The Bar Scene

by Ginny Frost

  Finally home. Sorry. Do we have plans for tomorrow?

  Her answer short and to the point. Yes.

  And? But nothing more.

  He slept fitfully, waiting for the text chime all night.

  Now Tuesday morning, he sagged at the conference table waiting for just a word from her. Slowly, his concern turned to obsession. He’d checked his phone a hundred times. His stomach puckered like an empty hole as he paced the conference room between interviews. Terese remained silent.

  Drew dropped into the nearest chair, planted his elbows on the table, and rubbed his temples. The process was taking forever. Hiring these schlubs was akin to jabbing a needle in his eye. He studied accounting for a reason. His questioning technique consisted of “Can you do the job? Have you done it before? Can you do it for X amount of money?”

  After the first applicant left, George closed the door and glared at Drew with a sour expression. “Is there a problem, Andy?” he asked, his tone short of condescending. “We have a process here, a certain script we follow. I need not remind you we are screening for key positions.” George droned on for another few minutes, a pink blush slowly creeping up his neck. Drew stopped listening after the first few sentences.

  When the HR manager finally wound down, Drew crossed his arms. “And you are aware, George, I’m an accountant. I like numbers more than people. You want someone who can schmooze, go ask Maura.”

  George sputtered, his neck turning a deeper shade of pink. “You have no concept of how important our task is. If we don’t find the right people to run the conference center, the whole project will fall flat. How would your father feel?” he huffed.

  Drew leaned over the table and kept his voice steady. “Remember, my father suggested I assist you.” He hated invoking the old man’s name, but sometimes you had to be a dick. George floundered for a moment, then sighed, resigned, but the red coloring crawled up to his cheeks.

  With a sliver of tension hanging over them, he and George hashed things out for the next set of candidates. Basically, they allowed each poor sap to talk their head off until they ran to ground, then hit them with the hard questions about experience, work ethic, and ambitions. Dreary as hell. If it kept up, Drew’d be committing hari-kari by Friday.

  After the fourth interview with yet another cheery and eccentric candidate, Drew pursed his lips in frustration. “Really, George?”

  “You have to understand, Andy. It takes a special person to work in service. They have to be charming, hardworking, and…”

  “And kiss butt on a regular basis?” Drew tossed his pen on the conference table. “Hey, I know. Why don’t we take Drake’s PR department and transfer them over to The Center?”

  George narrowed his eyes before turning back to his clipboard. “The next candidate seems to be a no-show. Why don’t we take a break, Andy?” He stood and headed to the coffee station.

  Drew slowly banged his head on the table. Even the worst budgeting and production numbers for the construction were never like this.

  In the end, the silence from Terese drove him crazy, not the tedious interview process. After checking his phone again, he clicked it off with a sigh.

  “You are so stuck to that phone today, Andy-boy.”

  Drew grimaced at the ancient nickname.

  “Waiting for your new lady?” George’s words dripped sappy sentiment, the same tone he used with the attractive women they interviewed. What a tool.

  “No, I have other things I’d rather be doing.”

  “Yeah, well, your dad loaned you to me until Friday.” He slapped Drew’s arm. “What do you say we go out for happy hour after? You guys always go to the bar on Birch. Let’s get the gang together.”

  Sure, sounds perfect. Spend the lame happy hour with the guys from Drake, huddled in the corner, drinks in hand, never talking to a female—ever. That was exactly why he busted out last weekend, threw off the suit, and pulled the stick out of his ass. He smiled, remembering his first kiss with Terese. There were no words to express it.

  George broke into his thoughts with another slap on the arm. “See, you’re smiling. You’re in. I’ll memo the guys in accounting and PR. We’ll have a blast. Maybe that new look of yours will attract the ladies.” He nudged Drew with his elbow. “If you know what I mean.”

  Drew sucked his teeth. “Yeah, I don’t think so, George.” When did Drake Industries turn into Office Space? He shuffled some papers and mumbled something about lunch or a meeting or anything to get away. George started up again.

  “So what’s your big plan?”

  That caught him by surprise. “Huh? What plan?”

  “With the changes, I can’t believe you’d stay here under the old man’s thumb forever. It’s the perfect chance to get out and do your own thing. What with the new conference center and the hotel too. You’re qualified to manage the lot.”

  Drew blinked at George. Indignation rose in his chest. “First of all, I’ve only been here seven years. I’m not ready to leave yet. And secondly, you and I both know my dad is a great man to work for. He’s not an ass or a blowhard. He works hard right alongside us.”

  George held up his hand. “I didn’t mean to say anything bad about Spencer, I swear.” A mist of sweat hovered around his forehead. Yeah, dumbass, don’t complain about the boss to his son.

  “Drake Industries is a good company, and the expansion will help everyone—the town, the colleges and us. But…” He paused, considering the other half of what George said. Moving out of Dad’s house, so to speak, might be a good career move. The conference center needed a numbers guy, a full-time accountant with an MBA, if his dad’s word was law.

  “But?” George asked.

  Drew paused. But what? Drake was a great place to work, not to mention he had it in good with the boss. But lately, something was missing, something essential, something fulfilling. Move to the conference center? That didn’t sound any more appealing than staying forever at Drake. A new job with new opportunities and new goals sounded pretty good right now.

  George stared at him, and the tension grew as Drew didn’t respond to the simple question. He had no answers right now. Flashing a forty-watt fake smile, he lied through his teeth. “But nothing. Drake is the place to be.” George nodded heartily and refocused on his files. Drew gazed out the window. What if?

  ****

  By four o’clock, Terese figured Drew had stewed long enough. She texted a simple, short message.

  Meet me at Enrie’s at 6:00. Dress for bar-hopping.

  She almost didn’t add the second line. Drew didn’t seem to be into clothes. But her obsession with fashion forced her to write it. After all, the next two hours were dedicated to preparing for date number two. He could at least look nice too.

  She arrived at the restaurant stylishly late, intending to keep Drew chomping at the bit after his hasty departure on Monday. Maybe he did have a work thing, but a blowjob in a cave deserved more than a kiss goodbye. He didn’t even send apology texts. Drew was a different animal, nothing like what she’d dealt with before. Maybe with him, there’d be no childish games.

  Standing at the restaurant’s bar, he leaned casually against the wood, a hint of concern flickering across his face. Silly boy, what was he so worried about? She glanced down over her outfit. In her favorite pair of skinny jeans, with a white, embroidered, sleeveless blouse, black jacket, and boots, she knew she cut a sleek, sexy picture. She strolled toward the bar, purposely pausing to allow Drew and everyone else an unobstructed view.

  He pivoted in time to catch her grand entrance. A small smile splashed across his lips, but his eyes smoldered as he scanned her up and down. Full of desire, need, and something more. She had him. For tonight at least.

  “Hello,” he said in a sexy growl as she slid up next to him. “You look lovely.” He kissed her chastely on the cheek.

  She scanned him. Black jeans, with a black button-down shirt. Simple and classy, he no longer resembled a college senior. She inclined her
chin. “You clean up nice.”

  He shrugged. “I try.” He glanced down at his shoes, and Terese followed his gaze. Black Converse sneakers peeked out from the bottom of his jeans. He raised his gaze to hers and his lips twitched up. “Sometimes, I almost get it.” They both laughed, cutting the tension and ending the game.

  A huge weight dropped from her shoulders, as relief swept over her. Drew was a down-to-earth, easy-going man. And it made all the difference. As she glanced at his charming smile, an odd sense of joy mixed with lust replaced her relief. She’d show him her world tonight and tomorrow—well, tomorrow burst with possibilities. Or she might take him on the floor, here and now.

  ****

  Drew’s heart raced when Terese entered the room. She’d been aloof for the past twenty-four hours, and he doubted if she’d show. He’d arrived early and hovered at the bar. A nice place, but not much better than the Oakwood Tavern. Why hit other bars when she worked in one five days a week? Drew nursed his beer and considered.

  Then she sauntered in, all legs and sex in those jeans and that top.

  Drew’s gaze slowly dragged up her body and he almost choked on his beer. She slunk toward him in a slow, sexy strut. His blood drained to his cock. One flash from those sparkling baby-blues brought out his inner animal.

  She donned a sly, enigmatic smile, and heat rolled over him in waves. Her tongue traced her lips, forcing him to repress a groan. He wanted to rip her clothes off right there. Someday, her simple gestures and mannerisms probably wouldn’t spin him up to max. Hopefully, that day would never come.

  Carefully putting his glass on the bar—to give himself a moment to regroup—he asked, “What are our plans for tonight?”

  “Dinner, then a night on the town.”

  Drew raised an eyebrow, leaning in close to her ear. “We could grab a meal to go. Then dessert at your place.” Running his hand down her back, he inched closer.

  She shuddered as he nibbled on her ear. After a pause, she faced him. Her hand pressed against his chest, her face inches from his, her long eyelashes fluttering. “You planned the last date. I planned this one. Be patient, my young apprentice. All will be revealed.”

  He pulled her in tight, placing a lingering kiss on her lips. For a millisecond, she resisted, her mouth tight and closed. He skimmed his tongue along her lips and pressed forward. Finally, she relented, giving him the soul kiss of a lifetime. His mind shifted into downstairs brain mode immediately.

  Must have woman now.

  She broke the kiss, placing her hands on his shoulders, her voice low and breathy. “Slow down, Tarzan. We have all night.”

  Her gaze cut through him, and he pressed against her, showing her exactly how she affected him. “Maybe,” he said, kissing down her neck to the sweet spot at the bottom of her collarbone. “Maybe all night can start right now. I’ll get us a cab.”

  She brushed him away with a bark of laughter. “Buy me dinner first.” She struck a pose of defiance, her hip jutting out, her arms crossed.

  He nodded, conceding the point. “As you wish.”

  She grinned, her eyes lighting up like sapphires. Stifling both laughter and an inappropriate fist pump, he waved a hand toward the maître d’. She was a goddess and he, the luckiest man in the world. No, the universe.

  Before she slipped away, he wrapped an arm around her waist, whispering in her ear, “You’re in so much trouble later.”

  She tipped her head. “Good. Let’s eat.”

  Chapter Ten

  Drew’s eyebrow twitched as Terese exchanged air kisses with a grinning maître d’. Who was he? He seemed awfully happy to see Terese. Drew studied the man—early thirties, handsome, well dressed. Drew scowled, his inner caveman thumping a club on the ground.

  “Drew, meet Pierre.” Mr. Elegant stuck out his hand for a shake. Drew obliged, saying nothing, refraining from grabbing the douche by his lapels.

  In a pretentious French accent, Pierre said, “Nice to meet you, sir.” Repressing a snarl, Drew tugged at his collar, releasing a sudden buildup of heat. Terese placed a hand over her mouth, then playfully punched the maître d’ on the arm. “Just kidding, man.” Pierre’s accent slid south to Brooklyn. “Terese and I know each other from way back. I gotta do the French, gentlemanly thing for the job.”

  “A job I found for you,” Terese said. Pierre nodded. They shared a glance Drew interpreted as both gracious and friendly. The green monster settled down a bit.

  “So then not Pierre?” Drew asked.

  “Nah. It’s Joey. You guys want a table? I got a nice one for ya. Give me a minute.” Joey snapped his feet together and bowed. “Un moment, s’il vous plait.” Drew chuckled. Joey’s French sounded perfect.

  Terese slid her arm through Drew’s and curled into his shoulder. “I’ve known him forever. He studied French while he worked with me at the bar during college.”

  “A French major?”

  “I know. Not your typical student. He loved the language and the culture so much, he totally bathed in it. Then boom, college ended and he had nowhere to go. I hooked him up here, and he’s been in a state of bliss ever since.” She smiled, scanning the dining room.

  “And you two dated for how long?” He patted her arm, pleased his voice sounded calm and aloof.

  She laughed. “Oh please, Joey’s not into me. I’m not French, and I don’t have the right equipment downstairs.” Her gaze dipped to his crotch and back up.

  He grinned. “Well, then. Good to know.” He stole a glance at Joey.

  Tilting her head to the side, she pursed her lips. “If you wanted to hit on the maître d’,” she said with a heap of sarcasm, “why bother standing here with me?”

  “Because you make me look good,” he replied, matching her tone. She punched his arm. He dodged and feigned an injury.

  “You’re such a drama queen. I should set you two up.”

  “Nah.” He watched Joey skirt tables on his way back. Drew leaned down and whispered in her ear, “Joey’s got nothing I want.” He ran his fingers along her arm. As he brushed past her breast, he placed a soft kiss on her neck.

  “Drew!” she said in a harsh whisper. Heat rose off her like a mist. He rolled his shoulders. Spinning her up wasn’t easy, but very fun.

  “Wanna leave?”

  She slapped at his arm. “I want to eat. This is a date, remember? First socializing, then smooching.” The slapping transitioned into petting. It was all he could do to resist throwing her over his shoulder and dragging her home.

  “Just smooching?”

  Joey/Pierre waved them to a table near the back. Terese started forward, pulling him along.

  “We’ll see.”

  ****

  Terese smiled to herself. Drew seemed to have a little jealousy problem. How cute. She’d planned a whole night of bar hopping—drinks and food at half a dozen places around town. If he got hot under the collar at each stop, he’d be exhausted and useless later.

  Sitting at one of the best tables at Enrie’s, thanks to Joey, she scanned the specials for new items. Drew sat across from her, also perusing the menu. After a moment, the brush of his fingers on hers snapped her focus back to him.

  “So,” he said in a stage whisper. “How do we do this? Should I be an ass and order for you, pretending I know what the hell I’m talking about? Or do I sit quietly and let you lead me around? What’s our plan tonight?” He did have such a knack for putting things right out there.

  Her lips twitched up. “I usually do the circuit…”

  “Circuit?”

  “Yes, a tour around town, either Monday or Tuesday night. I hit some of the local spots—popular or new and check out the competition. I survey menus, sample new items, and schmooze my ass off.”

  A light sparked in his eyes. “Ah, so all work and no play?”

  “No, there’s play.” She shrugged. “Some anyway. I become friendly with the other managers, chefs, wait staff. I treasure-hunt for new people, new ideas, and new menu items.
” She batted her eyelashes at him. “Why do you think the Oakwood Tavern is such a great bar? I get the best people, the best food, the best everything.”

  “I didn’t realize you’re so dedicated to your job. Manager, recruiter, spy—what else do you do?”

  She inclined her chin, pride welling in her chest. “I do it all, the club, the bar, and the food. Alan trusts me to handle everything.”

  Drew sat back, his eyebrows raised. “So you basically run three businesses for him?” She nodded. Biting his lip, he fiddled with his menu. “I heard about his financial troubles.”

  Terese’s stomach dropped. She prayed he wouldn’t know about the situation. Smiling blandly, she shoved her sweaty hands under the table and shrugged.

  “I’ve heard rumors he’s selling off his restaurants left and right,” Drew continued. “Is it going to affect you?”

  Straightening her shoulders, she stared Drew right in the eye and deflected. She didn’t want to confirm any rumors, nor did she want to spend the night talking about Alan (nor thinking about the stories floating around town). “Oh, the gossip…” She waved a hand, dismissing the issue. “The Tavern is fine. I run a tight ship. Alan has relied on me for years to ensure we operate in the black.” She folded her hands in front of her plate. “Everything’s perfect.”

  The waiter popped over, and in elegant French, Terese ordered for both of them without a second thought. Her gaze met Drew’s after she finished, and heat rushed to her cheeks. Her stupid pride shoved her foot in her mouth again. She regretted her impulsive move as edginess washed over her. Her fingers were like frozen fish sticks as she twisted them together.

  Furrowing her eyebrows, she asked if they were cool. He nodded. Relief flooded through her. Some men hated when she took charge, but Drew seemed to like it.

  “Sorry about that. I wanted to try the new chef’s Cassoulet and…”

  “No, worries. I defer to the expert, here.” He paused. “So you’re happy with the Tavern, then?”