“Great.” One little comment about how she’d be much prettier with a normal hair color, and since then she’d been borderline civil to me, and usually only when Pippa or Ryan were around to see it.
“Problem?” Grady turned to me and his smile promptly slipped, which really was a shame, because he was handsome on a good day, but he was the kind of man who only looked better when he smiled, when he let go of that masculine façade and let his emotions show. He wasn’t my type of course, but I was a flesh and blood woman who could appreciate what a fine physical specimen he was. Even the bald head worked with his crisp blue eyes and thick red beard. The tight white t-shirt stretched across his massive chest only finished off the look of a slightly bored bartender who knew he was hot stuff.
“No problem, no,” I grumble annoyed at him, or myself. I couldn’t tell anymore. “Happy birthday. It’s my birthday too.”
“Happy birthday,” he said with as little emotion as he could muster and walked away. Again. I shouldn’t be disappointed, not when I was the reason things were the way they were between us, but I was. It was good for me, and probably for him, that we maintained a healthy distance fueled by general dislike. A guy like Grady was fifteen shades of trouble, and none of them were my color. He was trouble in tight-fitting jeans and I wasn’t in the market for trouble. Never had been.
Despite all that, I wished he would smile at me the way he smiled at every other woman in town. But he wouldn’t, I’d made sure of it, so I sucked down my lukewarm margarita and ordered another. And then another.
As the hours passed, my sullen drunkenness turned into a melancholy tipsy-ness that warmed me and made me forget—a little—about Michael and his happiness. Not that he didn’t deserve it, he did more than just about anyone I knew, but the way he’d gotten it was what I had a hard time accepting.
A shadow fell over me and blocked out the lighting fixture above my bar seat. “Ready to pay up,” Grady growled, even sterner than usual.
I looked up with a frown. “Kicking me out so soon?”
Grady did something unexpected, he laughed. “Not quite.” He motioned towards the rest of the bar, and when I followed his line of sight I saw that the place was empty. When I turned back to him, he wore a smile that lacked any warmth or amusement. “Contrary to what you think of me Margot, I know how to treat my customers. Even the bitchy ones.”
“I deserve that,” I conceded, because what else could I do? “But I actually don’t think you’re a bad businessman.”
He snorted. “It’s just my particular unseemly bar that you have a problem with.”
I shook my head as he threw my own word back at me. “That was about a particular event, not your entire business. This place is perfect for many of the events Carlotta has booked here, but not a superstar bachelor party.”
“Right.” He produced a rag and wiped down the bar. “You’re the last one standing, so are you ready to pay? Because the bar is officially closed.”
“I’m ready,” I told him and finished the last swig of martini. It was time to get out of here and far away from him. I reached for my favorite glittery red clutch to pay the tab, and the purse slid off the bar and to the floor, it’s contents scattering everywhere. “Oops,” I giggled to myself and reached for the purse again, only to find myself sprawled on the floor right beside the clutch. “Whoa! Slippery stool,” I laughed nervously, aware of a watchful pair of blue eyes focused on my every move as I tried—and failed—to get to my feet. “Dammit!”
Chapter 2
Grady
She was sloshed.
Completely and totally wasted. Margot Devereaux-Blanchard was drunk off her ass. And adorable, blast the annoying woman. The last thing I needed to be reminded of was my own inconvenient attraction to the stuck up harpy. She went out of her way to let me know I wasn’t in her league, that my business was below her standards, to show her disdain for me, but watching her spread out on my bar floor giggling, none of it mattered. I hopped over the bar and squatted down to help Margot to her feet.
“Did you eat anything with those martinis?”
She grunted as she tried to stand, her ridiculous red stiletto slipped and she was on the ground again.
“I’ll take that as a no.”
“You only serve greasy bar food, and I don’t eat greasy food in a bar, or otherwise,” she answered haughtily. It wasn’t a surprise she didn’t eat fatty foods, her body told the story. She was of average height and perfectly lean except in her tits and her hips, especially in the navy blue dress she wore. Her silver hair was pinned up to show off sharp cheekbones, a delicate jaw and a slender neck. Her violet eyes missed nothing and expressed everything, even what she wished to hide her emotions. Her stomach growled, and she covered it as if that could hide the noise.