The Fixed Trilogy(Fixed on You, Found in You, Forever With You)(3)

And then, as if on cue in the bad luck life I led, Sasha returned. “David, that group in Bubble Five is harassing the waitress again.”

“On it.” He turned to me. “You can handle it for a minute?”

“I so got this.” I so didn’t have it. Not with Mr. Draw-Laynie-To-Me-Whatever-The-Cost-To-Her-Sanity sitting at the end of the bar.

But my declaration was convincing. David slipped out from behind the counter, leaving me alone with the suit. Even Regular and his friends had joined a group of giggly girls at a nearby table. I scanned the dance floor hoping I could attract customers by glaring at the sea of faces. I needed drink orders. Otherwise, Suit might think I was avoiding him by hiding in my corner, which, of course, I was. But, honestly, the distance between us did nothing to dim the tight ball of desire rolling around in my stomach. It was pointless avoidance.

I sighed and wiped down the counter in front of me, though it didn’t seem to need it, just to keep myself occupied. When I braved a glance over at the hottie who had invaded my space, I noticed his Scotch was nearing empty.

I also noticed his eyes pinned on me. His penetrating gaze felt more than the typical stare of a customer trying to attract the bartender, but knowing I had a tendency to exaggerate the meanings of other people’s actions, I dismissed the idea. Summoning my courage, I forced myself over to check on him.

Who am I kidding? No forcing was necessary. I glided to him as if he were pulling me with an invisible rope. “Another?”

“No, I’m good.” He handed me a hundred. Of course. I’d been hoping he’d give me a credit card so I could glean his name.

No, no, I was not hoping for that. I did not care for his name. Nor did I notice that his left hand was absent of any ring. Or that he was still watching my every move as I took the cash he’d given me and rung his order into the register.

“Special occasion?” he asked.

I furrowed my brow then remembered he’d seen our toast. “Uh, yeah. My graduation. I walk tomorrow for my MBA.”

His face lit up in honest admiration. “Congratulations. Here’s to your every success.” He raised his drink toward me and downed the final swallow.

“Thank you.” I was transfixed on his mouth, his tongue darting out to clean the last drop of liquid off his lips. Yum.

When he set his glass down, I reached out my hand to give him his change, bracing myself for the thrill of contact that would inevitably happen when he took it from me.

But the contact never came. “Keep it.”

“I can’t.” He’d given me a hundred. For one glass of Scotch. I couldn’t take that.

“You can and you will.” His commanding tone should have rankled me, but instead it got my juices flowing. “Consider it a graduation gift.”

“Okay.” His demeanor took away my will to argue. “Thanks.” I turned to stuff the money into my tip jar on the back counter, pissed at myself for the effect this stranger had on me.

“Is this also a goodbye party?” His voice called from behind me, drawing me back to face him. “I don’t imagine you’ll be using your MBA to continue bartending.”

Of course that’s what a suit would assume. He was probably some business type that shared the opinion of my brother—there were jobs worth having and jobs for other people. Bartending was the latter.

But I loved bartending. More, I loved the club. I’d only started my graduate work because I needed more to do. Something to keep me “occupied” was what Brian had said when he offered to pay for my expenses beyond what my scholarship and financial aid covered.

It was a good decision—the right decision since it essentially stopped my life from spiraling out of control. For the past three years I’d thrown my life into school and the nightclub. Problem was that graduation took most of my preoccupation away. And now bogged down with student loans, I had to figure out how to make ends meet without having to leave The Sky Launch.

But I had a plan. I wanted a promotion. I’d been helping with supervisory duties for the last year, but had been unable to get an official title since managers had to work full-time. Now that school was over, I was available for more hours. David had been grooming me for the position. The only wrinkle in my trajectory could be a new owner. But I wasn’t going to worry about that. Yet.

Explaining my intent to strangers was never easy, though. How wise was it to use an MBA from Stern for a career in nightclub management? Probably not wise at all. So I swallowed before answering the suit. “Actually, I’d like to move up here. I love the nightclub scene.”

To my surprise, he nodded, his eyes shimmering as he sat forward into the bright white light of the bar. “It makes you alive.”