Rumor(11)

At that moment, Dean stepped away from the bar and started through the club toward the entry. He was dressed in his typical slacks, silky button-down open at the collar, with a blazer over the top. He was in his early sixties, was never sleazy with the girls, paid fair salaries, and was generous with his appreciation of the staff’s hard work. Which was why she didn’t want to lose him as a boss. If Josh had said something—she couldn’t imagine what, but something—that would get her in trouble…or fired…she was going to turn homicidal.

“Hey, hey, Nick,” he said as he neared, his grin wide and authentic. “Did you hear the crowd going crazy for your Santa Baby number?”

She relaxed and returned his grin. “I did. The girls were amazing. I’m training a few new ones each day. By Christmas, we should have twenty-five doing it at once.”

He reached out and tapped her nose. “You are amazing. I was telling your friend Josh there all about how you’ve turned this club into something really special.” He glanced over his shoulder toward Josh and laughed, his belly rocking with the sound. “Think I might have just talked him into a coma.”

“Um, yeah…sorry about that…”

“Oh, come on. This happens here on a nightly basis. Nice guy. We were both squids once upon a time,” he said, using the navy’s alternative to “sailor.” “He was really interested in your plans for the studio.”

Grace grimaced internally, and she thought the skin beneath her left eye might have twitched, but Dean didn’t seem to notice. “Well, I’m glad you two hit it off. I’m going to see if I can get him off the stool now.”

“Good luck, honey.” Dean squeezed her shoulder and winked. “And great job with the girls. You’re my star.”

She smiled. “See you tomorrow.”

She strolled to Josh’s side and paused, greeting the bartenders, Sandra and Kelly. “How much did he drink?”

Sandra straightened bottles underneath the counter and gave Grace a sympathetic grimace. “I cut him off when he’d finished half a fifth.”

Grace sucked air through her teeth. That was eight shots. “Shit.”

Sandra lifted a shoulder, glancing at Josh. “He’s a big guy. Averaged about two shots an hour. He’ll be okay.”

“He’s so sweet, Nikki,” Kelly said. “Not to mention smokin’ hot. Kept his back to the stage all night. Kept asking when you’d be off. If you aren’t keeping him, would you mind giving him my number? I never meet nice guys like that.”

Grace sighed and turned her gaze on Josh. His hair was a tousled mess, one closed eye visible beneath the fringe. The sight of his long golden lashes curved against his cheekbone took Grace back to what had seemed like magical months together. From the moment he’d been flown back to San Diego from Syria, Grace had been by his side.

She fingered back the butter-soft strands of hair that had fallen into his eyes. A soft smile turned her mouth, and tears welled out of nowhere. She sniffed them back, then squeezed his shoulder to wake him. “Josh, time to go home.”

His lashes fluttered, but he remained perfectly still as he gained his bearings. Only then did he sit up slowly. He rubbed his face on a heavy exhale. “How long was I out?”

“Not long,” Sandra said.

“Maybe ten minutes.” Kelly added with a flirty smile. “You can sleep on my bar anytime.”

He licked his lips, pulled cash from his pocket, and laid out two hundred-dollar bills, one for each of the women. “Thanks for keeping me company, ladies.”

Both Sandra and Kelly lifted their brows at Grace.

“Okay, big spender, where are you staying? And how are you getting there?” She could easily drive him to his hotel, but she was tired and absolutely didn’t want to get into another argument.

“Nowhere.” He reached for a small bowl of mints sitting on the bar and popped one into his mouth. “I wasn’t planning on staying. Shit, I have to call my mom.”

He stood and took a few steps away from the bar, the phone at his ear.

“His mom?” Kelly asked in a hush. “God, he’s adorable. I just want to take him home.”

Take him home. That thought lit off flashes all over Grace’s body. “He’s not that adorable. Josh.” She lifted her voice and he turned around. “It’s too late to call your mom. Three-hour time difference, remember?”

“But they’re expecting me…” He rolled his wrist to look at his watch—the same watch Isaac and their entire team had worn. “Ah, shit. They think they’re picking me up at the airport… Hey, yeah, Mom,” he said into the phone, “it’s me. I’m sorry, I didn’t make my flight… No, no, everything’s fine. I’m still coming. Yes, I promise. Okay. I’ll call you tomorrow. Love you.”