It’s a small bar but popular. I don’t want it to start failing.’
She’d heard of the club. A new one—opened on the scene during the year she’d been away. As he said, small, but definitely had potential.
‘What’s your interest? You own it?’ Her incredulity was doing her no favours but she really couldn’t see him in the centre of such a scene. Principesa was for night owls—party people. He had white-collar workaholic stamped all over him.
‘My cousin owns it. Lara Graydon.’
She knew of Lara. Six foot something, looked like a Nordic goddess. Had been a diva in the Wellington social set for several years.
‘She’s gone to the States for a couple of weeks on a personal matter.’ His grimace indicated his displeasure. ‘Leaving me to oversee the manager.’ The last two words were ground out through a rigid jaw.
‘And the manager?’
‘Was found rotten drunk slumped behind the bar this morning by council authorities who were called when the club failed to shut down at the required hour. Music was blaring and then I discovered discrepancies in the till.’
‘And this—’
‘Adds up to one sacked bar manager.’
Lucy had the feeling that far more minor transgressions would also bear the wrath of this man. He was not the kind of guy to settle for anything less than the best. ‘So you need someone as soon as possible.’
He nodded. ‘It’s Wednesday today. I can get away with keeping the club shut for a night or two but it must be open again on Friday. I want someone in there right away to clean up the mess it’s been left in. There isn’t enough stock to last half a night. I want someone who can walk in and take over.’
‘Why can’t you do it?’
He rolled his eyes. ‘Dressed like this?’ So he could do irony. He elaborated. ‘I have a day job—one that keeps me busy enough. That’s why I need someone responsible to take over so I can forget about it until Lara gets back.’
‘When’s that?’
‘Wouldn’t we all like to know?’ He shrugged. ‘Shouldn’t be more than a couple of weeks.’
There was a silence. She eyed him calmly while her brain worked furiously. She tried to ignore the fact that he was incredibly arresting and that his cool determination was intoxicating. He was bright, blunt and to the point and, frankly, he turned her on. Under that suit lurked a sense of humour. What else was hidden under that remote veneer? But a suit? Come on. She’d never been attracted to a straight A type before and now wasn’t the time to experiment. She was flat broke and needed work—to start immediately. Manager would pay more, even if it was only a week or two. She could puff up the experience for her next job.
She quickly opened her dog-eared satchel and took out a copy of her CV, wishing the other fifteen copies weren’t quite so obvious. She masked her unexpected nervousness by pulling her shoulders back and handing the paper over with an assertive flourish.
He took the CV, not looking at it until he’d held her gaze in a challenging stare for so long that she was finally forced to break it. Looking down and away, she instructed her lungs to inflate. For some reason they didn’t seem to be working on auto any more. It was as if he knew exactly what he was going to find on the page. And he didn’t think much of it. As if he knew she could do better.
Rebellion burned.
There was a long silence as he read it through. His face gave nothing away but she knew he was less than impressed. Well, who wouldn’t be? Even she could admit it wasn’t great reading.
Finally he spoke. ‘Well, we have one thing in common.’
‘What’s that?’
‘You’re not big on commitment either.’
She blinked.
He looked back at the paper, obviously biting back a smile. He’d shocked her. He knew it. And he thought it was funny. She gritted her teeth to hold back her sarcastic response. She needed this opportunity and she wasn’t going to lose it by mouthing off at him. She inhaled deeply before inquiring in a voice that screamed frigid politeness. ‘What makes you say that?’
‘You’ve not held a job longer than three months.’
‘I’ve been at university until the end of last year. Student jobs, summer jobs. They never last long.’
‘And this year?’
‘I’ve been travelling about.’
‘Why did you leave your last job?’
Why did she leave any of them? That boredom, that restlessness, that niggling feeling that she wasn’t quite right for it. She tried, genuinely tried and was your average, dependable worker—with a short expiry date.
‘You phone any of my old employers and ask for a reference. I’ve never taken a sick day, I’m happy to work double shifts. I guarantee they will all say nothing but good.’
‘You’ve a strong sense of your own worth, then?’
Well, there was the biggest bluff in history. She was good but not great. More mediocre than marvellous. She’d never really shone, but she’d never really tried to. What was the point? She’d been pigeon-holed years before as someone who wasn’t ever going to excel. The only prize she’d ever deserved was for biggest idiot. A blip in her personal history that had given rise to feelings of humiliation, inadequacy and fear—feelings that haunted her still, that coloured each world she tried to build for herself. Which was why she kept starting over. Ultimately she feared to try her best because she suspected it still wouldn’t be good enough.
She leant forward, abandoning dignity in her desperation for dollars. ‘Look, I can do this. I’ve been working in bars and restaurants for years. I know the suppliers. I know what works and what doesn’t. Give me the job and I promise you won’t regret it.’
She glanced at the clock. It wasn’t far off five. She hoped like crazy the receptionist wouldn’t walk back in. Hoped her luck would hold to grant her this one chance. ‘I know the drill from the cleaning to stock management to handling stroppy customers. Been there, done that. And I can deal with staff.’ She looked at him firmly. ‘Bar staff work hard. I know exactly how hard and I know how to give them the respect and motivation they need to keep working that way.’
She didn’t know if her argument was working, but she did know he hadn’t taken his eyes off her. She’d seen him glance over her a couple of times but for the most part his gaze held hers. She found it incredibly difficult not to be distracted by his intensity. And by the colour of his eyes. She debated whether they were truly pure gold or brown with gold flecks. Either way they were unusual. And mesmerising. She blinked. Not going to go there. Not going to be distracted.
‘If you want someone to run your club. Then you want me.’
You always pre-plan your activities
DANIEL GRAYDON sat back and let the words hang on the air. You want me. Awful to admit it but he kind of did. Which was surprising because it only took a second to know she wasn’t his type, sitting there humming, smiling to herself, she was on another planet from his. He took a few more seconds to look her over and reinforce the impression.
She looked like an untamed gypsy and he was more your refined-preppy-girl kind of guy. She had the kind of tan that signalled lengthy hours on the beach. The low neckline of her singlet top revealed not even the hint of a bikini mark—an all-over-body tan? He banished the immediate mental picture only to focus on her long legs—wrapped in worn denim. Sizable patches on the thigh