One Night Charmer. Maisey Yates
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you think I could use flannel upholstery on the furniture? The curtains, too?”
“Why not? Maybe you could go with the whole lumberjack theme. Individual fireplaces by the tables, people could chop their own wood. It would be cozy.”
“I think you might be overtired.”
“I’ll bet you are, too,” she said, not quite sure why she cared, only that she did.
“Sure. But I’m basically running two businesses right now. And one is a little bit of a problem child.”
“I can help you with that,” she said. And as soon as the words slipped out, she realized she should. She had done a good job waiting tables today, but she wasn’t exactly going to win an award for it. It was also a skill a lot of people could hone, possibly faster than she could. But there were a few skills in life she knew she’d honed to perfection. Event planning, interior design. She was such a cliché. She blamed her mother. Or had her mother to thank. She wasn’t sure which. “I mean, my mother hosts a lot of charity events, and I’ve spent a lot of time helping with menus, and wine lists. Decorations... Anyway, I’m just saying this type of planning isn’t hard for me. It’s something I actually know how to do. So if you ever get tired of hanging out in your office until three in the morning, I’m on hand.”
“You have experience with all of that?”
“Yes, I do. And you can pay me minimum wage to help.”
“But you won’t make tips like you do here.”
She didn’t even have to weigh that. She would take less money to do something that made better use of her skills. She was willing to do her best at waitressing, but managing a project like this and helping with decor sounded much more appealing than spending all night on her feet. “That’s okay.”
He shook his head. “No, it isn’t. I’ll pay you more than minimum wage to help.”
She eyed him skeptically. “And why exactly would you do that?”
“Because it would save me having to hire someone, and I guarantee you that it would be more expensive to hire a professional than to pay you minimum wage plus whatever tips you make in an evening.”
“My tips are pretty good. I don’t know if you can afford me.”
“I have a feeling I can swing it. So, what hours are you interested in working? Do you want to trade shifts?”
“Honestly? I don’t really have anything else going on right now. So, if you want to tackle this tomorrow, and I can still come in to work...”
“I don’t want to work you to death.”
She snorted. “I’m not as delicate as you seem to think I am. I already told you, I’m a barrel racer. Not just some pansy-ass rich girl.”
“If you’re sure. Why don’t you meet me out at my place tomorrow.”
She ignored the little thrill that went through her at the thought of being at his place with him, alone. It seemed so much more intimate than being here with him. A lot more dangerous. “Directions?”
He reached into his back pocket, pulling out his wallet and producing a business card. Then he took a pen out of his pocket and scribbled something on the back of the card. “Why don’t you put this in your smartphone?”
“Do I look like someone who has a smartphone?” she asked, paraphrasing their earlier conversation from the night he’d driven her home.
“Absolutely.”
“Fair enough. Because I do.” She took the card from his hand and looked at the back, where he had written his address. “Well, should be easy enough to find. What time do you want me to come over?”
“How about noon? I’m not really human before then. Sometimes I’m not even awake.”
It struck her then, what strange hours a bartender must keep. She was slowly acclimating to the later nights, but she wondered what it must be like to live the way Ace did. He wasn’t really beholden to anybody. He could stay in the office until three in the morning if he wanted to, and then get up at noon, because why not? His entire life centered around what happened after 5:00 p.m.
She wondered what that must be like. To answer to no one, not even the clock in the way regular people did. No wonder he was kind of an ass. He wasn’t used to making concessions for anyone or anything.
She wasn’t sure if she envied him or not. Mostly because she wasn’t sure if she lived by someone else’s rules or her own. Which was really stupid, when she thought about it. But it all went back to what she had been saying to Madison earlier. She just didn’t know what she wanted.
She felt like she was floating. She was just going to blame that on how late it was.
“Okay,” she said, tapping the edge of the doorjamb. “See you tomorrow.”
“See you tomorrow.”
It was strange, how familiar those words were becoming. How familiar it was to hear them back.
She blinked, released her hold on the doorjamb and waved faintly while she turned and began to walk out of the bar.
Tomorrow would present a new opportunity to show him that she could do this job. This job, and more. And that was the only reason her stomach turned over when she thought about it. The only reason.
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