Chapter 2

KIRK

“Holy shit! I need to go, right now!” Andrew says, staring at his phone with bulging eyes. Grabbing the towel draped over his shoulder, he throws it over the counter, looking from me to his phone over and over again.

“Now? You just got here,” I tell him, checking the time on my wristwatch. Andrew was supposed to take over the night shift today but, judging by the expression on his face, that’s not going to happen. “Is it Joan?”

I mean, I just came to check the fucking inventory for the bar. Am I going to be working tonight?

Fuck.

“Yeah, it’s Joan. It’s—it’s happening now,” he stammers, the anxiety on his face almost palpable. “I need to go,” he repeats, waiting for me to give him the go-ahead.

“What are you waiting for then? Just get going, I’ll take care of things tonight.” I pat him on the shoulder and give him a smile. “Good luck, man. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Thanks, boss,” he mutters, heading for the exit so fast he almost knocks down a table on the way out. So much for my free night, huh? But it’s not like I could’ve done otherwise; Andrew’s wife is having a baby, and covering for him is the least I can do. And, it’s not like I mind; I spend so much time working behind the scenes that I always relish the chance to be behind the counter.

You see, you might think that entrepreneurs do nothing but fly from city to city first class, and drive their sports cars around, but that’s not exactly

true. More often than not, true entrepreneurs spend their days working their fucking ass off. Trust me, I know; with almost a dozen bars spread all over the city, I know what it’s like to not have enough time in the day. Sure, it feels good to watch my bank account grow at the end of the month, but it’s not like I have the time to go around spending that money.

“Alright, let’s do this,” I whisper, walking behind the counter and looking around the main room. It seems that I’ve made the right decision when I opened this winebar at this location; more often than not, the place is always completely packed. Lucky for me, I have four more employees working the night shift to help out, or else I’d be in for a night of pain.

“I’ll take table four,” I tell Susan, one of my waitresses, as I notice the two women sitting by themselves at one of the corner tables. Now, I could lie and tell you that I’m just taking care of business, but it’s more than that; these girls, there’s something about them. They’re both in their mid to late- twenties, they look good and… Well, I really can’t help myself when it comes to pretty women.

Picking a bottle of red from the shelves, a nice 2008 Barolo, I make my way toward their table confidently, taking a pair of crystal glasses in a tray.

“Good evening,” I greet them politely, and they turn to me. That’s when I see her, and I mean, really see her. Silky blonde hair, heartbreaking smile, and a figure worth dying for… Jesus Christ.

“Good evening,” they say at the same time, but I’m so dazed by the blonde woman that I barely hear their words. To be honest with you, I barely notice the other woman; she has a ring on her finger, and married women really aren’t my thing.

I fucking want her. Oh, I want her bad, I think to myself, my brain already fast at work, trying to line up the next words that’ll come out of my mouth. You only have one shot at making a good first impression, after all.

And I want to do such fucking nasty things to her.

“Giacomo Grinaldi, a classy Barolo for two classy ladies,” I tell them, showing them the bottle and allowing them to scan the label. “What do you say?”

“You seem like you know your stuff,” the blonde girl tells me, and her voice feels like a shot of adrenaline. Even though I should be acting like a professional right now, I can’t help but imagine how that voice would sound when moaning out my name.

“He sure does,” her friend agrees, and her tone of voice leaves no room for doubt: I made a good first impression.

“Emily,” the blonde one introduces herself, offering me her hand. I take it in mine, a shiver going down my spine as I feel the tenderness of her small fingers. The air around us seems to grow electric, and it feels as if my heart has stopped beating inside my chest. “And this is Lana,” she says, waving at her friend.

“Nice meeting you, ladies. I hope you enjoy your wine,” I say, pouring each of them a glass and leaving the bottle on the table. Snapping my heels together, I’m almost ready to march back to the counter when Lana stops me. “You didn’t tell us your name,” she says with a chuckle, and I turn

around so that I’m facing the table again.

“The name’s Kirk, and I’m at your service,” I say, introducing myself with an exaggerated bow. That gets a laugh out of them. I should be walking back to the counter already, but I simply can’t get my feet to start moving.

“At our service… I like that,” Emily laughs, and her crystal clear voice stirs something inside me again. I feel my cock twitching inside my pants as I look at her, the way her breasts push against the fabric of her dress drawing my gaze in… Oh, fuck, how the hell am I supposed to get any work done with a woman like this around?

“Does that mean you’ll do anything we want?” Lana asks me, a devilish smile on her lips. She’s flirting with me, and she’s doing it on behalf of her single friend.

“Anything you want,” I grin, locking my eyes with Emily’s. “I’m your humble bartender for the night,” I tell them, my instincts kicking in and preventing me from revealing that I’m the owner of the bar. My past dealings with golddiggers have taught me that keeping my guard up is always a wise move.

Without waiting for their reply, I give them one more exaggerated bow and then force myself to move. I walk back to the counter, Emily’s heart- melting smile imprinted on my mind.

I spend the next hour trying to focus on all other tables and, thankfully, there’s enough work to keep me busy. Still, I can’t help but glance at table four every once in awhile.

I gotta do something, I think to myself as I realize Emily and her friend are almost done with their bottle of wine; soon enough they’ll be ready to leave, and I can’t let Emily go without at least grabbing her phone number.

As if they can read my mind, Lana shoots one hand up in the air and waves at me. “Check, please!” she asks, and I march back to their table dutifully, carrying their bill on a silver tray.

“Already leaving?” I ask them, and Lana’s answer comes fast.

“I’m leaving… But I think Emily here still wants another glass of wine,” she tells me with a devilish chuckle, getting up to her feet and clutching her purse to her chest. Throwing one last smile at Emily, she then walks past me and out of the door.

“Well… your friend was in quite a hurry,” I tell Emily, fully knowing that the two of them spent the whole time talking about me. The way Lana bolted out of the bar, it really left no room for doubts; she’s trying to set me up with Emily… And, oh yeah, I’m perfectly fucking happy with it.

Fuck her phone number, we’re way past that already.

“She was…” Emily says with a polite smile, but then she lowers her voice into a whisper. I have to lean in to hear what she’s saying. “But I wouldn’t mind getting out of here as well…” she purrs, and my mind quickly translates her words for me; let’s go have sex.

“We have a very spacious bathroom in here,” I tell her, barely unable to contain my excitement.

“A bathroom? Please, I live right across the street,” she counters me, and there’s just one thing left for me to say.

“Lead the way.”