Though her father was a world renowned surgeon, he approached everything from parenting to washing his car with a style more suited to the military. Hence the nickname.
“I’m hoping that he’ll be too wrapped up in his latest wife to have noticed,” Libby said.
“You think he won’t mention it? Yeah right.” Nina twirled a strand of her blue hair and let out a sigh. “He’ll latch onto anything right now if it means dragging you back to his life plan.”
“I guess I’ll have to cross that bridge when I come to it.” Libby pursed her lips. “But I know one thing for sure, I’m not going back to med school.”
Chapter Two
Libby gritted her teeth and strode along the footpath, ignoring the throbbing pain from a nasty blister on her heel. She’d been on her feet all day, dashing from one meeting to another in shoes that were better suited to a stilt walker than a burgeoning entrepreneur.
But her look was part of her brand—bright hair, big heels, in-your-face lipstick. People noticed her because of the way she looked, then she made sure they remembered her for what she said. She wasn’t giving that up, blister or no blister.
Sadly, nothing had helped her today. She was zero for ten…every single business she’d signed for her launch had backed out. If her life was a game then she’d hit the biggest damn snake on the board.
Her phone vibrated in her hand, but she didn’t bother to check who was calling. Her father had been trying to get a hold of her for three days, ever since the press release that ruined her business had hit the papers. She hadn’t even bothered to listen to his numerous voicemails, because she knew exactly what they would say. Her father was circling, sensing a chink in her plan—an opening, a weak point, a precious sliver of vulnerability.
After all, daughter dearest had deviated from her path, and he’d been hating every minute of it.
Libby laughed to herself, it was the only response that wouldn’t encourage the onslaught of tears. She’d done right by him her whole life, she’d tried to be the daughter he always wanted. The perfect Grade A student, the Mini-Me to his Dr. Evil. And now that she finally wanted to do something for herself, was he happy?
Hell no.
Still, at least he called. That was more than she could say for her mother.
She shoved the still-buzzing device into her handbag and kept walking. Eventually she’d need to take his call, but after an abysmal day of rejection she needed a drink. Normally getting home to work on a new cocktail or test out a new infusion idea would be priority. But not today.
The buzzing started up again, and Libby rummaged around in her bag to find her phone. She wouldn’t give her father the satisfaction of answering his call, but she could turn the damn thing off so she didn’t go insane. She continued walking as she hunted for her phone, her blood pressure rising with each step. Maybe she should answer his call if only so she could tell him what an arrogant, selfish, mean—“Hey!”
Libby looked up at the sound of the warning but her shoe connected hard with a solid mass. Pain ricocheted through her ankle as the world tilted beneath her feet. A strong hand wrapped around her arm, wrenching her back to standing just as the sound of glass shattering pierced the air around her.
It took her a moment to realize her eyes were squeezed shut, although against what she wasn’t sure. Pain and mortification were neck and neck.
Libby cracked an eyelid open, her breath catching in her throat. The man holding her wore a tight black T-shirt that amply showed off solid arms and broad shoulders. But it was his face that made her chest squeeze and her mouth run dry. The fading daylight cast shadows across him, highlighting razor-sharp cheekbones and full lips. His eyes—edging on black—were covered with heavy lashes, and his hair had been cut short, though it didn’t hide its natural kink.
He held a now-empty tray in the hand that wasn’t wrapped around her arm. Libby risked a glance at the floor and cringed.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his dark brows narrowed in a way that made her unsure whether he was concerned or furious. Maybe it was a little of both.
Her brain grappled for a response, but the fireworks going off in her body were more than a little distracting. It seemed that if you spent long enough away from the opposite sex that first “re-introduction” would wreak havoc on one’s hormones.
“I’m fine.” Libby mustered a smile; she was not the sort of girl who got flustered by a hot guy…usually. Now embarrassing failures of coordination on the other hand… “Uhh…thanks?”
“Was that a question?” He released her slowly, his dark eyes tracking her movement.
She tried to put pressure on her foot but fiery pain shot up her leg, making her gasp. “No.”
“You’re not okay.” He put the drinks tray down on the table. The bar’s name, First, was artfully carved into the wood in funky, tattoo-style font.
For some reason the name sounded familiar.
“Neither are your glasses,” she said miserably looking down to the glittering shards decorating the footpath. “Did I get them all?”
“Every single one.” A smile twitched at the corner of his lips. “But glasses can be replaced. That ankle looks like it needs some TLC, though.”
“I’m fine.” She tried to stand normally while keeping all her weight on her good foot.
Stupid weak ankles and stupid, stupid heels. This day could not get any worse.
His face told her he wasn’t buying it. “Let me help you inside. You can take a seat, and we’ll call you a cab.”
Did she have to embarrass herself in front of the hottest guy on earth? No scratch that, guys like him weren’t best described as hot. Striking, perhaps…or exciting. Darkly sensual.
She swallowed. What happened to being a confident, intelligent, and powerful woman? That was the Libby Gal Cocktails brand. Her signature. But today every ounce of confidence she owned had slinked off with its tail between its legs, and now she was playing damsel in distress. Ugh.
“You look like you could use a drink anyway.” He smiled, holding out a hand to her. “I make a mean Negroni.”
“Can you make it in a vat?”
“That bad, huh?”
She hesitated for a second and then took his hand, a shiver running through her at the slide of his palm against hers. The grip was sure, strong…yet gentle. He abandoned the drinks tray and came closer to her, tugging her arm around his shoulders and supporting her weight against him. They moved slowly, and each step made their bodies press together.
Libby clamped her lips together to keep from crying out as the pain in her ankle worsened.
The bar looked warm and inviting. Golden light spilled through the open door, and the calming sounds of chatter and jazz music beckoned.
“How you holding up?” His easy smile and dark eyes made her heart thump as they stepped into the restaurant.
“Apart from the mortification,” she muttered, “I’ll be fine once I get that drink.”
There were a few steps down from the doorway to the main area, and she could already feel her ankle protesting.
“Are you going to be able to get down the steps?” he asked.
She hesitated and a second later he’d scooped her up into his arms and was carrying her down the steps and across to the bar.
“You can put me down now,” she protested, covering her face with the hand that wasn’t clinging desperately to him.
She hated heights, and he had to be at least six one…which would mean a painful landing if he dropped her. But he walked with her in his arms as though he was only carrying a bag of sugar. Confident, in control.
He probably thought she was a hot mess.
“Do you normally rescue clumsy girls in the street?” she asked as he stopped at the bar and set her down gently on a barstool.
“I’m a bartender; clumsy girls are my specialty.” He flashed her a smile as he reached over the bar and grabbed a pile of folded dishtowels. Placing them on the stool opposite her, he dragged it
closer so she could rest her foot there. “You need to keep this elevated. I’ll grab you something cold to put on it.”
“You’re a regular first aid specialist,” she quipped as he came back with a bag of frozen peas.
“Our barista has a habit of burning himself, so we always keep these handy.” He placed the peas on her ankle and removed her shoe.
Each brush of his fingers against her bare skin made her stomach flutter. Talk about a real Cinderella moment.
“There,” he said, standing back and admiring his work. “Now how about that drink?”
“Thank you.” She chanced a look at him, and the dark stare sent shockwaves through her.
Oh yeah, this guy had lady-killer written all over him.
“So you’ve had a rough day?” he asked, heading behind the bar.
She sighed and checked out her surroundings. “The roughest.”
The bar was actually a bar and restaurant, the intimate tables obscured from the street’s view. Being a Tuesday night the room wasn’t especially packed, but they’d filled enough tables to take home a respectable amount, she suspected. The other barstools were empty, except for a lone beer drinker at one end.
“What’ll it be?”
How about you? Naked. Now.
“I’ll take you up on that Negroni. It’s been a while since I’ve had one.” Libby dug her hand into the bag on her lap, hoping to hell he couldn’t read her mind. She pulled out her phone and saw the four missed calls from her father. Ignoring them all, she texted Nina with a pleading request to come and pick her up.
“Now that’s a crying shame. I don’t get to make them too often, a lot of the ladies who come here either drink wine or vodka sodas.” He screwed up his nose and grabbed an orange from a container below the bar. “Pretty boring.”
“I’m definitely more of a cocktail girl.”
“Music to my ears.” He looked up, flashing her a brilliant smile that just about had her panties dissolving.
He deftly sliced the orange so a chunk of peel curled away from the flesh. Gin, Campari, and vermouth were added to a glass filled with ice and stirred. Then he ran the peel around the edges of the glass, squeezing it before dropping it into the sunset-colored drink.
Between his bartending skills and the way he’d carried her, Libby could tell this man was good with his hands…very good. A tingle ran the length of her spine, stirring her in all the right places.
“That looks delicious,” she said, hoping to hell he didn’t realize that she was referring to him and not the drink.
“It’s on the house.” He placed the glass in front of her. “On one condition.”
She sipped the drink and let out a small sigh as the perfect flavor danced on her tongue. An artful medley of sweet and bitter. “Which is?”
“You tell me why your day was so crappy…you know, other than crashing into me and breaking all my glasses.”
She flushed. “I’m working on a business venture, and it’s not going as well as I would like,” she said, fighting her natural desire to put on a confident face and sweep the bad bits under a rug.
He leaned forward, bracing his hands against the bar. “What’s the business?”
“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 need
ing 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.
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