Page 2 of The Billionaire in Her Bed

“New Fairway?” He picked up her phone and started to dial. “I didn’t know they were setting up shop here.”

“They’re breaking ground in the spring.” She stowed the disinfectant under the bar and wiped her hands on the towel before chucking it into the sink with the first one. “What are you, some sort of supermarket groupie?”

“Not exactly.” He frowned at the phone.

“No answer?”

“Straight to voicemail.” He slid it back to her. “Better than the alternative, I suppose.”

“What’s the alternative?” She stuck her phone in her bra.

He grimaced. “You don’t want to know.”

“I can call you a cab. Or get you an Uber.” Like Wayne. Where was he, anyway? His car should be pulling up any minute.

“How about that drink first?” He smiled, showing two rows of blindingly white, perfectly straight teeth that had no doubt made some orthodontist a fortune, and a set of dimples guaranteed to drive women crazy.

“Coming right up.” She plunked a rocks glass down on the bar in front of him and took the bottle of Johnnie Walker from the shelf behind her. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

The expensive haircut. The crisply pressed pants. The whole Macallan thing. It all reeked of the island. This guy was a Manhattanite through and through. Besides, if he were from the neighborhood, she’d know. One advantage of tending bar—pretty much everyone over the legal drinking age stopped in at some point or another.

“You could say that.” Mr. Manhattan propped his elbows on the bar and leaned in so she could smell his cologne, orange and cedar, with a hint of patchouli.

No doubt. A city boy. Probably worked on Wall Street or at some Park Avenue law firm. Normally, she avoided his type like the Ebola virus. Rich and entitled, like her father. Like every one of the boys in her snobby, suburban high school. That’s why she’d escaped to the cultural melting pot that was Sunset Park.

So why did this guy press all her sexual hot buttons? Was she that desperate to end her cold streak? Heck, even her baby sister was breaking out of her safety zone and dating one of the doctors at the clinic where she volunteered. Mommy and Daddy approved, of course. But at least she was getting some action. That was a hell of a lot more than Brooke could say.

She measured two fingers of scotch into his glass. “So, what brings you to Brooklyn?”

“Work.” He didn’t elaborate, just sipped his scotch. Even that was a turn-on, the way his Adam’s apple bobbed in the smooth, strong column of his throat. “What about you? What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?”

She bent over and rested her forearms on the bar, bringing her face inches from his. Her pathetic attempt at flirting—not exactly her strong suit—for once seemed to be paying off. Heat crackled between them, and she fought the urge to see if his jaw felt as deliciously rough under her fingertips as she imagined. “Who said I was nice?”

“Hey, Brooke.” Leave it to Wayne to pick the most inopportune moment to reappear. A streamer of toilet paper trailed from his shoe. Talk about a mood killer. “My Uber here yet?”

She extracted her phone from between her breasts and swiped the screen. “Looks like he’s pulling up now. Silver Toyota Prius.”

“Thanks.” He took his coat from the back of his barstool and toddled toward the exit. “See you tomorrow, doll.”

“Not if I see you first,” she quipped to his back as he vanished through the door.

Her mystery man studied her over the top of his glass. “Friend of yours, Brooke?”

Her name rolled off his tongue and over his full, kissable lips like sweet, syrupy music, an aphrodisiac that had her body humming like a tuning fork. “Regular. And thanks to him, you’ve got an unfair advantage over me.”

He tilted his head to one side. “How so?”

She stuck her phone in the back pocket of her suede mini skirt. “You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”

“Eli.” Again, he didn’t embellish, and she liked that. Short. Simple. To the point.

“Last call,” she announced loudly for the sake of the three lost souls left in the place, not counting her and her new friend Eli.

He tapped the rim of his glass. “Might as well hit me again before you throw me out.”

She poured him two more fingers of whiskey, nodding to the twenty-somethings on their way out before turning her attention back to her intended target.

“I could use some company while I clean up. It gets awfully lonely around here after closing time.”