Faking It For Mr Right

I can’t help it. Tears start to burn at the corners of my eyes. It’s not fair. He’s the one who made me trip. But before I can argue my case, another man steps between me and my manager.

“You realize you’re the imbecile who tripped into her in the first place, don’t you?” the newcomer says, and my heart skips a beat. It’s like he read my mind.

The angry man bristles. “Excuse me?”

“I was standing right here,” the newcomer answers calmly. I can’t see his face from where I’m crouched behind him. All I see is a tall man with dark hair, wearing a dark gray suit that looks even more finely tailored than the angry guy’s. “You practically shoved the lady over, then you want her to pay for the inconvenience of your inability to hold your alcohol?”

The angry man’s face turns red. “Listen here, I don’t know who you think you are—”

“Someone who understands common courtesy to waitstaff,” the newcomer answers with a dismissive tone, before he turns to my manager. I catch his face in profile now—a sharp jawline dotted with stubble, a long aristocratic nose and a flash of dark gray eyes, nearly the exact same color as his suit. “I’ll pay for the damaged glasses and the drinks,” he says, withdrawing a wallet from his pocket and counting out bills. “But I believe you ought to treat your own staff with a little bit more respect.”

My manager’s eyes nearly bug out of his head at the sight of the amount of $100s crammed into the man’s wallet. He doesn’t even protest the comment about treating his staff better. Bob just nods his head like a puppet with a broken string, accepting all $400 he’s handed, when I know damn well those glasses aren’t worth even $10 a stem.

Before anyone can say another word, the man turns to the angry guy and tosses another $300 at the man’s feet. “I’m sure you can find a cleaner to fix that bargain basement jacket you call a suit for this price,” he says before he turns on his heel to face me, leaving the other two gaping behind him.

After a second, the angry man bends down to scoop up the cash, carefully avoiding shards of broken glass. I barely even notice, because I’m too busy staring up at the face of my savior.

He is hot.

Cheekbones that could shatter those same martini glasses I dropped. Eyes that pierce right through me. He offers me a hand up, and when I place my palm in his, his warm fingers wrap around mine strongly, lending my body the heat from his own. I feel a tingle race up my arm, along my spine and spreading out to the tips of my toes. My heart kicks into high speed, racing as I reach standing and gaze up at the man. He’s at least a head taller than me, but something about the way he gazes down at me makes me feel as if we’re just inches apart.

I guess we are. I take a slow breath and step back, my face flooding with heat. “I’m sorry,” I burst out. “You didn’t have to do that for me.”

He smiles, slow and sly. “Stop apologizing for things you aren’t responsible for,” he says. Then he winks. “And I can’t abide watching anyone being shamed for honest, hard work. Least of all a beautiful woman such as yourself.”

My cheeks flush with heat. I swallow hard, feeling my throat constrict and release with the motion. Something about standing so close to this man makes me -aware of every movement in my body—my hands hovering at my sides, my body angled toward his. Can he tell how much he’s affecting me?

Judging by the way his sly smile widens, I’d guess so. His gaze drips down over me, and I can tell he’s assessing me, checking me out. It gives me the confidence to do the same, enjoying the sight of his muscular form. That suit fits him well enough that I can tell he’s built beneath it. Probably has washboard abs and the kind of pecs you could crack an egg against.

My stomach tightens once more, for an entirely different reason this time.

“Are you alright?” he’s asking me, his voice lower now, almost concerned. He reaches for my hands again and turns them over. I don’t realize what he’s doing until he says, “You didn’t touch any of the glass, did you?”

I blink, coming back to myself. For a second, it felt like I was alone with this tall, dark and handsome savior. Now I remember we’re standing in the middle of a crowded restaurant, and I have even more work to do at the moment. “No, I’m fine,” I blurt, dusting my skirt off and glancing over the man’s shoulder at my boss.