Any Time, Any Place (Billionaire Builders #2)(48)

And this was even before the magazine released.

But the real hidden star had just walked in trailed by his brothers, bringing a healthy round of applause in his wake. She’d told everyone that Dalton Pierce had done the work for Pierce Brothers Construction, and she’d left out a stack of his business cards at the end of the bar.

It was fair. His work was stellar and beautiful, and he deserved success as much as she did. It was hard to think of his company in those terms, since for so many years she’d hated the Pierce brothers with a passion. But somehow, by giving him the praise he deserved, something inside her had loosened a few notches.

He put up his hand, laughing and waving off the applause with a good-natured roll of his eyes.

The adorable flush in his cheeks was sexy as hell.

Dalton Pierce was sexy as hell.

He’d cleaned up for the party, and wore a white button-down shirt, dark jeans, and leather shoes. His hair was loose and freshly washed, tawny strands brushing his shoulders. His jaw was clean shaven. When she went to greet him, the scent of lemon varnish and a touch of Hershey’s chocolate drifted around him.

She wanted to devour him whole.

That’s when the irony struck. She was hot for a Pierce brother. Her father should be here right now. Helping behind the bar. Laughing with Al. Hanging his paintings on the walls.

Instead, he was dead, and it was Diane Pierce’s fault. Dalton’s brothers had spread lies about her father, ruined his reputation, and gotten away with it. Could she leave the past alone and try to move on without answers?

Oh, she’d been trying. The odd relationship with Dalton was growing stronger, and this past week she’d tried to keep her distance, especially after she’d rudely dismissed him via her last text. But he’d sent her the damn roses. And he made a point to drop by the bar every single day, just to grab a drink and converse for a while. He was offering friendship, but she knew he wanted more, and each time she began to soften, the past roared up again. In order to allow him closer, she needed to know the whole truth, or it would haunt her forever. Somehow, some way, she had to get Dalton to tell her what he knew about the events leading up to the car crash.

It might be time to tell him the truth about who she was, too.

Raven didn’t have time to brood or ponder her thoughts, and refused to ruin such a great night by replaying the past. She went back to work and the crowds doubled, so she had little time for chitchat. If tonight was any indication of future traffic, the refurbishment had paid for itself already.

The party was a huge success.

Halfway through, she realized it was a little bit too successful.

Al ran the kitchen with military precision, and the waitstaff seemed enthusiastic about the crowds, but she was dying at the bar. The cocktails were such a hit, and she hadn’t made enough batches, so the line kept growing. Damn, she should’ve hired an assistant bartender, but of course, with her control issues, she hadn’t even considered it.

She hated denying someone a drink, but it might be time to shut down the cocktail station and just deal with beer and wine. Frustrated at her glitch in planning, Raven put her fingers in her mouth to blow a wolf whistle, then stopped cold.

“Hey.”

She blinked. Dalton had come behind the bar and was calmly tucking a bottle opener into his pocket and grabbing a dishrag. “What are you doing?” she demanded.

“Helping you out. You’re slammed.”

Her mouth fell open. “You can’t come back here! You’re not a bartender!”

His dimples flashed. Her knees weakened just a tad from the laugh lines around his mouth. Why were his teeth so white? Did he use a whitener or were they naturally that beautiful, like the rest of him? “Actually, I am. Or was. I bartended as a second job in California.” Those blue eyes tugged at her, filled with male mischief. “I kinda sucked, but I can certainly manage beer and wine. I’ll leave the more exotic drinks to you. Deal?”

She shook her head stubbornly. “No, this is a party and you’ve done enough. This is not your job. Go have fun with your brothers.”

He didn’t move, just as stubborn as her. “I see my brothers every day. I’d love to help you out; I found bartending to be kind of fun.”

“No, it’s not right. Go talk to some women.”

His grin was pure delight. Damn this man. “Already checked them out. Not interested in anyone. Besides, I’d like to help my friend.” He gave a meaningful pause. “Unless you didn’t mean it? About trying to be more friendly?”

Why did she even bother? She slammed a corkscrew on the bar and jabbed a finger at his chest. “Fine. You get twenty per hour and split the tips with the kitchen crew.” She grabbed the jar that was halfway stuffed and plopped a brand-new shiny one on the bar. “This one’s yours. Let’s see what you got.”

“If I let a woman touch my butt, do my tips go up?”

She rolled her eyes and opened the mini fridge. “Al will kick her ass. Now for God’s sake, go pour that guy a Sam Adams.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He turned to walk down the bar.

She couldn’t help it. She checked out his ass.

Two hours later, she admitted he’d been right. She would’ve died without the help. Besides taking the pressure off her, he flourished behind the bar. Charming both males and females, he poured drinks, remembered names, joked good-naturedly, and up-sold her cocktails. His jar was overflowing and the curvy blonde at the end kept stuffing dollar bills into it like he was her own personal stripper.