“Sorry, I was trying to network a little with my new boss,” a woman whispers to Brandon.
Well, it’s not exactly a whisper, I can hear her pretty clearly, but I thinkshethinks she’s whispering.
Whoever this woman is, Brandon doesn’t give her the time of day as he simply nods and continues to do whatever the hell he’s doing on his phone.
I watch as she pulls out her own chair and takes a seat with a glass of vodka in her hand. Unless it’s water? You’ve got to be pretty fucking brave to drink a tall glass of vodka on the rocks, so maybe it’s water. I feel far too invested in her beverage.
She brushes a wave of hair over her shoulder, and I tilt my head slightly, watching each movement she makes. She’s beautiful. In thatI shouldn’t be staring, but I can’t stopkind of way. The way that makes you do a double take and stop what you’re doing to pay attention. I wish she was closer so I could see more of her features.
I’ve never seen her before—or if I have, I’ve never noticed—and I hate how that makes me feel. Because a woman like her deserves to be noticed. But she’s definitely got my attention now.
Her hair is in dark curls and she’s wearing a black floor-length dress—both are my kryptonite. Which is interesting, since Lacy is blonde and in a pink dress.
I feel Lacy’s fingers on my thigh again when the lights dim even farther, practically reminding me she’s there, but this time I subtly brush them away. Lacy’s beautiful, and on any other night, having her hands on me would be something I crave, but the air completely shifted when I saw this woman across the table.
Though I make sure to give Lacy’s hand a quick squeeze while offering a brief smile. I like her—we’ve been friends for a couple years, and I don’t want to be rude. Plus, I’m not a dick.
There are a handful of speeches being made by guests of honor and a founder of one of the charities just wrapped up his speech, ending on a cheesy joke that only made me, Connor, and the woman I’ve been catching glimpses of all night laugh.
“I’m going to grab a refill. Can I get you anything?” I ask Lacy, my hand on her shoulder as I stand.
“I’m okay, thank you.” She grins up at me and then continues her conversation with Connor.
“Old fashioned, please.” I raise my index finger to the bartender once I lean my elbows against the bar top.
“Oh, Liam, we could’ve come to take your order,” one of the bartenders says.
“No, that’s not necessary. I like coming up to the bar and cataloging all the expensive bottles you have displayed up here.” I grin at her as she’s making my drink.
She’s a little older if I had to guess, and has that very sweet, small-town demeanor about her. I decide pretty quickly she’ll be getting a good tip from me.
“You’ve got some nice whiskey on display here,” I say as I take in the top-shelf liquor. “Macallan is one of the best drinks I’ve ever had.”
She smiles and slides my drink to me on a napkin.
“Can I just have vodka cranberry and a water, please?” The voice I hear to my left pulls me in. It’s identical to the one I heard earlier when she was speaking well above a whisper.
“Vodka cranberry, wow. Can’t remember the last time I had that.”
She turns to face me—a few barstools are between us—but it’s brighter here than it was at the table, and I can see her face more clearly.
You can stick a fucking fork in me this very second. The darkest—and most stunning—eyes I’ve ever seen roll my way. And I genuinely mean they roll my way. A big fucking eye roll. And dammit, I probably shouldn’t love that as much as I do.
I watch as she takes a seat, following her every movement.
“Too cool for a vodka cran and moved onto a harsher drink with that old fashioned?” she bites back, but there’s a tiny smirk that plays on her lips. “The alcohol isn’t mine,” she says.
She smiles down at the sticky bar top. Ah, so the drink I saw her with earlier must’ve been water. Kind of relieved, to be honest. Seems dangerous to allow someone that much vodka.
I glance over my shoulder at the table. Lacy is still talking to Connor, and Brandon is talking to a couple of gentlemen who’ve approached the table—no one’s paying any mind to the bar.
“So you’re the water. Smart. Stay hydrated.” I tip my drink before taking a sip, and I hear her laugh.
I swear to god, my knees feel like they might buckle at the sound of her laugh. It’s the best thing I’ve ever heard, and I’d pay to hear it again. I catch a dimple on her cheek that’s facing me, and I can’t help but wonder if she has a matching one on the left.
“I’m just grabbing my—” There’s a brief pause in the flow of her sentence, but then she continues, “Fiancé a drink.”
Fiancé?
