The Billionaire Next Door (Billionaire Bad Boys #2)(81)

On cue came a knock at his door.

“It’s open, Dimples,” he called, but walked for the door anyway. He was halfway across the room and ready to tell her to stop knocking when the door opened, revealing a red-faced, red-eyed Rachel.

“Hey, hey,” he soothed as he rushed to her. He bent to take her in, swiping a few stray tears from her cheeks. He took her purse and another heavy bag filled with files and set them on his desk. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

“Nothing.” She gave a hearty sniff. “I’m…stressed.”

“Stressed.”

“I have to go to Andromeda tonight for a shift.” She swiped her eyes and backed away from him. “Bree is sick and there’s no one else.”

“You just worked ten hours.”

“I was on my way over when I got the call. I’ll have to wear my suit to the bar. She gestured down at the gray skirt and blazer over a silky-looking pale pink shirt. “I don’t have a change of clothes.” She dug through her purse and came out with a tissue. “I won’t get done at the bar until three in the morning, and Bree and Dean both have the plague. I don’t want to catch what they have. Is it okay…if I stay here?” Her mouth turned down. “It’s only for tonight. And maybe tomorrow if they’re still puking.”

“Babe.” He hugged her to him and kissed the top of her head, his heart crushing that she’d worried about asking. “You can stay.”

“Thanks,” she said, her voice watery. “I have to get going.”

“Grab a bite. You’re no good without fuel tonight.”

Her stomach rumbled. He heard it.

“I don’t have time. I have to brush my teeth, pull my hair into a ponytail…”

He caught her arm as she beelined for the bathroom. “Sit down. Take ten minutes to eat. I’ll drive you to work.”

“Really?” So much hope bloomed in those blue eyes. Did she really think she couldn’t count on him? Well, you have been acting cagey, Bucko.

“Yes. Sit.” He doled out a portion each of basil chicken fried rice and shrimp pad Thai onto a plate for her. While she ate, he called the front desk. “Fi, how quickly can you get me a pair of comfortable women’s sneakers?” He moved his mouth away from the phone to ask, “Size, Dimples?”

“Oh, uh, eight.”

“Eight,” he told Fiona. “Thanks.” He ended the call. “Ten minutes.”

“She’s going to find me shoes in ten minutes?”

“Crane Tower’s front desk has a million connections.”

Rachel sent him a grateful smile. Even with damp eyelashes, she looked a hell of a lot more relaxed than she did when she opened his front door. He hated that she had to work like a dog this week. He hated to see her this exhausted. This spent.

“Give me your apartment key.” He held out a palm.

“Why?” she said around a bite.

“Because I’m going to pack a bag for you and set you up here.”

“I can pick up something after my shift,” she said with a headshake.

“You mean at three in the morning, before you have to get up at six and go to work?”

She frowned.

“You know what? Call in tomorrow at HQ. This isn’t your fault.”

“Absolutely not.” Her frown deepened. “I can’t call in my second day.”

Her dedication blew him away. He admired that as much as he admired every other part of her.

“You could skip the bar shift, you know. You are quitting.” He knew her answer before she gave it.

“No. They’re packed. They can’t run a shift without a bartender. Already, Trudy and Miles have been waiting on tables and popping behind the bar to pour beers. It’s too much for two servers to run the bar and the restaurant.”

“All right, then. Get ready, Dimples. I’m going to change and we’ll get out of here in a few.”

“Change? For what?” she asked as he walked to his bedroom.

“For my shift at the Andromeda.”

*



Rachel would have been buried if Tag hadn’t pulled his hair back, pushed up the sleeves of his Henley, and stepped behind the bar to help her out. He was in charge of simple mixed drinks and draft beers. No food orders, no money handling. That was his idea, and given Rachel would have been doing it herself anyway, having him there as a workhorse was a godsend.

She’d cried on the cab ride to Tag’s and nearly collapsed from fatigue in his living room, but since then she’d tapped into her second wind.

Tag had been wonderful. He’d swiped away her tears, fed her, bought her comfy shoes, and drove her here. And was working with her.

The billionaire bartender.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, pouring a chardonnay for a group of girls clogging the entire corner of the bar.

“How many of those have they ordered?” Rachel murmured, swiping a customer’s credit card.

“I’m keeping track in my head. Don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried about you undercharging. I’m worried they’ll be falling-down drunk by the time they leave.” She tipped her head discreetly. “Although, one of those girls is suspiciously sober. I think she’s ordering so you’ll turn around to pour and she can look at your ass.”