Pretend It's Love(4)

"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?"

He looked at her as though she'd sprouted antennae and had started speaking an alien language. "Uh, no."

"Anyway, it's D-grade TV. She was on that show and then someone leaked a sex tape of her and some football player-"

"Ah, yeah." He snapped his fingers. "And now she hosts some late night radio talk show."

"Yes, that's her."

"What the hell does she have to do with your business?"

"Well." She sucked in a deep breath. "Kandy K is bringing out a line of  infused vodkas, and all the restaurants I had lined up to launch my  product are now backing out for a chance to get her stuff instead."

"Right." He frowned and raked a hand through his hair.

"Since she's partnering with one of the big vodka companies the exposure  is going to be huge." Libby stared at her empty glass, willing it to  refill itself. "There's no way they'd take a chance on some one-woman  band when they could have that instead. It's so frustrating working your  butt off for something and then have it completely crumble right in  front of you."



He wouldn't know …  When had Paul ever really worked for anything? He  breezed through life on charm and charisma, at least that's what his ex  had said.

The girl in front of him looked up with her huge eyes. They weren't  brown, but they weren't green, either. At this close distance he could  see the flecks of gold and gray that speckled her irises, the half-moon  of green that sliced through the honey-colored rings.

They were like her-intriguing, unusual, and sexy as hell.

She was a whirlwind of energy. It had certainly felt like a tornado  struck him when she'd smacked into him at full speed, knocking the  glasses straight off his tray and stealing the breath right out of his  lungs. Not to mention he'd had to keep control over his body's natural  reactions when he'd picked her up and felt the brush of her sweet curves  against him.

She wasn't even his usual type. He was a die-hard blonde man and this  girl's hair was like the color of a copper coin. Most of the time, he  found himself attracted to the life-of-the-party type, the girls who  were the ones dancing even when there was no dance floor. She looked  like she knew how to have fun, but there was a serious streak to her.  She was sharp, intelligent.

Different.

"You have to at least tell me your name," he said, running another curl  of orange peel around the edge of her glass and dropping it into the  drink. "In case this evening of denial ends up with me needing to call  someone to pick you up."

"Guess," she said with a smirk, reaching out and taking the drink from him.

"You want me to guess your name?"

"Yeah." Her rosy lips wrapped around the edge of the glass as she sipped. "What kind of girl do I look like?"         

     



 

"One who knows how to lead a guy straight into trouble."

He folded his arms across his chest, resisting her bait. Lips quirked  into a smile, she waited for him to answer her question, her eyes locked  onto his in silent challenge. For a moment the rest of the restaurant  faded away; the ambient sounds dissolved into nothingness as his whole  world focused in on her. For some reason the little staring contest made  his blood pump harder, his competitive side stirred by the tilt in her  chin.

"If you don't guess then I won't tell you my name," she threatened, smiling.

"I'll have to call you Tiger then."

"Tiger?" She threw her head back and burst out laughing. "Why on earth would you call me Tiger?"

"We had a cat called Tiger growing up. He was ginger and his fur was exactly the same color as your hair."

"Great, so you're telling me that I remind you of an old cat." She tried  to sound offended, but her eyes sparkled and amusement bubbled in her  voice. "That's charming."

"I'm calling it. Bartender one, Tiger zero."

"My name is Libby." She extended her hand over the bar. "Don't call me Tiger."

"Paul."

A zing of electricity rocketed through him as her small palm slotted  into his. Her skin was smooth and creamy, but she had a handshake as  firm as any guy he'd ever met. It was the kind of handshake that warned  him not to underestimate her.

"So this isn't your bar?" she asked, releasing his hand.

"Nope." He busied himself with wiping down the countertop. "My brother runs this place."

One of the waiters came past and handed over an order slip. Two boutique beers and a house G&T. Boring.

"It looks like he's doing well for himself," Libby said, sipping her drink.

Paul bent down to the fridge below the bar and pulled out two beer  bottles. He popped off the caps and set them down on a tray. "We got a  write up in Gastronomy Magazine recently. They called us one of  Melbourne's up and comers."

"Really?" Libby raised a brow and nodded her head. "That's quite an  honor. I'm surprised you could squeeze me in tonight. My grand entrance  notwithstanding."

"Week nights are still a little slow," he replied with a smile. "But  we're packed on Fridays and over the weekends now. We had a queue right  around the corner last Saturday."

The article had been a huge win for First and reservations were up all  around. They'd had to hire two new waitresses to keep up with the  demand. Paul felt a surge of pride run through him, despite the fact  that it wasn't a win for him personally. But he wanted First to succeed.  His brother deserved it.

"Hey, man. Don't tell me you've resorted to hitting on girls who can't  run away." Noah appeared at the bar and winked at Libby. "I left some  paperwork in the back office. Have you got the key?"

"I'm perfectly comfortable here, thank you very much." Libby said primly, sipping her drink.

"If he's hassling you, just call out." Noah came around the bar and dug  his elbow into Paul's ribs. "Although we never seem to get any  complaints, do we? The ladies love him."

"What the fuck?" Paul muttered under his breath, glaring at his so-called friend as he dug the keys out of his pocket.

"Relax, she knows I'm joking." Noah grabbed the keys from Paul's hand.  "Gee, can't take a little friendly ribbing tonight, can we? This is  payback for always stealing the pretty girls in high school. That was  uncool, and you know it."

"That was years ago." Paul turned to Noah so Libby couldn't see his face. "Are you going to hold that against me forever?"

As Noah sauntered off, Paul turned and caught Libby watching him  closely, her hazel eyes sweeping over him in unconcealed analysis. What  did he care if she believed that he was a shameless womanizer? It's not  like he'd see her again.