Stripped Bare (Stripped #1)(33)

She gave me a cursory glance over her shoulder. “We’re closed. Sign on the door says so.”

“I’m Mia O’Halloran. I’m working—”

“No marketing calls. Sorry.” She turned and slid a business card across the bar to me. “Call this number and leave a message.”

“I’m working for MM Marketing with Mr. Rykman.” I pushed the card right back.

Well, if she wasn’t the cherry on an ice cream f*cking sundae delight.

“No marketi—”

“Calm down, Tish,” West said, sauntering through the door that connected the bar to the staircase to go upstairs. “Mia’s working with me. Something you’d know if you’d read the notes Vicky left you instead of throwing them straight into the trash.”

She opened her mouth to speak but swiftly closed it again when he raised an eyebrow in question.

“And check your attitude or I’ll send you home and man the bar myself.” He turned to me, which silenced her once more. “Mia. I wasn’t expecting you this morning.”

“I know. Sorry. Are you busy?”

“Just about to head out to the bank.” He lifted up a dark-brown leather bag.

“Oh. I-I can come back later.” I took a step back, but he gave me a tiny smile.

“No, you’re good. Come with me.” He rounded the bar and looked at Tish. “Tish, if someone comes in for marketing, you take their business card. Got it?”

Her lips thinned. “Yes.”

“Good. I’ll be back soon.” He cupped my elbow and led me toward the doors, away from Miss Grumpalot inside.

When we stepped outside, he let out a long sigh.

“She seems lovely,” I said chirpily.

He side-eyed me, dropping my elbow and pulling his keys out of his back pocket. “That’s pushing it, don’t you think?”

I shrugged. “Just an observation.”

“Unfortunately, I can’t fire her for being grumpy.”

“Well, you could, but you’d have to have enough complaints,” I pointed out, getting into the car and putting my purse by my feet.

He got in too. “I’m a couple short.” He flashed me a grin and handed me the briefcase right after my belt clicked into place. “Here, hold this.”

I stared at it as he started the engine. “Do you often take people to the bank with you?”

“Never, but you can go back in there and keep Tish company if you’d like.” He raised an eyebrow before merging with the traffic.

“I’d rather jump into fast-moving traffic in New York City than spend another second alone with her.”

West chuckled, the deep sound filling the car. “What can I do for you?”

Everything you shouldn’t.

Mind, meet gutter. You’ll get along well.

“I wanted to go over the plans for marketing. I spent my time in the bar last night seeing what you apparently aren’t doing to promote anything.”

“Ouch, angel. Hit me where it hurts.”

I rolled my eyes. How dramatic. “You know you’re not doing anything. That’s why you hired me.”

“Yes.” He peered over at me. “What are your ideas?”

“Well, the promotions I mentioned...” I paused. There we went. Right into last night. “The promotions I mentioned last night.”

“The drinks ones? I liked those.” West glossed completely over the mention of last night and turned the wheel. The material of his white shirt stretched so tight across his arm that I wouldn’t have been surprised if I heard a rip. “Were you thinking alternate nights?”

“Kind of. If you did a half-price cocktail happy hour Monday through Thursday, you wouldn’t want to combine any other offers with it. Or...” My voice trailed off as my mind did. “You could do that Sunday through Wednesday and then an offer for ladies’ night on Thursday, one on Friday, one on Saturday... Of course you’d have to look at what you sell most of on what nights and adjust the promotions accordingly... Ooh, you could also do bachelorette party specials. The VIP booths are great, but drinks offers would bring even more in.”

“And if all bachelorette parties are like your friend’s, then my guys are making a shit-ton of money.”

I licked my lips. “Yes. That’s the general idea. You want to get them in and keep them in. Cheap drinks just for them is the best way to do it.”

West pulled up across the street from the bank and slowly turned to look at me. “Look at that,” he said in a low voice, unbuckling his seat belt, before leaning across the car at me. He flattened his hand on top of the briefcase and gripped the back of my seat. “You’re more than just a pretty face. And a smart mouth.” His eyes lingered on my parted lips for a moment before he pulled the case from between my legs and sat back. “I’ll be five minutes.”

He got out without another word.

I hated that my heart skipped a beat as I watched him walk away. He drew the attention of everyone as he crossed the street. Women stopped and did a double take, and it was almost as if the men avoided him entirely. He was handsome, no doubt, but it was his presence. He was commanding and demanding, and he claimed every inch of space he occupied.

And even the space he didn’t occupy belonged to him as long as he was in the room.