“How are you doing?” Sara slid in beside Ben at the portable bar and reached past him to remove an empty wine bottle. “Gotten any tips?”
“I’ve been advised to find another line of work, if that counts.” Ben wiped off the counter for probably the fiftieth time and admired her grace and composure for at least the hundredth. She was wearing Arthur’s shirt, the tails of which struck her just above mid-thigh and somewhat higher on either side. The jaunty, black-and-white checked bow tie at her neck was not an original work of art, but the slim, solid black bow ties she had fastened around each arm to push up the sleeves were masterpieces of ingenuity. If her black patent heels had been half an inch higher, or the tailored shirt half an inch shorter, or her legs not quite so long and lovely, the whole outfit could have been risqué. But Sara looked like a million dollars, and Ben was as fascinated by her sense of style as by the sheer pluck it took for her to wear such an outfit to a party of blue-serge-suited lawyers. “Can I fix something for you?” he asked.
“No.” He drew the word out in disbelief. “Some guy made a pass at the host’s fiancée?”
“I am not his fiancée.” She looked across the room, smiled when she noticed that West was watching her and lifted her hand in acknowledgment. “Yet.”
“Did he make any comment on your new outfit?”
“He said I look incredible.”
Incredible was an understatement, but Ben figured he didn’t need to say so. “That’s it?”
Her eyebrows lifted. “He’s a gentleman. Even if he didn’t like what I chose to wear, he’d never be anything but complimentary.”
Ben had seen that he’s-so-wonderful look once too often in the past hour and a half. West Ridgeman might have inherited looks, fortune and connections from his family, but so far he hadn’t displayed any qualities that deserved Sara’s homage. “Wipe that sappy smile off your face,” he advised her. “You look like my aunt Edwynna.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Great-Aunt Edwynna. She used to smile just like that before she grabbed me by the arms and bussed me on both cheeks. It didn’t take long before I had other plans whenever she paid a visit.”
“And I remind you of her.” Sara’s forehead wrinkled with a frown. “Is there a point to this story?”
“I am simply making the observation that if you keep smiling at Ridgeman like a bird eyeing a worm, sooner or later he’s going to have other plans.” He opened a beer and tipped it to his lips for a swallow, enjoying the mix of frustration and thoughts that chased each other across her expressive face.
“I do not look like a bird,” she said. “And he doesn’t look like a…put that down.” She frowned and looked pointedly at the bottle in his hand. “This isn’t your party. That isn’t your beer. At Your Service employees do not drink on the job.”
He set the beer on the counter and pushed it to one side. “What if they’re thirsty?”
“Be thirsty on your own time. Tonight you’re working for me.”
“Then if you fire me, I can finish the beer.”
“Forget it. You’re mine until midnight.”
“I won’t last that long if I have to watch you moon around with that sappy smile on your face. You’re wasting your time with Ridgeman, you know.”
She reached across the bar that separated them and snatched the beer bottle. “That really is none of your business.” Turning a cool shoulder to his concern, she headed for the kitchen, and he watched the white cotton shirt clip brusquely against her thighs.
“She’s got a killer walk, doesn’t she?”
He drew his gaze from the sassy kick of the shirttails to the pin-striped perfection of West Ridgeman, whose lips curved with an abundance of smug. “I like her smile,” Ben said. “What can I get for you?”
Ridgeman ignored the offer as he reached around and under the bar to retrieve his own private wine bottle. The cabernet ran into his glass like a stream of red moonlight, as if it, like everything else in the house, was eager to please him. He corked the bottle and put it under the counter. “You’re not the guy she normally brings along to tend bar.”
“At least you have good taste in ties. That’s a D’Lur, if I’m not mistaken.”
Ben flicked an imaginary bit of lint off the tie. “Could be. I was in a hurry and grabbed the first thing I found in the closet.”
“Really?” Ridgeman lifted his glass. “Where did Sara find you?”
“The yellow pages, under V for versatile. Where did she find you?”
The all-American eyebrows rose a mere hairsbreadth before a well-bred laugh concealed any hint of irritation. “I won her.”
“Like a door prize?”
“In a raffle.”
“Oh, like a turkey.”
Ridgeman sipped his wine. “It was amusing, really. My secretary filled out a raffle ticket in my name, and I won four hours of service from At Your Service. I gave Sara carte blanche to find a present for my sister’s birthday, and she came back with a pug, which is an ugly, noisy little dog, but DeeNee declared it the best present I ever gave her. I took Sara out for lunch as a way of expressing my appreciation, and our mutually beneficial relationship was born.”
Ben gave her a mental pat on the back for originality and polished the counter again. “You won her in a raffle.” He shook his head. “Some guys have all the luck, huh?”
“What can I say?” Ridgeman shrugged without modesty and raised his wineglass in a salute. “It’s good to be me.”
Watching him walk away from the bar, Ben made another half-hearted swipe of the wet towel over the counter and wondered what Sara saw in the guy. Take away the ego and silver-spoon manners, and he’d be just like any other boring guy with good looks, a good education and a good job in the family firm. So, okay, she knew what she wanted and had the tenacity to go after it. There was nothing wrong with that. He admired her for it, in fact. But he didn’t have to endorse her plan. And he didn’t have to like it.
He heard the airy slap of the kitchen door as it swung open, then closed, and renewed his needless effort to appear industrious by wiping down the bar.
“This is the last one.” Sara set a wine bottle on the counter. “When it’s empty, you’ll have to push the soft drinks.”
“A gentleman like Ridgeman is bound to have a few extra bottles stashed somewhere.”
“He only buys this brand for entertaining. He says this particular wine is a waste of good grapes, but apparently most of the guests don’t share that opinion.”
“Taste is a personal choice.” Ben took the neutral, nonpartisan position. Otherwise, Sara might take away his bar towel, and he’d have to find another way to look busy. “Some people prefer to drink red wine and some prefer to drink white and some people don’t like wine no matter what shade it comes in.”
“You, for instance, prefer beer.”
“Not at all. I often drink plain water.” He gave her his best smile, trying to coax a similar response from her, but she had an iron will. “Your boyfriend was just here for a refill. He said he won you with a raffle ticket, which is either an amazing bit of luck for him or a brilliant marketing strategy by you.”
“I am rather proud of that idea.”
“How many tickets were in the final drawing?”
“Trade secret.”
“So you snared Mr. Wonderful with the old raffleticket ploy. Very clever. Wouldn’t have worked if you’d been ten years older and unattractive.” He smiled. “In my opinion, of course.”
This time she smiled back. “Luckily, I didn’t ask for your opinion.” Turning, she scanned the crowd. “Have you seen DeeNee since she came downstairs?”
“No, can’t say I have. She probably knows what cheap wine her brother serves his guests and is huddled up somewhere with the cooking sherry.”
“The wine isn’t cheap,” Sara corrected in an automatic tone. “Merely not absurdly expensive.”
Blindly infatuated, Ben thought. And she hadn’t tasted the wine, either. “So is DeeNee still here?”
“I guess so. Her car is parked by the van, at any rate, and Annette said she was in the kitchen a little while ago. DeeNee is a very fine cook. In case you didn’t know, she prepared all the hors d’oeuvres for tonight. You should try one.”
“I’m not allowed to eat on the job. My employer’s real hard-nosed about it.”
Her brown eyes skimmed to his, and her lips curved in a provocative line. “You do catch on quick…and I do appreciate that in a man.”
“Yes, well, you’ll never convince me that Ridgeman’s a quick study.”
“He doesn’t need to be. He was born knowing more than most men ever learn.”
Something about that most men sounded rather personal. “Do you make snap judgments about everyone you meet or only men you find physically attractive?”
“Meaning you, I suppose?”
“Meaning me. You know how quickly I catch on.”
“Then you shouldn’t have any difficulty understanding this.” A challenge sparkled in her eyes as she turned her back on him and sashayed across the room. Ridgeman looked up and smiled at her approach, then moved forward to cup her elbow in his hand and guide her into his conversational circle.
Ben wished she hadn’t carried off his beer.
“Quick, pour me a drink and pretend you find me fascinating.”
Turning his head, he encountered the feisty blue eyes of DeeNee Ridgeman. She was standing next to the bar, darting glances at a particular cluster of darksuited lawyers. He leaned toward her. “Do I have to pretend or can I actually find you fascinating?”
Her attention swung to him. “I have to tell you, Ben, you have a better line than the guy Sara usually brings.”
“I’m glad to hear it. None of the guests have lingered long enough to hear my line. I was beginning to think I must be the dullest bartender ever to wipe down this counter.”
“Better to be dull than invisible.” She sighed and looked longingly at the legal conclave once more. “Pour me a shot of bottled water, and we’ll be dull and invisible together.”
Ben unscrewed a bottle cap and drowned an ice cube in sparkling water before handing the glass to her. “I made it a double,” he said. “You look like you need it.”
She wrinkled her nose and swallowed half the water in a single draw. “Have you ever been in love with the wrong person, Ben?”
“Are you kidding? Every single time. I’ve never been in love with the right person, or I suppose I would have stopped looking then and there. What about you?”
“This is the first time for me.” She swirled the water in the glass and watched it go around and around.
“To be in love?” he asked.
“To be in love with the wrong person. Actually, he’s the right person. That’s why it’s so wrong.”
“Is he married?”
“Worse. He has principles.”
“Oh, no. A fatal attraction.”
“Yes, well, it might be, if he could ever stop looking through me and notice that I’m not only visible, but could be his for the asking.” Plunking the glass on the bar, she splashed the counter with her futility. “Hit me again…but this time give me some of my brother’s private stash of cabernet. Pour yourself some, too.”
“I’ve been informed that I’m on duty.”
“Well, it’s just become your duty to entertain me. I’ll accept the responsibility and tell Sara I forced you to have a drink.”
“Somehow I don’t think that will mean much to her.” He looked across the room, watched her move among the guests as if she’d been born for the part. “On the other hand, she doesn’t seem very interested in me.”
“See, there’s a perfect example. She thinks she’s in love with my brother,” DeeNee said.
Ben uncorked the bottle and filled her glass. “I’d say she’s pretty well convinced of it.”
“He is totally wrong for her, you know. I wish she had worn the wedding dress to the party. That would have scared West right out of his Bostonians.”
“Are you against the idea of having Sara in the family?”
“Of course not. I’d adore having her as a sister.”
“But?” Ben posed the unspoken objection.
“As a brother, West isn’t so bad, but he won’t be a good husband. At least not for Sara. He’ll change her into a wife fit for a Ridgeman and make her unhappy into the bargain.” She shrugged. “Just my opinion, though. And what do I know? I’m invisible to the one man I could make ecstatically happy. Go figure, huh?”
Ben liked her. If Ridgeman had inherited the better portion of the family looks and luck, his sister had been gifted with wry humor and a good heart. He looked at the group of men she kept eyeing. “Which one is he?”
Her eyes widened in assumed innocence. “Who?”
“The guy who doesn’t know what he’s missing.”
She sized Ben up with an artful glance. “Am I that obvious?”
“Well, I’m standing pretty close.”
Resting her hip against the bar, she wrinkled her nose then sipped the wine. “He’s standing by the terrace doors. His name is Harry Schaffer. He’s short, balding at thirty, intellectual and terribly sexy. You know the type. An abbreviated Paul Newman without much hair.”
“I see him. Is he going to notice that I find you fascinating?”
“Probably not, but don’t let that stop you.”
“That could be the solution, you know. Nothing attracts a man’s attention faster than seeing a woman flirting with another man.”
“First, he’d have to be able to see me.”
“I find it hard to believe you don’t know how to arrange that.”
“Maybe I do.” She looked at Ben thoughtfully. “You’ll help me, right?”
“I am at your service, Miss Ridgeman.”
She had a little girl’s laugh, and he couldn’t help but respond to it.
From the corner of his eye, he caught the silky movement of Sara’s hair as she looked his way. Even from across the room, he could tell she was curious. At Your Service employees probably weren’t allowed to laugh while on duty, either. A moment later, Ridgeman’s gaze followed hers to the bar and narrowed slightly before he bent his head and said something to Sara.
“Uh-oh.” DeeNee’s voice dropped to a confiding level. “Big Brother is watching us. He’ll be over here in a minute with some dumb excuse to drag me away. The truth is, he’s such a snob and he can’t understand what he calls my strange compulsion to fraternize with the hired help. It drives him crazy.”
“Hmm.” Ben kept his eye on Sara, who was keeping an eye on him. “I would have thought he’d understand perfectly.”
“Not West. Sara’s the only woman he’s ever dated who is gainfully employed. He’s very impressed because she has her own business.”
“I figured he was very impressed with the way her hips move when she walks.”
“That, too,” DeeNee agreed.
Sara touched West’s sleeve, smiled at him, then walked toward the bar. Ben was as impressed as hell—and he couldn’t even see her backside.
“Well, our fun is over for the moment.” DeeNee set her glass on the counter. “Sara thinks it’s sweet that West worries about me. She told me once she wished she had a protective older brother.” DeeNee shook her head. “Ignorance is bliss, I guess. Hi, Sara. Don’t scold Ben. I insisted he have a drink with me.”
Sara answered with a self-assured smile. “I’m sure he told you that would go against company policy.”
“I did. And you’ll notice I do not have a beverage in my hand or tucked out of sight beneath the counter.” Ben held her gaze with a rich and warm amusement. “That’s because I’m a quick study.”
“I like him a thousand times better than that frilled shirt you usually bring.” DeeNee reached over and patted Ben’s cheek. “And he’s so very helpful.”
“Just doing my duty.”
“Yes, well, let’s not go overboard with that duty stuff.” Sara glanced restlessly at West.
DeeNee sighed dramatically. “Okay, okay. I’ll move on before my brother brings out the chastity belt. But, Ben, I’m counting on you for later.”
“I’m already looking forward to it.” He gave her an encouraging wink and she blew him a kiss.
Sara turned to him the moment DeeNee was out of earshot. “Did you make a date with her?”
Ben raised his eyebrows. “Is dating against company policy, too?”
“Look, I know this is the first time you’ve been exposed to this kind of upscale situation, but you are here in a professional capacity only. Flirting with DeeNee is inappropriate.”
“You’re flirting with her brother.”
“I am not flirting, and it isn’t the same thing at all. West and I are…friends.”
He wiped the towel across the counter. “I see. It’s all right for you to bat your eyes at Mr. Raffle Ticket, but not for me to talk to his sister. Is that what you’re saying?”
Her eyes flashed with an attractive annoyance. “This isn’t open for discussion. I hired you for the evening, and that means I set the standards.”
“One standard for you and another for your employees. Well, let me get something off my chest, Ms. At Your Service.” He reached up, unfastened the middle button of his shirt and paused before undoing a second.
Her eyes widened. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Making sure I have your attention.” He kept his hand on the shirt placket as he leaned toward her. “If there was any flirting going on here—and I’m not saying there was or there wasn’t—it isn’t any of your business. And for the record, she approached me.”
“Of course, she did. You’re the bartender. Now, button your shirt.”
He ignored the interruption. “I like DeeNee. She’s sweet and funny, and if I did ask her for a date, it would be because I like sweet and funny women, not for any other reason.”
“Are you implying I have some mysterious ulterior motive for flirting with West?”
“See there? You admit you were flirting.”
“I admit nothing. You’re the one who started this.” She glanced self-consciously over her shoulder, making sure no one else was paying any attention. “Please, Ben, button your shirt.”
He did, wondering if he could have provoked her into threatening to do it for him. “There’s no need to get defensive, Sara. I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with flirting. It keeps life interesting.”
“Well, while you’re working for me, keep your shirt buttoned, your interests to yourself and your seductive green eyes off West’s sister.”
“See, that’s something else we have in common. I think your eyes are seductive, too.”
The startled look of awareness that flared momentarily in her sexy brown eyes was worth the effort. Her voice betrayed none of it, however. “You and I have nothing in common.”
“Of course we do. We both know what we want and we go after it, no holds barred.” He smiled, daring her to deny it. “If you want Ridgeman, he might as well raise the white flag right now and be done with it.”
“And I suppose you believe you could wrap DeeNee around your little finger with no trouble at all.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say it would be no trouble.” His hand brushed the length of her arm as he wiped a minuscule watermark from the bar, and he smiled to himself when she moved out of reach. “She wouldn’t be the challenge you are, of course, but with a woman, there’s always some trouble involved.”
“You’re out of your league here, Ben.”
He laughed softly. “In your opinion.”
“In point of fact. There isn’t a woman in this room who would succumb to your charms for more than half an hour.”
He pursed his lips, more than a little annoyed by her attitude. “That almost sounds like a dare.”
Sara crossed her arms at her waist, then apparently realized how defensive she must look and dropped them to her sides. “If I felt the need to challenge you, I wouldn’t leave any doubt as to my intention.”
He lifted the glass set aside for gratuities and held it out to her, spilling its emptiness all around. “Maybe you should leave a tip, instead. I’m not sure I can be bought off, but it might be worth a try.”
“What a time to be penniless.” She gave a coy, lessthan-regretful shrug. “I’m afraid I have nothing to give you…except advice.”
“Here. I’ve got fifty cents.” He pulled two quarters from his pocket and dropped them into the glass. “We’ll consider it a loan.”
“Consider it whatever you like. Just remember you’re here to tend bar, not to socialize with the guests.” She turned on a dime and then abruptly turned back. “And for the record, there is nothing wrong with knowing the qualities I want in a mate. The size of his bank account is not important, but ambition and drive certainly are.”
“What about companionship? Love? Back rubs?”
Her lips snapped into a practiced smile as a man and a woman approached the bar. Ben filled their orders with self-assured good humor. “The tips are lousy here,” he said after the couple had walked away without so much as a thank-you, much less a glance at the two quarters in the glass. “No wonder you said I could keep them.”
“Perhaps service is the problem.”
His eyebrows went up. “Knocking the employees is not good for morale, boss. But don’t worry, I know you didn’t mean it. You’re just upset because I’m having more fun than you are.”
“I am not upset, and fun has nothing to do with it.”
“My point, exactly. You’re not having fun and I am. It’s unfair, I know, but then, I didn’t set the standards.”
Irritation lined the set of her lips. “I knew I’d be sorry I didn’t check your references.”
“It was fate. You bowled me over with your charm…so to speak. Of course, if I’d spent more than a half hour with you, I might not have succumbed …so to speak.”
“You succumbed to the offer of a paycheck,” she said snippily. “Let’s not confuse the issue with charm.”
Ben wished he wasn’t so competitive—or so susceptible to women with attitudes, or so intrigued by this particular and inconsistent redhead. “I have a proposition for you, Sara. A small wager.”
She glanced over her shoulder again to make sure no one was watching before she leaned close to Ben. “Let me guess. You’re going to try to get me to bet that you can’t seduce me. I am not stupid. I know where this is leading.”
“You jump to conclusions faster than anyone I’ve ever met—with the possible exception of my father. He believes he’s invulnerable, too. However, contrary to your unflattering and erroneous opinion of me, I do have principles, and I would never seduce a woman just to prove a point.”
“I can’t wait to hear the rest of this.”
He almost backed off at that point, but the sheer energy she exuded, the zest she exhibited in every action, dragged him ever deeper into this ill-advised flirtation. “I will wager my paycheck that before the last stroke of midnight, I can charm at least one woman in this room into spending more than a half hour in my company—and kiss her into the bargain.”
“That would fall under the category of seduction—which is against your principles—or flirtation, which is against mine.”
“I did not say seduction is against my principles. I said I wouldn’t do it just to prove a point.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “And the difference is?”
“I would be happy to demonstrate.”
“Oh, I’ll just bet you would.”
“Good. Double or nothing?”
She shook her head. “You know, Ben, you really deserve to be taken down a notch or two.”
“Don’t tell me. You believe you’re just the woman to do it.”
“If I wanted to, I could.” Smug confidence shadowed her smile. “Without half trying.”
“You’re very confident…even for a redhead.”
“Sara?” West’s hand cupped her elbow. “Is there a problem?”
“No, not at all. Ben and I were just discussing professional etiquette.”
“Good. There’s someone I would like you to meet, if you can drag yourself away from instructing the bartender for a moment or two.”
“Of course.” She glanced at Ben, her confidence veiled by the same polite facade that marked every other guest in the room. “We were finished with our conversation.”
“I thought you were.” West guided her in a smooth turn, never once acknowledging Ben’s presence by so much as a direct glance. “There’s an old family friend who-”
“Sara.” Ben interrupted, reclaiming her attention. “Thanks for the tip.”
For an instant, the confidence returned to center stage in her eyes, and her smile challenged and captivated him all over again. “Think nothing of it,” she said. “I wouldn’t want you to go home emptyhanded.”
“As I was saying…” West turned her like a pancake, and Ben was awarded a view of her back, which wasn’t altogether a bad thing because she was poetry in motion. He watched the sway of her hips with unabashed admiration and thought that if Ridgeman was half as smart as he thought he was, he’d find a way to walk several steps behind her.
There was a dim rumble in the kitchen, a noise that grew louder and more distracting, until everyone in the room heard and turned to look at the door. Into the momentary hush, a clatter of metal fell like a gunshot and then a voice lifted out of the noise like a phoenix. “Hey, get out of there! Leave that alone! Drop it! Drop it, I tell you!” Another clatter, and the swinging door slammed back on its hinges as Cleo dashed into the room, carrying a slab of roast beef nearly as big as her head and followed by a squat, tan-and-black dog with a crumpled nose and the gleam of fresh meat in its beady eyes. Behind them, Arthur gave chase, a carving knife in one hand, a cutting board in the other.
“Brody!” DeeNee stepped into the dogs’ path.
“Cleo!” Sara stepped in front of DeeNee.
“You know this dog?” West didn’t step in front of anyone. He just looked astonished.
Ben didn’t step up to claim responsibility. As the dogs veered in his direction, he jumped from behind the bar, sending it in an unfortunate and unerring collision with a pedestal table and a rather ugly piece of sculpture. Bottles crashed, beer spewed, wine gushed, liquor poured, and the artwork shattered, lost to the world forever in a sea of booze. Worse, Cleo was too agile for him, and Ben caught only the end of her tail. He tried to hold her, but she slipped free and raced for the open terrace doors with her prize.
Quick-thinking Harry and his colleagues blocked her exit, although Ben wasn’t sure why. Maybe they thought the roast beef was worth saving even if the reception was now beyond repair. Like an oil spill, Cleo covered the room in a matter of seconds, leaving devastation in her wake. A glass-topped table tipped over and broke apart as she tried to squeeze under it. She hurdled a sofa and landed, none too delicately, on the terrazzo tile. Her feet slipped on the polished floor, and her hind legs went into a skid that wiped out a tray of hors d’oeuvres and several glasses. Behind her, the pug grabbed bits of fallen hors d’oeuvres as he scurried to keep up. Wherever Cleo had jumped or skirted a piece of furniture, Brody left his footprints, tracking wine across the sofa, two Oriental rugs and a white cashmere afghan.
One woman of matronly stature stepped onto the seat cushion of a wing chair and jumped up and down as she yelled, “Mad dogs! Mad dogs!”
Far from being mad, the two dogs seemed pretty sane as they maneuvered past would-be dogcatchers and startled guests to race up the stairs. Ben would have caught Cleo if he hadn’t noticed that the maddog matron was about to tip over in her chair and stopped to prevent the disaster. When he reached the foyer, Sara, DeeNee, West and Arthur were standing at the foot of the curving stairway looking up at the two dogs as they gobbled their pnze on the second-floor landing.
“What idiot let that dog in here?” Ridgeman’s voice trembled with outrage.
“She must have come in with Brody,” DeeNee said. “Through the doggy door.”
“That fat little pug can barely squeeze through there, much less a dog as big as that one.”
“The terrace doors are open off the living room.” Ben pointed out the logical explanation. “The dogs could have come in any time and found their way to the kitchen.”
Ridgeman wasn’t ready for logic. “When I find out who owns that black disaster, they’re going to find themselves facing a court date and a lawsuit for damages.”
Ben didn’t like threats, and he certainly didn’t like them from lawyers. “Then I suppose you’re looking for-”
“Me.” Sara stepped in front of West, effectively preventing Ben from doing so. “I’ll accept full responsibility. Cleo came with me.”