The Billionaire Next Door (Billionaire Bad Boys #2)(82)

“You think?” He beamed.

“Careful.”

“In the business, we call this tip talk,” he said, pulling his shoulders back and elevating the glass of wine. “Just you watch how many tips I earn you.”

She watched. Between making drinks and taking orders, she watched Tag laugh and lean, flex, and at one point there was a little dancing. The girls were completely starry-eyed and they kept ordering. When it came time to settle the bill, one of them made a show of jotting her phone number on the receipt.

By the end of the night, the women piled into a taxi, courtesy of Tag, who’d called one for them. He locked up after he came back inside. “Did I tell you, or did I tell you?”

“I hate to break it to you, but the biggest number on those receipts was a phone number.”

“One of them left a C-note, princess. Check your till.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Seriously?”

He put his hands on his chest. “Tip talk master.”

She laughed, but the expelled breath was the end of her fuel.

“We’re half-assing cleanup. I’m dead.” She dropped the bar towel on a nearby table she’d intended on bussing. Instead she collapsed into a chair, the idea of wiping down two dozen tabletops making her want to cry fresh tears.

“Samuel,” Tag said. She turned to see his phone pressed to his ear. “I need a car to the Andromeda Club in five.”

What on earth…?

“Yep. That’s the one. Thanks.” He dropped his phone in his pocket, came out with his keys. “Stay put, Dimples. I’ll grab your coat.” He twisted a key off the ring and put it in front of her.

“What are you doing?” She blinked, bleary-eyed and pretty sure exhaustion had zapped her brain.

“I’m going to clean the bar, lock up, and make sure your kitchen guys do their shit. You’re going back to my place and you’re going to get some sleep.”

“Tag, no.”

He leaned over her, one hand bracing the back of her chair, the other flattened on the table next to the key. “I run Guest and Restaurant Services for a massive hotel conglomerate. I can handle shutting down a bar. You’re going to my house.” He kissed her, warm and delicious, then straightened. “Then you’re going to put on one of my T-shirts and climb into bed.”

Going to bed in one of Tag’s worn cotton tees sounded like heaven after the day she’d had. He grabbed the bar towel and started wiping down tables, sending her a wink while she just…sat there, alternating between watching his ass and trying not to fall asleep.

The car came, and Tag buckled her in, kissed her again, and sent her on her way. Everything else was a blur, but she did manage a quick shower before pulling on one of Tag’s T-shirts as instructed.

She was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

*



“Coffee.”

The intoxicating scent curled under Rachel’s nose and she opened her eyes. Tag was leaning over her, dressed in sweats and a tee, his hair falling to one side. He lowered to the bed as she pushed up on one elbow and accepted the mug.

Any one of the women last night would have gone home with him if he’d shown an ounce of interest, yet Rachel was the one in his bed. The thought triggered a sleep-deprived smile.

“Sure you don’t want to call in?” he asked, his lips tipping.

“What time is it?” the frog in her throat asked.

“Ten till six.”

She groaned.

“Can you make it?”

“I can make it.” She sipped her coffee and eyed him over the rim of the mug. “Thank you. For last night.”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you.” She’d needed him. And when she allowed herself to lean on him, he didn’t collapse like a house of cards. He’d ended up being as strong and capable as he appeared.

Even though she was tired, she made it through coffee and getting dressed—Tag hadn’t had a chance to pick up her clothes from Bree’s since he’d worked with her, but he’d arranged for someone to deliver a wardrobe for her. Rachel had found several white shiny bags on his couch filled with clothing and accessories, and her favorite perfume and makeup brand. She would have argued it was too much, but she was too busy being grateful.

The hours went fast except the ones between two and four o’clock—those dragged. Rachel finally finished her workday promptly at five. She called Bree to check on her. The worst of her friend’s flu was over, and she had tonight off, so there was no need for Rachel to bartend again. Her relief was short-lived when Bree walloped her with news she hadn’t prepared for.

“We’re moving out this weekend, Rach. I’m so sorry to do this to you, but we were told the house was available sooner than we thought, and a friend of ours offered to take over our lease here, meaning we won’t be penalized for leaving early. I figured since you were with Tag and you had a place to stay—”

“No penalty from me either,” Rachel had said before Bree apologetically informed her further.

Rachel had spent her lunch and ten-minute break arranging for a storage facility and calling the apartment she’d wanted to put the deposit down on. More bad news: the unit she wanted to hold wouldn’t be ready for two weeks.