Tempted

“Huh. That’s . . . interesting,” Carter mutters from next to me.

“What’s interesting?”

“Drew broke things off with Juliette months ago. I wonder when that started back up.”

A glass slips from my hands and breaks at the mention of this having been a former Drew fling. So what? He screws me and moves on all in a matter of days? Why should I care? I’m the one who made the decision. I can’t be mad. Right? Right.

I’m pissed.

I understand I’m not a model, but to flaunt your next fling in my face seems a bit ridiculous. Callous. Bastard.

This is exactly what Harper warned me about. It’s my own damn fault I didn’t listen.

“What’s with the face?” Carter asks, grinning ear to ear.

“What face?”

“The one in which you look like you ate something sour.”

“I did,” I lie.

“Right. Since you broke things off with Drew, I guess you would be pissed he’s moved on so quick.”

“What?” I snap. “I didn’t break off anything. There was nothing to break.”

“Bae. I know you weren’t behind that bar the other day because of your humanitarian activism. Plus, half the block could hear you two.”

I cover my eyes with my hands, groaning. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Girl, I don’t care what it was like. You sounded very happy to be right where you were.”

My head lolls back on my shoulders. “I’m trying to forget.”

“Why?” he asks, looking horrified. “That man is not someone you forget.”

I hate Carter. Why the hell does he need to talk about this now when I’m trying my hardest to forget and move on.

“Listen,” he says conspiratorially. “Give him a taste of his own medicine. No way is he going to like it if you seem unaffected. Look at nine o’clock,” he says, motioning with his head toward two guys sitting at the side of the bar. “Blondie is the opposite of Drew but still fine as hell. Go flirt it up.”

“I don’t want to play games, Carter. I’m here to work.”

“Fine.” He shrugs. “Let Drew win.”

My eyes catch on Drew, whose hand is on the model’s lower back. It might make me childish, but I won’t let him get to me. What’s the harm in flirting it up with a cute guy at the bar? You’re playing with fire.

For the better part of an hour, I flirt shamelessly with the blond at the bar. At some point, I forget why because I’m enjoying myself. No part of me wants things to go anywhere with this stranger, but it’s just nice to be seen. Scott—at least I think that’s his name—owns a car dealership in the ’burbs. He’s in town visiting his friend who works on Wall Street. They’re having drinks at Silver because they’ve heard so much about the place. First-timers who clearly have connections.

“Bailey,” Scott calls out, gaining my attention. I smile wide, playing up the interested card.

“I’d like to see you again,” he says, placing his card on the bar top and sliding it toward me. I smile wider.

Over Scott’s shoulder, I see Drew approaching. He’s shooting daggers at me, and internally, I celebrate that he’s witnessed the exchange.

“Gentlemen,” Drew says, slapping the dark-haired friend of Rob’s on the back in a friendly manner. “Glad to see you made it.”

“Thanks for the in,” the one with dark hair says. “This place is great, and the service has been top-notch.”

“I’m glad to hear it, Glenn. Listen, I need to borrow Bailey for a moment, but Carter will take care of you in her absence.”

They shake hands, and he motions with his head for me to make my way to his office. What the hell? I was just doing my job. Carter makes mad money by entertaining the bar patrons. I wasn’t doing anything different. He doesn’t get to hound me when he has a model on his arm.

We make it to his office, and he slams the door behind us, whirling around and bearing down on me.

“What are you doing?” he snarls.

“I don’t know what you mean?” I play coy.

“Oh, you don’t? Do you?”

“No.”

“What did you say?” He pulls me toward him, his arms wrapping around my torso.

My breath hitches.

“I asked you a question,” he growls. “You tell me nothing can happen between us, and then you practically throw yourself at someone else in my bar?”

My hands fly up. “First of all, I didn’t throw myself at him. Secondly, you don’t get to decide who or what I do, Drew. I didn’t say I don’t want you. I said it wasn’t a good idea. You’re my boss.”

“I don’t give a fuck.”

“I do!” I yell. “This is the first chance I have at making something of myself, and no matter how much I love the way you make me feel, I can’t take that risk.”

“You’re being dramatic,” he says flippantly. “I would never fire you just because whatever this is ends. I’m a lot of things, Bailey, but I’m not a bastard. I know how much this job means to you.”