There are many perks to owning one of the hottest bars in New York City, but my favorite by far is being able to stroll in on any given Tuesday and find a gorgeous woman just waiting for me to sweep her off her feet.
Or, at least into my bed for the night.
This one is hanging by the empty bar, and even though we’re technically closed, I’ve got no complaints. She’s got a dark, choppy haircut, and is poured into black jeans, with a T-shirt reading, ‘Stitch Bitch’ emblazoned across her chest.
Her eyes land on me, and for a moment, I feel the strangest prickling in the back of my neck. Forget ‘gorgeous. This woman is the kind of beautiful you find in paintings hanging in grand museums. The kind that drives a man to foolish poetry and—
“Are you going to stand there staring all day?” she interrupts me, hazel eyes flashing with amusement.
I clear my throat. Get your shit together, Seb. “Not at all,” I say, my English accent just about as crisp as the day I left. “I was just thanking whatever lucky stars brought a woman as lovely as you into my life.”
I flash a smile. She rolls her eyes. “I’m looking for Charlie,” she says. “Or Dash?”
“Now, why would you waste your time with those guys?” I joke. “Scoundrels, the both of them. I’m one of the owners,” I add proudly. “I’d be happy to help with anything you need.”
The woman looks me up and down, and for some unfathomable reason, doesn’t seem impressed. “I’m Jenn’s friend, Roxy, and I was here about a bartending job, but if you’re the management…” She gives me another look, turns on her heel, and stalks towards the exit.
Shit.
“Wait a sec!” I call, hurrying after her. Charlie’s been complaining for weeks that we’re understaffed and overstretched, and there’ll be hell to pay if I’ve just driven off a prospective new hire. A friend of the Mavericks family at that. “Roxy!”
She turns back.
“Sorry for the mix-up,” I flash her a smile, the one that usually reduces single women—and married ones—to melted butter. “Please, come sit down. Let’s chat. Can I get you a drink?”
Roxy stares back, unmoved. “It’s noon.”
“Lunch then,” I offer. “Our line cook Eddie makes the best burger in town.”
She pauses, assessing me. “Fine,” she finally softens, following me back across the room. “But no tomato,” she adds.
I blink, horrified. “A burger without ketchup?”
“I said tomato, not ketchup,” she corrects me, and I have to grin.
“Because they’re entirely different things?”
Roxy’s lips finally quirk in a smile. “Obviously.”
She hops on a barstool and sheds her leather jacket as I go relay the order to the kitchen - and try to get my business head on. Believe it or not, I care about our nightlife empire being the best around, and the bar staff are the foundation of the whole business.
Flirting will just have to wait.
I join Roxy by the bar. “Do you have a resume?” I ask, tearing my thoughts away from the soft curve of her lips and the way her hazel eyes are sparkling with challenge.
She shrugs. “I don’t need one.”
“That good?” I chuckle, impressed by her brazen attitude.
She smiles back, matter-of-factly. “The best.”
“Alright,” I say, thinking fast. “Make me a Rum Martinez and a Pisco Sour,” I name two complicated cocktails. “And a martini, dry, twist.”
“Not so fast,” Roxy says. “I have some questions for you.”
“For me?” I ask, surprised. “I think you’re forgetting how job interviews work.”
“I remember just fine,” Roxy shoots back. “But since my last workplace wasn’t exactly the best situation, I need to make sure I’m not walking into another handsy free-for-all. Austin, I trust,” she adds. “But you?”
“Hey,” I protest, offended. “I’ll have you know; this is a professional workplace. Respect, and boundaries, and all that jazz. We have a strict no fraternizing policy.”
“Uh huh,” she smirks. “And how long has that been in effect?”
I pause. “A month,” I admit, remembering all the ways I fraternized with the last hostess. I grin. “But in my defense, I was the helpless victim there.”
“Helpless?” she arches an eyebrow. “You?”
“She took me into the storeroom, locked the door, and took off her blouse,” I reply with a bashful grin. “What else was I supposed to do?”
“Lie back and think of England?” she laughs.
“Exactly.” I grin. I like this woman’s vibe, and when she slides down off her stool, moves behind the bar, and proceeds to mix a row of drinks, the cocktail shaker spinning in expert fashion, I like her moves too.
I take a sip to test as she lines them up in front of me. Damn, this woman knows her liquor. “I’m a snob when it comes to a fine martini, but this might just be the best I’ve had in years,” I say, applauding. “Where did you learn to mix a drink like that? In fact, tell me everything. I want to know all about you.”
“Oh no,” she scolds me playfully. “We’re not doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“That whole Mr. Darcy British charm routine.” She fixes me with a knowing look. “I’ll take the gig,” she says, “but let’s just get one thing straight right now. Bachelor playboys are not my style. So, you and me? Never going to happen.”
“Never’s an awfully long time,” I point out, still smiling. “Are you sure you want to make such a lifelong commitment to a perfect stranger?”
She laughs again. “Something tells me, you’re a long way from perfect.”
“You’re right,” I joke. “Romance is definitely not on the cards for us. You already know me far too well.”
“That’s what happens once the mystery’s gone,” she banters back. “Next thing, you’ll be leaving the bathroom door open. It’s all downhill from here.”
I laugh again, even as I feel a stab of regret. Just my luck to find a woman who’s stunning, witty, and can put me in my place… Who’s just marked herself completely off-limits.
“So, deal?” Roxy asks, raising a glass. “You can cut this Romeo act, and I’ll mix the best damn Manhattans in town.”
There’s really no choice. “Fair enough,” I agree, lifting my glass to toast. “Friends, co-workers, sparring partners. You have yourself a deal.”
It’s probably for the best. I’ve been enjoying my bachelor life for so long, I’m in no hurry to give it up. But as we toast, our eyes lock, and I feel that prickling sensation again. Like I have no idea what I just got myself into.
But something tells me, it’s going to be a wild ride.
TO BE CONTINUED…
Sebastian and Roxy’s sizzling story is just getting started. ONE WEEK WINGMAN is available to order now - featuring all your favorite Mavericks crew!
ONE WEEK WINGMAN
Fake date. Real trouble. Fall for a new trope-tactic, fake dating rom-com series from USA Today bestselling author, Lila Monroe!
Sebastian Prescott is handsome, British, and charming… and the last man you can rely on. Bartending at Mavericks, I’ve seen his love-em-and-leave-em routine up close, and I know better than to become another notch on his king-sized bedpost. But when a little white lie catches up with me, it turns out that Seb is exactly the man I need for the job…
Posing my fake boyfriend for the week.
See, I invented The Perfect Man (TM) to keep my interfering family off my case, but now I’m back home for my high-school reunion, my sister is (surprise!) engaged to my ex, and I’m first in line to win Biggest Disappointment. I need Mr. Perfect to roll up and save me from humiliation, and since he doesn’t exist, I’ll just have to settle for New York’s biggest playboy instead.
A cocktail for disaster? That’s what I figure, but as we’re swept up in small-town shenanigans, family drama, and tipsy strip karaoke (don’t ask), I find there’s more to Seb than just charm and come-to-bed-eyes. A whole lot more. But when the week is up, will our fake date arrangement become something real? Or is our flirty fling destined to remain fiction?
Find out in the new hot and hilarious rom-com from USA Today bestselling author, Lila Monroe!