Blame It on the Bikini(9)

No Messing Around Mya.

He bit back the amusement, because he was going to mess with Mya. He knew he had to play it carefully or she’d block him the way she’d blocked all those other guys at the bar. But he knew the party was a brilliant idea, and having to work with her to plan it? Genius. Because he hadn’t felt heat in nothing but a kiss in for ever. The chemistry between them had kept him awake and rock hard all hours. He’d never felt the thrill of the chase like this. Then again, he hadn’t had to chase like this. He watched closely to see her reaction when she saw him but her face remained an expressionless mask—too expressionless. Now, that took effort.

Good. If she had to work hard to hide her reaction to him, that meant her reaction was extreme. As was his to her. But he wasn’t going to hide it. No, he was all about having fun and being up front.

‘Hi, darling,’ he called, hoping to raise a spark.

She didn’t answer until she’d reached the bar and then it was with a mocking coo. ‘Have you forgotten my name? I’m Mya.’

‘I can’t call you “darling”?’ He propped an elbow on the broad expanse of highly polished wood.

‘I’m suspicious of men who rely on pet names.’ She moved to put the bar between them. ‘I wonder if it’s because they can’t remember the name of the woman they’re with.’

He smiled, enjoying the way she was so determined to put him in his place.

‘You’ve been guilty of it, haven’t you?’ She raised her brows and said it as a statement of fact, not a question.

He always remembered a woman’s name at the time, but a few months later? Yeah, he’d better plead the fifth. With growing disappointment he watched her wind the apron round her waist, hiding how well her thighs were shown off in the spray-on jeans.

‘We’re not open yet.’ She turned to face him. ‘So I can’t serve you.’

‘It’s all right.’ Brad nodded at his half-empty glass. ‘Your boss already has. I’ve been talking with him about the party. Saturday after next. That okay for you?’

Her teeth worried her lower lip as a frown creased her forehead. ‘I’ll need to talk to Drew. I’m rostered to work that night.’

‘Not any more. It’s already sorted. You’re there as a guest, not a bartender.’

That little frown didn’t lighten. ‘Yes, but—’

‘You work every night,’ he interrupted. ‘You’re not going to take a night off for your best friend’s surprise party?’

‘Of course I am.’

‘Then there’s no problem, is there?’

‘No, but you didn’t need to arrange that for me.’ Her vibrant green eyes rested on him, still frustratingly cool.

Was that what bothered her? Him interfering? Fair enough. ‘I thought it would help,’ he explained honestly. ‘I wanted your boss to understand that he couldn’t call on you at all that night and that I was willing to pay for extra staff.’

‘And that’s wonderful of you,’ she said through a smile that couldn’t be more fake. ‘But I can handle my own requests for a night off.’ She suddenly looked concerned more than cross. ‘But it’s very soon and very close to Christmas. You’ll have to work quick to make sure people are free that night.’

‘They’ll be free.’ Where the food and drink were free, people turned up.

‘You’ll need to get invitations out.’ She pulled a rack of glasses from a dish-drawer beneath the counter and began stacking them onto another shelf.

He grinned, happy that she was being overly efficient. He hoped it meant he was under her skin. ‘Can’t I just send a text?’

‘You want the whole world and his dog to turn up and drink the place dry?’ She turned and gave him a pointed look. ‘You’ll need to have a list of bona fide invitees on the door at the very least. But you should do proper invitations.’

‘Right, okay.’ He nodded as if her every word were law. ‘And personalised, right?’

‘Right.’

Actually she was right. Lauren wasn’t a store-bought-stationery kind of woman. Mya wasn’t either. Brad had spent all last night wondering just what kind of woman Mya was.

‘Maybe you should do the actual invitations?’ he suggested. ‘You’re good at taking photos and stuff. You have a real eye for composition.’

She sent him a withering look before turning back to stack the glasses. ‘I don’t have time. I can come up with the guest list and get you some contact details, but you’re going to have to put it all together.’

‘Okay, I can do that.’ He sighed. ‘What are you thinking of? Gilt-edged cardboard things?’ Never in a million years.

She flattened him with another killer cool stare. ‘I think Lauren would prefer something a little more original than that.’

‘I’ll get to thinking, then,’ he answered mock meekly.

She eyed him suspiciously this time before her gaze lifted to something behind him and brightened. ‘Nice of you to turn up, Jonny,’ she called. ‘Everything’s ready.’

‘I knew I could count on you.’ The tall guy who’d just walked in winked at her. ‘But you need the music.’ He stepped behind the bar and the relentless, rhythmic thud began.

Brad watched Mya instinctively move in time to the beat. With her natural rhythm and grace and fiendish determination, not to mention her sharp tongue and challenging eyes? He was dying here. And he wasn’t getting anywhere very far, very fast.

The bar opened and the stream began. Offices weren’t shutting for at least an hour yet but these people were ready to party. He didn’t want to leave. Instead he watched half the other punters eye her up just as he was doing.

She and the Jonny guy made a good combo. Jonny, tattoos on display beneath the sleeves of the regulation black tee, was tanned and tall where she was pale and petite. Brad watched them banter their way through the cocktail preps. Her competitive streak was right to the fore. It amused him seeing the clinical way she observed the guy. He saw her flicking her wrist in practice, mimicking the movement of the master.

‘You’re almost as good as he is,’ he said when she came to his end of the bar in a quiet moment.

She didn’t pout at the honest assessment. Mya wouldn’t want false flattery. She was too straight-up for that. ‘Give me another week or two and I’ll be better.’

Brad smiled. She wanted to be the best?

‘The protégée wants to whip the master, but I’m not going to let that happen.’ Jonny slung his arm along Mya’s shoulders.

Brad immediately felt an animal response, his skin prickling at the sight of another man touching Mya—since when did he have hackles?

‘Oh, it’s going to happen and you know it.’ Mya flicked Jonny’s arm off as easily as she’d flicked off the flirty guys from the stag do the night before. ‘You’re running scared.’

Both Brad and Jonny chuckled and watched her swagger to a waiting customer.

‘You’ve been teaching her?’ Brad asked Jonny.

Jonny nodded. ‘She’s a quick learner. Focused, driven, plus she’s been practising. That’s how she got the job here in the first place.’

‘And she wants to work here because?’

‘It’s the most popular bar in town.’ Jonny looked at him directly. ‘We get good clientele with a lot of money to spend. So we make good money. With her looks and the skill to match, she’s popular.’

‘Why do you help her out? You’re not threatened by her?’ Brad texted some mates, determined not to turn into some sad stalker type who just sat there and stared at his fixation. He certainly didn’t want to feel this needle as he watched the byplay of the two bartenders. It couldn’t be jealousy, could it? Never.

Jonny laughed. ‘Wouldn’t you rather work with her than some guy?’ he pointed out with a sly smile. ‘We work well together—people like the competition. Some like to look at her, others like to look at me.’ He turned back to the bar and bluntly summed it up. ‘It’s all for the show and to help them spend their money.’

And Mya needed the money. She’d mentioned the tips last night. She could earn more here than on an internship? Even though the internship would progress her career. Brad frowned as he remembered what little he could about her. The girl his parents had been so disapproving of had actually become the Dux of the school—carrying off the elite academic prizes. It had only been because Mya was going to university that Lauren had decided to go too. So surely she was doing as well at university? By rights she should be bonded to some corporate firm already, with a scholarship in return for five years of her working life. Instead she was flinging bourbon around a bar and working back-to-back shifts between the club and a café while squeezing in summer school as well. Something had gone wrong somewhere; the question was, what?