Chapter Two
EMILY POKED AT THEcherry in what was left of her Appletini. The bartender had teased her twice that he’d never before seen someone make a drink last two hours. Her phone buzzed and she grabbed it from her purse.
Not going to make it after all. Sorry.
Emily frowned at the text from her best friend. This entire night out was Cynthia’s idea. Emily replied.I’ll be home soon. Help you figure out what’s going on.
The downside to Cynthia being her own boss was she frequently worked Saturday nights. She hadn’t expected tonight’s emergency to take long, but she must have misestimated. She needed to work out some kinks in her app before she met with her next round of investors on Monday.
Don’t you dare leave, Cynthia wrote.That defeats the purpose.
Emily scowled at her phone.I can be daring somewhere else.
If you can’t handle picking up a guy in a bar, how are you going to stash your doubt long enough to have fun halfway around the world?
Most of her life, Emily had poured her efforts into work of some sort. In school, it was studying full time—she’d always had trouble keeping her grades up. After graduation, it was work of the paying sort. There was always another bill to pay, or requirement to prove herself.
She wanted more, though. The desire to do and be and see more hit her several months ago, and refused to release its claws. She’d been saving her money, and when her next job was up, she’d have enough to take half a year off and go wherever she wanted in the world. Tonight was supposed to be a celebration of almost being at that point combined with a test run of leaving her inhibitions behind.
Fine. She sent back to Cynthia.But I’m going to a different place.
Coming here specifically was a mistake. The bar was San Jose’s hot spot, frequented by everyone who wanted to be anyone. CEO’s of Silicon Valley’s startups.
Cynthia sent a follow-up text.Where you are is the same as any other bar you’d go to. He doesn’t have to be brilliant, he just has to be attractive and know when to not talk. Stop making excuses.
What if I do meet someone, and in a few months I find myself across from him in a contract?
Then you deal with that when it happens. You run that risk anywhere you meet someone in this town.
Emily dropped her phone back in her purse. Sometimes Cynthia made more sense than Emily wanted to admit.
A raucous cheer went up from a table halfway across the room, and her gaze drifted before she could stop it. The group had been there for maybe half an hour and got louder with each passing minute.
What kept drawing her eye, was the sexy guy sitting at the bar, a few feet from them. Dark hair, gorgeous blue eyes, and the way his button-down white shirt hugged the muscles of his torso was almost a sin. And she swore she saw a hint of ink scrawling above his collar. He wasn’t with the group, but if she cast her irritation in their direction each time they made noise, she got to see him.
Someone at the table said something. From the way Mr. Sexy shook his head and took another drink, she was glad she couldn’t hear it. He looked up, and when he saw Emily, his scowl melted into a smile.
Not fair.That made him more attractive. Maybe Cynthia was right; this bar was as good as any. Emily returned the look. When he pushed back his chair and strode in her direction, her pulse hammered in her ears.
Crap.Smiling worked? She didn’t expect that. Now what?
He took the seat next to her and settled his arm against hers. “Can I buy you another of whatever you’re drinking?”
He even had a sexy voice. This wasn’t real. Was it? “No, thanks. I’ve had enough.”