I drained my glass. There was always one way to make a bartender come to me. “Miss!” I called out. “Another please.”
She came back over, picking up the bottle on her way.
“Can I get your name with that drink?” I asked. “So I don't have to keep yelling 'Miss' at you every time I want a refill.”
“You are planning on drinking more?” She filled the glass. “Perhaps I should take your car keys.”
“Are you concerned with my safety?” I reached out toward her hand.
She pulled back before I could touch her. “As I am with all of my customers.”
“So I'm nothing special?” I tried giving her my best sad face. I'd used it for everything from getting out of parking tickets to convincing teachers to give me extensions for homework or retakes for tests. And that didn't even include all the times I'd gotten laid because girls thought it was cute.
She sighed. “Let me keep you from wasting your time. You cannot charm me into giving you free drinks or my phone number. Another drink, that I will give you. A listening ear as well, but that is as far as it will go.”
I stared at her. Had she just shut me down? I'd never had a woman so blatantly tell me no. Sure, there had been the ones who'd played hard to get, but they'd always been coy about it, still sending out signals that they were interested. With her, I wasn't so sure that was the case. There had to be a reasonable explanation.
“Are you gay?” The question popped out before I could stop it. I flushed, probably for the first time ever. “I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to say that.” I looked down at the glass. “Must've been stronger than I thought.”
For the first time, she actually looked amused. “I am not a lesbian, Mister...”
“Blayne,” I said. “Blayne Westmore.” I waited for recognition, but it didn't come. “And you are?”
She topped off my glass again. “Still not interested.”
My eyes narrowed as she walked away and I took another drink. She might not be interested, but I definitely was. I would win her over if it was the last thing I did.
Chapter 6
Livie
I had been working at the bar for several weeks, and before that I had worked at other places as a waitress. Then there were the years I had spent as a model. I was used to men ogling me and flirting with me. Young men, old men, fat, thin, ugly, attractive. Sometimes they were sober, more often they were drunk, though that was usually due to my location more than them needing to be drunk to think I was good-looking. I had a fair assessment of my appearance. No one became a model by being unattractive.
And speaking of looks... I gave my newest customer another sideways glance. He said his name was Blayne Westmore and his tone implied the name should mean something to me. It didn't, but I didn't need to know who he was to know who he was. I may not have known all the important names in Philadelphia society or all of the American celebrities who thought their names meant something, but I knew clothes and his were top of the line. A man dressed as he was dressed did not frequent places like Frankie's. He was, as my sister would have said with her acquired American lingo, “slumming it.”
That didn't mean I didn't find him attractive. He was gorgeous. A strong jaw and features that were a touch too masculine for him to be pretty, but not so much so that he could be called rugged. His hair had the messy look that was currently popular and his eyes were warm as they watched me. And it wasn't merely a friendly warmth.
It didn't matter how hot he was though. There were plenty of men who had flirted with me who were almost, if not equally, as attractive. None of them, however, had gotten anywhere. I was always polite, but never encouraged them. Some didn't take it well, wanting me to respond more positively to their advances. But for the most part, the worst I received were a variety of insults.
Then there were a few who refused to give up. I had a feeling Blayne would be one of those. As long as he kept his hands to himself, I didn't mind. Growing up in an orphanage had taught me to have a thick skin and the ability to ignore most things. I risked another look and warmth coiled in my stomach. If I were completely honest, I couldn't say I completely disliked the idea of him continuing to flirt with me.
I resisted a scowl as I approached a new customer. It didn't matter if I liked him flirting with me. I didn't have the time or the desire for a romantic relationship, even if there was a possibility of having one.
I took the customer's order and turned around to get the drinks.
I wasn't even sure what I was thinking. I knew men like Blayne. They didn't hit on me for a relationship or a date. He wanted to know what time I got off because he wanted sex. That was all. While Katka might have been that type of person, I wasn't. I had no problem surviving without sex or a relationship. I did better on my own. In fact, I preferred it that way.
Things began to slow as I walked back over to Blayne. We had two sets of regulars. The ones who were leaving now and the ones who would come in shortly to get their quick drinks before heading home. Since it was a Sunday night, not many people would linger.
“You know,” Blayne said as he peered up at me. “You're beautiful enough to be a model.”
Like I hadn't heard that one before. I filled his glass and started to turn away even though I didn't have anyone else calling for my attention. I caught my breath when he grabbed my arm.
“Please just tell me your name.”
I looked down at those dark gray eyes and tried to deny the way my skin tingled where his hand was on me. What harm could it do?
“Livie,” I said. “My name is Livie.”
He beamed at me, a real smile, not the smarmy one he'd tried giving me before. I was almost reluctant to pull away, but I knew I had to. I didn't want him getting the wrong idea.
“So, Liv, how's your night going?”
I usually hated it when people tried to shorten my name, but the way it sounded coming from him, I found I didn't mind quite so much.
“Fine,” I said as I removed my arm from underneath his hand.
“Aren't you going to ask me how mine is?”
His words were starting to slur slightly.
“I'll tell you how my night went.” He drained the last of his drink. “First, after a weekend where I apparently did some stupid shit, my dad tells me he's going to cut me off if I don't straighten up.”
I couldn't say I thought that was entirely a bad thing. People who had to work for their money often appreciated it more.
“And part of his version of straightening up means I have to get married in six months.”
I hadn't seen that one coming. Not exactly an American idea. “Your father is going to force you to marry?” The surprise caused me to ask a personal question I normally avoided.
Blayne nodded, the expression on his face glum. “Wanted me to marry this girl in a ‘business merger’.” He gestured toward his glass.
It was against my better judgment, but I poured it.
“My brothers both married the right girls,” he said. “Sisters did too.” He frowned, his expression muddled. “Right boys. Not girls.” He started to snicker. “Dad would've been pissed if the girls liked girls. Okay to look 'progressive', but bad in the family. Can't not be exactly what everyone else is.”
I handed a regular his usual draft without moving very far from Blayne. He didn't seem to notice I'd stepped away because he was still talking when I came back. I got the impression he was talking more to himself than to me, but I didn't want him to think I was being rude.
“I shouldn't care,” he said. “Shouldn't care what he thinks about me, right?”
My heart twisted. He sounded so sad and I didn't think it was an act this time. I didn't know him, but no one should feel that way about their parents.
He looked up at me and one side of his mouth quirked up in a half-smile. “Maybe I should pay you a hundred grand to elope with me to Vegas. My dad would love that. You look like a nice girl.”
I shook my head indulgently. Leave i
t to a rich man to think that money could solve all of his problems. Blayne seemed nice enough, but I had no doubt he was just as irresponsible and spoiled as the rich kids who used to hang out around the models in Europe. I wouldn't have been surprised if he was into drugs as well.
“Excuse me again,” I said as I heard the usual rabble entering. These were the men who only wanted a quick drink, so I wouldn't need to linger, but there were enough of the men that I had to spend a good half hour away from Blayne. When I finally got back to him, he was staring forlornly at his empty glass.
“Another one?” He made it a question as he looked up at me.
I glanced at my watch. “It is almost closing time. Do you want me to call you a cab?”
He scowled, but it was directed at the glass rather than me. “I better settle up.” He managed to pull out his wallet, but it took him three attempts to do it. Another two tries to get a credit card out. “Here.”
“I will ring this up,” I said as I took the card. “Do you wish for a taxi?”
He blearily looked at me, but didn't say anything. I would call whether he wanted me to or not. I was not going to let him go stumbling out into the cold where he would either get into a car and risk both his and others' lives or he would end up freezing to death because he passed out somewhere. It really wasn't my problem, but what kind of person would I be if I let any of that happen?
I rang up his charges and then went about cleaning up a few things before turning back to see Blayne with his head down on the bar. I swore silently. I really hoped he hadn't passed out.
“Blayne?”
No response.
I reached toward him, hesitated and then put my hand on his shoulder and gave him a shake.
“Nope,” he muttered. “Not gonna marry her.”
I sighed. Dammit. Maybe if left him alone for a little bit, he'd wake up enough to get into a cab. I made a call and then went about getting things closed down. I saw the cab pull up in front of the bar just as I was finishing. I went back over to Blayne who was now snoring loudly.
“Blayne.” I shook him again. “Wake up. You need to go home.”
His hand relaxed and his wallet dropped onto the counter. I picked it up and put his credit card back into an empty slot. I started to put it back and then glanced out at the cab. No one else was in the bar, so all I had to do was get Blayne out of here and I could go home.
I wondered if I could get him into the cab and just give the driver the address. I flipped over to Blayne's license. I didn't know the city completely, but even I knew that this address was an expensive place to live.
And a penthouse, which meant Blayne would have to go upstairs or use an elevator. I looked at him. I doubted he'd even be able to get out of a cab on his own. I had a choice to make. I could try to shove him into a cab, but that wouldn't be fair to the driver. I could take him out of the bar and leave him outside to make his way home himself. I already knew why this was a bad idea. My other option was to call the cops and have them take Blayne to jail to sleep it off. Based on what he'd said earlier, I really didn't want to do that to him either. It sounded like it would only make things worse for him.
That only left me with one true option.
I walked around the bar and put Blayne's wallet back into his jacket pocket. He stirred.
“Hey, baby.” The words were barely understandable.
“Come with me.” I put his arm around my shoulder. “If your hand wanders, you will regret it.”
He laughed. “You're funny.” He slumped against me, only half-conscious again.
I staggered. He was heavier than he looked. I'd thought all that bulk had been from his coat, but apparently not. I managed to get us to the door, turn out the lights and get everything locked up, though I wasn't entirely sure how. The taxi driver was polite enough to get the back door for me and I pushed Blayne inside.
“He's going to throw up all over my cab, isn't he?” The cab looked down at Blayne.
“He can afford it,” I said.
The driver looked at me and then at Blayne and I could see the wheels turning.
“Do not worry,” I said. “I am going too.” I slid in next to Blayne and closed the door. When the cabbie got in, I rattled off the address I'd read off of Blayne's license. I really hoped he had a key somewhere too, otherwise, he would find himself sitting in the hallway outside of his penthouse. I was already going above and beyond getting him home safely. And I doubted he would remember any of it.
Chapter 7
Blayne
My head was pounding again, but at least, this time, my mouth was just dry and tasted like leftover moderately expensive vodka. It wasn't entirely pleasant, but I was pretty sure I hadn't thrown up, so that was good. The thing that was not good was that I once again had no idea where I was or how I got there.
I groaned as I pushed myself up into a half-sitting position. To my relief, my stomach only did a couple mild somersaults. I opened my eyes and processed my surroundings.
I was on my own couch, which was weird since I had no clue how I'd gotten home, but I was grateful I was here. My couch was comfortable and that also meant I didn't have to spend the next couple hours trying to figure out where I was and how I would get home. I frowned. I really hoped I hadn't driven back. I remembered leaving my parents' house and parking somewhere. I rubbed my temples as I tried to recall if I'd left my car. I could be irresponsible, but I never wanted to be one of those idiots who got behind the wheel after drinking. As far as I knew, I never had.
I continued to take stock of my surroundings. I was fully clothed and nothing was buttoned up wrong or on inside out, so I assumed that meant I hadn't gotten lucky. I'd had a couple drunken hook-ups before and I always ended up with some part of my clothing being off.
Another good thing. The last thing I wanted to do was have to worry about getting some nameless random out of my apartment.
A noise caught my attention and I turned my head.
Oh shit.
Speaking of random.
Sitting in a nearby chair was a woman I'd never seen before. Caramel-colored curls, porcelain skin... she was gorgeous.
I let my eyes run down her body. She was dressed well in the sense that she looked good, but her clothes weren't overly expensive. She definitely wasn't a stripper and she didn't look much like the kind of women I usually picked up. Well, the smoking hot body did, but not the clothes.
Where would I have met someone dressed like that?
Where had I ended up last night?
I frowned and closed my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose. I'd left the house, driven into the city. I remembered thinking about going to a club, but I hadn't. I'd decided against it, I was pretty sure. So where had I gone?
It hit me suddenly.
A bar.
I'd gone to a bar.
I opened my eyes and looked over at the woman in the chair. She was the bartender. Liz or Liv or something like that. She'd been nice. Accent of some kind. From the Czech Republic, if my memory was reliable, which I wasn't entirely sure it was.
What was she doing here? She'd been nice, but I didn't remember her flirting with me, which meant she hadn't brought me home thinking we'd fuck.
Shit. A thought hit me. I reached into my pocket, sure I would find my wallet empty. It didn't matter that she was still here. I'd met plenty of would-be thieves dumb enough to try to rob me and then pass out before escaping. I'd never claimed that any of the women I hooked up with were bright. It wasn't like I was into them for the conversation. Though I did have the vague recollection of thinking she was intelligent.
I opened my wallet and was shocked to see all of my credit cards were still there. I checked for the cash and that was there too. I frowned. Okay, so she hadn't tried to rob me. I was completely confused now. If it wasn't about sex or money, why was she here?
I started to stand and then stopped. That wasn't a good idea. I hadn't gotten sick last night, but if I kept moving, I might. I needed
something to drink. My eyes fell on the glass coffee table. A glass of water and a couple pills were sitting there. I looked at the bartender. Had she put those here?
I picked up the glass and sniffed. Water. I took a sip and my stomach didn't rebel. That was a good thing. I reached for the pills next, turning them over in my hand to see if they were marked. I scowled. I didn't know what they were, but they seemed like as good an idea as any. Plus, I didn't have to get up to get them. They went down easy and I waited to see if they were anything good.
Hmm. Maybe that was it. I leaned back. Maybe she was here for drugs. Selling or buying. I looked at her. Maybe sharing.
But I didn't feel like I'd been high earlier, only drunk. Then again, maybe what I'd just taken was something good. As the throbbing in my head began to recede, I was forced to admit I'd taken aspirin. At the moment, however, I was glad that's what I'd swallowed. Now I wondered if I'd gotten the water and medicine out before passing out on the couch or if the bartender had done it. I was pretty sure it hadn't been me since I'd never been smart enough to do it before. I really hoped I hadn't left anything embarrassing in my bathroom or kitchen.
I sighed. I had no clue what I was supposed to do now. Did I wake the bartender up and ask her why she was here or let her sleep? How long was I supposed to let her sleep? If we'd had sex, I wouldn't have felt bad about waking her and letting her politely know it was time for her to go. But I didn't know why she was here and it felt kind of rude to wake her up. Plus, it would mean I'd have to get up, and while I was feeling better, I didn't want to press my luck.
I looked at her again. She was curled in the chair, her long legs tucked up under her, her hand cradling her cheek. Asleep, she didn't look old enough to drink legally, much less be a bartender. Her lashes were impossibly long and I tried to remember what color her eyes were.
Livie. That was her name. And her eyes were green.
It still didn't tell me why she was here.
I wasn't sure how much time passed, but at some point, I realized that I really needed to take a piss. As I slowly got to my feet, I was actually a bit relieved that I had to go since that probably meant I hadn't pissed my pants during the night. It didn't happen often, but I'd have been lying if I said I'd never done it.