“Yeah? How long for?”
“Only ‘til the end of the year. My diary doesn’t go past that yet.” He grins and pulls me in for a kiss. He hums against my mouth, the gentle sound vibrating his lips against mine. “Now go make up a menu. I expect a Blow Job as soon as possible.”
I drop my hand to his pants and brush my thumb over the material covering his half-erect cock. “And I expect a Screaming Orgasm. Pencil that in.”
I leave the car after one final kiss. He laughs yet again, a sound I’m certain I’ll never tire of, and I wave just before stepping inside the bar.
Now, the bar is a totally different place than it was the last time I was here. Downstairs is painted, the bar is completely erected, and all the necessary furniture is on the dance floor, still covered in plastic. The bar is covered with a plastic sheet, too, and I guess that’s to protect it from the final building work going on up in the VIP section.
At least I don’t have to wear one of those fucking hard hats any more.
“Is upstairs almost done?” I grab Will on my way to the bar, where my best friend is sitting.
He nods. “Yes, ma’am. They’re just building the bar and laying the final tiles on the floor. Then we’ll be able to get it decorated and the lights fixed up. That’s what we’re doing right now.”
“Great!” I smile and head for the bar.
“You’re late,” Dayton says, teasing.
“Blame your future cousin-in-law. He started with Blow Jobs, so naturally I had to respond with a Screaming Orgasm.”
She stares at me for a moment. “Cocktail innuendos. I would have loved to be a fly on the wall for that conversation.”
I can’t help but grin as I sit down on the plastic-covered stool and put my purse on the plastic-covered bar. “It’s like a warehouse in here,” I mutter, grabbing a pen from the bar and clicking it.
Day opens a notebook and hands it to me. “Lights and restrooms today. Then they’ll start with furniture and getting all the little things out of the way.”
“I guess they got a few too many extra men in.” I laugh.
“Probably. So, aside from a Screaming Orgasm and a Blow Job, what are you thinking?” she grins devilishly. “Slippery Nipple? Silk Panty Martini? Climax?” Her eyes glitter with laughter.
“This is a high-end establishment.” I sit up straight. “But I really, really want to put them on just for giggles.”
Day snatches the pen and writes them all on the paper. “Do menu sections. These can be in the section titled ‘Final Night of Freedom.’”
Oh my god. “Put All Night Long in there, too.”
She scribbles it down. “Classics?”
“Mojito, margarita, Bloody Mary, daiquiri, martini—all versions—whisky sour, cosmopolitan, mimosa, and Bucks Fizz.”
She blinks at me. “Wow. Why are we writing a menu again, Ms. I Know My Cocktails?”
“So everyone else knows them, too. Duh.” I take the pen from her. “Do you have another notebook? I need to write down the ingredients so I don’t get swamped later.”
She hands me another notebook and I flip to the first page. Using the other list, I write down all the ingredients so I can put the order through. We shoot more cocktail ideas and section titles around as I write, switching between the two lists. When we have a great basic menu, I add all the beers, lagers, and wines to the order sheet.
When it’s done, I call the supplier Aaron wants to use and place the order. Dayton hands me a card with his name on it and I pass the details over the phone.
“New card,” she explains once I’ve hung up. “Especially for this place. This is yours, so every time you need to get something for the bar, you can use this. There’s a new accountant and he has a link to the account to do the books every week. As long as you keep your own notes so we can match it up, she’s yours.” She hands me the card.
I stare at it for a moment. This managing thing is more responsibility than I realized. Keeping books? I can just about keep my ‘porn on a page’ tidy on my shelf, never mind actual numbers books.
Oh well. I guess I have a hot date with Google and Bookkeeping 101 tonight.
“Okay,” I reply, tucking it into my purse. “At least that’s done. Are the menus going to the designer now?”
Dayton nods and pulls her laptop open on the bar. “I’ll type it up now and send it all to her. She’ll work on them tonight so you can look it over and send it to the printer tomorrow. I’ll CC you into the email.”
I blink at her as she types furiously at the keyboard. “Are you a trainee photographer or working for your fiancé?”
She laughs. “Bit of both. Apart from my day at college, the photographer thing is pretty much random. I don’t go on all Tyler’s shoots with him, so I have a lot of free time. I can’t deal with nothing to do, so I do the little things that bug him—like sending emails like this.”
“I see.”
“And I prefer working with him, not for him.” She winks. “Okay. Done. Now talk.”
“About what exactly?”
“Have you met Tessa yet?”
I see where this is going. “Yes, I met Tessa. It was…awkward.”
Day clicks her pen. “Awkward because you were naked or because you freaked?”
“Ohhhh,” I groan, dropping my forehead to the bar. “Both. Both.”
I explain the day she walked through the door when I was basically naked—both times—and about Tyler’s bold proclamation that led to my freak-out. I’m getting irate as I talk about it. I can feel my chest tightening, and I might slam my fist against the bar a couple of times. Might.
“And then, there’s a fucking toothbrush in my bathroom this morning,” I finish and take a deep breath. I am so not over that toothbrush thing. At all.
“So what? Is he moving in one little object at a time? A toothbrush here, a dirty sock there?”
If I find a single dirty man-sock in my apartment, I will strangle him with it. I tell her as much.
“Well…” She pauses.
“Go on.”
“Uh, no. Never mind.”
“Dayton Black, talk right the hell now.”
She flips me the bird then sighs. “Look, maybe this is how it’s supposed to be. Maybe you guys are supposed to move fast because a whirlwind luuuhhh—relationship,” she corrects herself, “is the only way either of you will accept more than one night.”