Blame It on the Bikini(7)

‘You’re saying I’ve not?’

Mya shrugged. ‘You’re the mini-me lawyer.’

‘You do know my father and I practise vastly different types of law. I’m not in his firm.’

Blandly she picked up a glass and polished it. That didn’t mean anything.

‘What, all lawyers are the same?’ He snorted. ‘I don’t do anything he does. I work with kids.’

She knew this, and at this precise moment she point-blank refused to be impressed by it. ‘You think your save-the-children heroic-lawyer act somehow ameliorates your womanising ways?’ Because Brad was a womaniser. Just like his father.

‘Doesn’t it?’

See, he didn’t even deny the charge. ‘You think? Yeah, that’s probably why you do child advocacy,’ she mused. ‘To score the chicks by showing your sensitive side.’

He laughed, a loud burst of genuine humour that had her smiling back in automatic response.

‘That’s an interesting take. I’ve never really thought about it that way.’ He shrugged. ‘But even if it does give me some chick-points, at least I’ve done something with my life that’s useful. Is igniting alcohol for party boys useful?’

She shifted uncomfortably. Serving drinks was a means to an end. But she managed a smooth reply. ‘Helping people relax is a skill.’

His brows shot up. ‘I’m not sure you’re that good at helping guys relax.’

She met his gaze and felt the intensity pull between them again.

‘Are you still at university or are you finished now?’ He broke the silence, looking down and toying with the pile of postcards on the edge of the bar.

‘I’m there part-time this year.’

‘Studying what?’

‘A double degree. Law and commerce.’

‘Law and commerce?’ he repeated. ‘So you’re going to become a greedy capitalist like my evil father and me?’ He laughed. She didn’t blame him, given her stabbing disapproval mere seconds ago. ‘You’re enjoying it?’

‘Of course,’ she said stiffly.

‘And the plan?’

‘A job in one of the top-five firms, of course.’

‘Speciality?’

‘Corporate.’

‘You mean like banking? Counting beans? Helping companies raid others and earning yourself wads of cash in the process?’

‘Nothing wrong with wanting to earn a decent wage in a job where you can sit down.’ She walked away to serve the customers she’d been ignoring too long. Her need to achieve wasn’t something trust-fund-son over there could understand. She needed money—not for a giant flat-screen TV and a house with a lap-pool and overseas jaunts. She needed a new house, yes, but not for herself. For her parents.

She was conscious of his gaze still on her as he sat now nursing something non-alcoholic and taking in the scene. As she glanced over, she saw his eyes held a hint of bleak strain. Was it possible that behind the playboy façade, the guy was actually tired?

But he didn’t leave. Even when the bar got quieter and they’d turned the music down a notch. In another ten minutes the lights would brighten to encourage the stragglers out of the dark corners. Mya felt him watching her, felt her fingers go butter-slippery. She kept thinking about the kiss; heat came in waves—when memory swept over control. She couldn’t stay away when he signalled her over to his end of the bar.

‘I’ve been thinking about the drinks for Lauren’s party,’ he said easily. ‘It would be good to offer something different, right? Not just the usual.’

So that was why he was still sitting there? He was party planning? Not surreptitiously watching her at all?

‘There you go, see?’ Mya said brightly, masking how deflated she suddenly felt. ‘You’ll organise a brilliant party. You don’t need me.’

‘I need your expertise,’ he countered blandly. ‘I don’t think I can ignite alcohol.’

No, but he could ignite other things with a mere look. Mya pulled her head together and focused on the task at hand. ‘You want me to come up with a couple of Lauren-inspired cocktails?’

‘They’re the house speciality, right? So, yeah, make up some new ones, give them a cute name, we’ll put them up on the blackboard.’ He chuckled. ‘Something that’ll be good fun to watch the bartender make. Definitely use a bit of fire.’

‘And ice,’ she answered, then turned away to scoop crushed ice into a glass and wished she could put herself in with it. How could she be this hot? Maybe it was a bug?

‘What would you use to make her cocktail?’ he asked idly. ‘What kind of spirit is Lauren?’

She took the question seriously. ‘Classic bones, quirky overtones. A combination that you wouldn’t expect.’

She turned her back to him and looked at the rows and rows of gleaming bottles. Reached up and grabbed a few and put them on the bar beside Brad. Then she poured. ‘Her cocktail would need to be layered.’ Carefully she bent and made sure each layer sat properly on the next. ‘Unexpected but delicious.’ She smiled to herself as she added a few drops of another few things. Then she straightened and looked at him expectantly.

He just held her gaze.

Finally she broke the silence. ‘You don’t want to try it?’

He studied the vivid blue, orange and green liquid in the glass in front of him. ‘Not unless you try it first. It looks like poison to me. Too many ingredients.’

‘I don’t drink on the job.’ She smiled sweetly. ‘Are you too scared?’

‘Don’t think you can goad me into doing what you want,’ he said softly. But he picked up the glass and took a small sip. He inhaled deeply after swallowing the liquid fire. ‘That’s surprisingly good.’

‘Yes,’ Mya said smugly. ‘Just like Lauren.’

He grinned his appreciation. ‘All right, clever clogs, what cocktail would you put together for me?’

Oh, that was easy. She picked up a bottle and put it on the bar.

He stared at it, aghast. ‘You’re calling me a boring old malt?’

‘It needs nothing else. Overpowering enough on its own.’

‘Well, you’re wrong. There’s another like that that’s more me than a single malt.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Tequila. Lethal, best with a little salt and a twist of something tart like one of your lemons.’

She rolled her eyes.

‘And what are you?’ He laughed. ‘Brandy? Vodka? Maudlin gin?’

‘None. I don’t have time.’

‘You should make time. You shouldn’t work so hard.’

‘Needs must.’ She shrugged it off lightly. ‘And you have to leave now so I can close up the bar.’

‘Have lunch with me tomorrow. We can brainstorm ideas.’

She should have said yes to organising the party on her own. Why had she thought he ought to have active involvement? ‘I’m at class tomorrow. I’m doing summer school.’ She’d be in summer school for the next three years.

‘Okay, breakfast, then.’

She shook her head. ‘I’m working.’

‘This place is open all night?’ His brows lifted.

‘I work in a café in the mornings and some other shifts that fit around my classes and the bar work.’

‘And you work here every night?’

‘Not on Sundays.’

‘Where do you work on a Sunday—the café?’

She nodded, looking up in time to see his quick frown. She rolled her eyes. Yes, she worked hard; that was what people did when they had to. Eating was essential after all.

‘Why didn’t you take a summer internship?’

She turned and put all the bottles back in their places on the shelves. The summer internships at prestigious law firms in the city were sought after. Often they led to permanent job offers once degrees were completed. But she wasn’t going there again, not until her final year of study and she’d recovered her grade average. Not to mention her dignity. ‘I need to keep going with my studies and, believe it or not, I earn more in the bar.’

‘You get good tips?’

‘Really good.’ She rinsed her hands again and wiped down the bench.

‘You might get more if you let some more of that red lace stuff show.’ He glanced down the bar. ‘One thing we are going to do for the party is have better bartender outfits. You’d never guess what you wear beneath the undertaker’s uniform you’ve got going on in here.’

Heat scorched her cheeks again. Once again, why had she picked that wretched scarlet bikini? He was never going to let her forget it. ‘This is what we all wear in the bar. It’s simple, efficient and looks smart.’