think he was too happy, or particularly undeterred.”
Lyra smiled at Mitch and nodded to her glass. “Just fill that up with more water.”
He did as she asked, before placing the glass back down in front of her, and giving her a long, considering look. “He’s the third guy to offer you a drink. One after the other you tell them no, and that’s just the ones who have dared approach.”
“What’s your point?”
“You’re not married.”
“You know that how?”
“You’re not wearing a ring.”
Lyra shrugged. “Lots of women don’t wear rings anymore. I could have it on a chain around my neck, or I could have left it at home.”
“But all married women wear their ring at some point, and your finger has no indentation.”
“Ah.”
“Plus you’re obviously out to impress someone.”
She laughed and crossed her legs, smirking inwardly as she imagined Mr. Moneyed Blond, and all the other men who’d offered her drinks, watching and wishing. They were always wishing. It amused her to let them, would have done so even if she wasn’t here on a very specific mission, for a very specific man.
“Gosh, Mitch,” she sighed, unable to resist flirting a little with him. “I am all agog to hear how you worked that one out.”
He grinned, clearly not taking offence at her snarky words. “The outfit.”
“What of it?”
“It screams pick up.”
“In what way?”
Mitch grabbed a glass and a rag in the very typical bartender action. The rag was pristine white, and the glass was already sparkling, but he rubbed inside of it as he lounged against the taps and smiled at her. “The dress is just short enough to show some leg but not so short that it makes you look like a slut. The cleavage? Again, just a hint but not too much, and those heels.” He shook his head. “God knows how you can even walk in them.”
“Perhaps I always dress like this?”
“Nope. I’ve tended this bar since I started my undergrad studies and I’m doing my post grad now. That long in one job?” He shrugged. “You become a sort of people watcher when you spend so long in one place. It helps to alleviate the boredom. So I’ve been watching you since you came in and I got it immediately.”
“What did you get?”
“You’re here to pick someone up, but not the men who have tried to pick you up. It’s someone else.”
Lyra smiled. Mitch was perceptive, but she had been silly not to consider the fact that he might be. Had she not done enough menial, mind numbingly boring jobs to remember how she’d kept herself entertained? Like Mitch, people watching was one of the possibilities and—she paused, shooting him a look—it was something she could use to her advantage if she played the situation right.
“Okay let’s say you’re right. I could ask you a few questions, then.”
“Shoot.”
“Andros Casstellini.” Two words and the reaction from the man behind the bar was exactly as she suspected. He whistled low under his breath, and shook his head.
“You’re not serious?”
“Sweetie, I always am.”
“That is one big fish you’re trying to catch.”
Lyra grinned. “Always go for the biggest is my motto. That way at least you might end up with something in the middle.”
“My mom used to say something like that. Reach for the stars and at the least you’ll hit the moon.”
“Exactly.”
Mitch placed the sparkling glass next to all the other sparkling glasses, and picked up a frosted tumbler. “So does he know you’re trying to catch him?”
Lyra tilted her head, considering Mitch’s phrase. She wasn’t trying to catch Andros in that sense, because she was so not stupid enough to think a man like him would allow a woman like her to do so. She’d more than done her homework on Andros Casstellini, the sisters had all thoroughly researched their marks, and the woman who eventually caught the brooding Sicilian would be a dark haired heiress, or an icy blonde socialite. She would not be a redheaded girl from the wrong side of the tracks.