The Millionaire Affair(51)

Aiden laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't embarrass yourself."

Shane straightened and pushed the beer bottle aside. "Wanna bet?"

"With you?" Aiden lifted a thick blond eyebrow. "Forget it! You wipe your ass with fifties."

"Hundreds," Shane corrected, earning a hearty chuckle.

"Then again," Aiden said after finishing off his bottle, "I wouldn't  mind seeing you in action, learn what not to do now that I'm single  again. Find a cute girl and I'll be your wingman." Before Shane could  respond, Aiden elbowed him. "Except for her."

Shane followed his cousin's pointing finger to the bar, where a woman  dabbed at her eyes with a napkin. She looked so delicate sitting there,  folded over in her chair, an array of brown curls concealing part of her  face.

"Crying chicks either have too much baggage, or they're wasted."

Says Aiden Downey, dating guru.

"Drunk can be good," he continued, "but by the time you get close enough to find out, it's too late."

Shane frowned. He didn't like being told what to do. Or what not to. He  wasn't sure if that's what made him decide to approach her, or if he'd  decided the second Aiden pointed her out. He felt his lips pull into a  deeper frown. He shouldn't be considering it at all.         

     



 

A cocktail waitress stopped at their table. Shane waved off the offer of  another, his eyes rooted on the crying girl at the bar. She looked as  out of place in this crowd as he felt, dressed unassumingly in jeans and  a black top, her brown hair a curly crown that stopped at her jawline.  In the flashy crowd, she could have been dismissed as plain …  but she  wasn't plain. She was pretty.

He watched as she brushed a lock from her damp face as her shoulders  rose and fell. The pile of crumpled napkins next to her paired with the  far-off look in her eyes suggested she was barely keeping it together.  Grief radiated off of her in waves Shane swore he could feel from where  he sat. Witnessing her pain made his gut clench. Probably because  somewhere deep inside, he could relate.

Aiden said something about a girl on the dance floor, and Shane flicked  him an irritated glance before his eyes tracked back to the girl at the  bar. She sipped her drink and offered the bartender a tight nod of  thanks as he placed a stack of fresh napkins in front of her.

Shane felt an inexplicable, almost gravitational pull toward her, his  feet urging him forward even as his brain raised one argument after  another. Part of him wanted to help, though if she wanted to have a  heart-to-heart, she'd be better off talking to Aiden. But if she needed  advice or a solution to a tangible problem, well, that he could handle.

He glanced around the room at the predatory males lurking in every  corner and wondered again why she was here. If he did approach her, an  idea becoming more compelling by the moment, she'd likely shoot him down  before he said a single word. So why was he mentally mapping a path to  her chair? He pressed his lips together in thought. Because there was a  good chance he could erase the despair from her face, a prospect he  found more appealing than anything else.

"Okay, her friend is hot, I'll give you that," Aiden piped up.

Shane blinked before snapping his eyes to the brunette's left. Her "hot  friend," as Aiden so eloquently put it, showcased her assets in a  scandalously short skirt and backless silver top. He'd admit she was  hard to miss. Yet Shane hadn't noticed her until Aiden pointed her out.  His eyes trailed back to the brunette.

"Okay," Aiden said on a sigh of resignation. "Because I so desperately  want to see this, I'm going to take a bullet for you. I'll distract the  crier. You hit on the blonde." That said, he stood up and headed toward  the bar …  to flirt with the wrong girl.

The platitude of only having one chance to make a first impression  flitted through Shane's head. He called Aiden's name, but his shout was  lost under the music blasting at near-ear-bleeding decibels. Aiden may  be younger and less experienced, but he also had an undeniable charm  girls didn't often turn down. If the brunette spotted his cousin first,  she wouldn't so much as look at Shane. He abandoned his beer, doing a  neat jog across the room and reaching Aiden just as he was moving in to  tap the brunette's shoulder.

"My cousin thought he recognized you," Shane blurted to the blonde, grabbing Aiden by the arm and spinning him in her direction.

The blonde surveyed Aiden with lazy disinterest. "I don't think so."

Aiden lifted his eyebrows to ask, What the hell are you doing?

Rather than explain, Shane clapped both palms on Aiden's shoulders and  shoved him closer to the blonde. "His sister's in the art business." It  was a terrible segue if the expression on Aiden's face was anything to  go by, but it was the first thing that popped into Shane's head.

The music changed abruptly, slowing into a rhythmic techno-pop remix  that had dancers slowing down and pairing up. Aiden slipped into an  easy, confident smile. "Wanna dance?" he asked the blonde.

The moment the question was out of his mouth, the scratches and hissing  of snare drums shifted into the melodic chimes of the tired and  all-too-familiar line dance, "The Electric Slide."

Aiden winced.

Shane coughed to cover a laugh. "He's a great dancer," he said to the blonde.

Aiden shot his elbow into Shane's ribs but recovered his smile a second  later. Turning to the blonde, he said, "He's right, I am," then offered  his hand.

The blonde glanced at his palm, then leaned past Shane to talk to her  friend. "You gonna be okay here?" she called over the music.

The brunette flicked a look from her friend to Shane. The moment he  locked on to her bright blue eyes, his heart galloped to life, picking  up speed as if running for an invisible finish line. Her eyes left his  as she addressed her friend. "Fine."

It wasn't the most wholehearted endorsement, but at least she'd agreed to stay.         

     



 

Aiden and the blonde made their way to the dance floor, and Shane gave  his collar a sharp tug and straightened his suit jacket before turning  toward the brunette. She examined him, almost warily, her lids heavy  over earnest blue eyes. He'd seen that kind of soul-rendering sadness  before, a long time ago. Staring back at him from his bathroom mirror.

"That was my cousin, Aiden." He bumbled to fill the dead air between them. "He wanted to meet your friend."

"Figures," the brunette said, barely audible over the music.

He ignored the whistling sound of their conversation plummeting to its  imminent death. "She seems nice. Aiden can be kind of an ass around nice  girls," he added, leaning in so she could hear him.

She rewarded him with a tentative upward curve of her lips, the top  capping a plumper bottom lip that looked good enough to eat. He offered a  small smile of his own, perplexed by the direction of his thoughts.  When was the last time he'd been thrown this off-kilter by a woman? Let  alone one he'd just met? She shifted in her seat to face him, and a warm  scent lifted off her skin-vanilla and nutmeg, if he wasn't mistaken. He  gripped the back of the chair in front of him and swallowed  instinctively. Damn. She smelled good enough to eat.

She dipped her head, fiddled with the strap of her handbag, and Shane realized he was staring.

"Shane," he said, offering his hand.

She looked at it a beat before taking it. "Crickitt."

"Like the bug?" He flinched. Smooth.

"Thanks for that." She offered a mordant smile.

Evidently he was rustier at this than he'd thought. "Sorry." Best get to  the point. "Is there something you need? Something I can get you?"

Her eyes went to the full drink in front of her. "I've had plenty, but thanks. Anyway, I'm about to leave."

"I'm on my way out. Can I drop you somewhere?"

She eyed him cautiously.

Okay. Perhaps offering her a ride was a bit forward and, from her perspective, dangerous.

"No, thank you," she said, turning her body away from his as she reached for her drink.

Great. He was creepy club guy.

He leaned on the bar between the blonde's abandoned chair and Crickitt.  Lowering his voice, he said, "I think I'm doing this all wrong. To tell  the truth, I saw you crying and I wondered if I could do anything to  help. I'd …  like to help. If you'll let me."

She turned to him, her eyes softening into what might have been  gratitude, before a harder glint returned. Tossing her head, she met his  eye. "Help? Sure. Know anyone who'd like to hire a previously  self-employed person for a position for which she has little to no  experience?"

He had to smile at her pluck …  and his good fortune. Crickitt's problem  may be one he could help with after all. "Depends," he answered,  watching her eyebrows give the slightest lift. He leaned an elbow on the  bar. "In what salary range?"