“With a Manhattan, I always think the stronger, the better. Rye whiskey is too delicious not to be appreciated.”
She sweeps her long hair over one shoulder, and I reach into my tote bag, set on the empty chair next to me.
The towel lands over my hands, and I pause on unzipping my bag.
“I hope you aren’t reaching for your wallet because this one is on the house.”
Just like with compliments, I struggle to accept people’s generosity too.
“Won’t you get in trouble for giving away free drinks?”
I’m met with an arched brow as I hand her the towel back.
“Not if you’re the newly appointed bar manager.”
I raise my glass to that. “Congrats. I’m happy to hear someone’s job is going to plan.”
Taking a twenty-dollar bill from another customer, she rings up their order and hands them the change, bracing her forearms on the bar as she leans forward.
“I actually thought you were waiting on a guy who hadn’t shown up. You know, since it’s Saturday night and you look a little lost.”
Puffing out a despondent breath, I tap my phone screen once to see no reply from Will. Not even a Read receipt this time.
“Well, you’re right about being left hanging by a man, although tonight was definitely not a date, more like the most disorganized client you’ve ever met.”
The girl, who I’d pin as being in her mid-twenties, narrows her bright blue eyes at me. Maybe it’s the striking red lipstick she always wears that sticks in my mind. I’ve never seen such full, plush lips before.
“He sounds like a dick who’s too distracted by his own self-importance.”
I chuckle because that statement could not be more accurate yet wrong, all at the same time. Sometimes, I wonder why I like Will because I’m for sure not susceptible to his charm.
“You work for First Line PR, don’t you?”
My head snaps up from where I was studying the cocktail.
“Relax.” She smirks. “I’m not going to tell anyone that Colton Davis’s staff spends their weekends berating clients for being assholes.”
“H-how do you know my boss’s name?”
“Honey”—she wipes the bar top again—“Colton is always in here, and you guys book regular booths. It doesn’t take a genius to put the pieces together.”
I lift a shoulder and let it drop. “I guess not.”
After a few minutes of her serving other customers, another Manhattan appears beneath my nose.
“If I drink that, then I’ll be wasted and definitely no good for the gym.”
She balks like I just insulted her. “Exercise on a Saturday night? Oh, please. Stay here and get wasted with me.” Her eyes scan the bar area. “I have a feeling tonight is going to be slow. Neither the Scorpions nor Rogues have a preseason game.”
I know. One of the players is supposed to be sitting next to me right now.
“You follow hockey?” I ask, wondering if she’s astute enough to know I’m Jessie Callaghan’s daughter.
While my dad retired from the game years ago, being a Hall of Famer and now the Rogues head coach means his face is very well known.
The girl’s eyes leave my face, and she twists her lips. “I wouldn’t say that I follow it exactly. But I do know one of the Rogues players.”
That piques my interest, and I wonder if he’s a First Line client. “Oh, yeah? Who?”
