Down to You (11 page)

“Well, get on it. Show me. People are
waiting,” I say in my calmest voice, tipping my head to indicate
the cluster of people surrounding us on the other side of the
bar.

Her pale blue eyes flash with anger and her
ruby red lips tighten. She’s ready for a fight. And so am I.

“You’d better leave that attitude at the
door, honey, or tonight’s likely to be your last.”

I hear the hushed voices go up all around
us—ooohs and aaahs and whispers of a cat fight. I ignore them and
focus on Taryn.

“Is that right? You think you’ve got the pull
to get rid of me just because you’re a compulsive control freak
with an obsessive need for attention?”

Taryn’s laugh is bitter, but she doesn’t
bother to deny it. I think she knows I’m right.

It hadn’t taken me long to peg her for what
she is—an insecure girl with daddy issues. After my body-shot
audition, she had gone above and beyond to draw every eye away from
me and down the bar to her. She’d changed the music to an upbeat
song by Jessie James and proceeded to dance along the bar,
lip-synching
Wanted
to every male within viewing
distance.

And, of course, they loved it. I mean, she’s
gorgeous, even with long blond dreads, and she’s sexy in a very
feline kind of way. What guy with a functioning penis wouldn’t love
a girl like that up on display, teasing him mercilessly?

But I knew it was more for my benefit than
anything else. As she was climbing down off the bar, she gave me a
smug little smile. She was showing me up, showing me that she
could
show me up. What she doesn’t understand is that I
don’t want all the attention. She’s welcome to it.

Thinking of it this way cools my temper
considerably. I decide to give her what she wants—the love of all
the men.

“What do you say to a little contest? Loser
has to do a bar dance.”

I’m a little surprised at her hesitation, but
then when I see her eyes flicker to my right, I understand what her
problem is. Cash is mingling with a group of gushing girls not far
from where we are.

Then I get it. I really get it.

Holy shit! She’s got a thing for Cash!

My first thought is that I don’t blame her. I
think everything with estrogen likes Cash. My second thought is
wonderment that they haven’t already slept together. That’s not
very bad-boy like of him.

Unless they have and she’s just not over it.
That would be much more bad-boy like.

For some reason, jealousy gnaws at my
insides.

“You’re on,” she says with a nod.

“Best margarita wins. Both are on me,” I say
then turn to the handful of guys watching and listening to us. “Who
wants to judge?”

Of course, they all start clamoring to be
chosen. But it’s not an issue when Cash steps in.

“I’ll be the judge,” he offers, his eyes
daring me in the low light of the bar. “I think it’s only
fair.”

“Of course,” I say, feeling a bit breathless
when he’s so close and I’m in his sights. I look to Taryn. Her look
has gone from hostile to downright murderous. It occurs to me that
what began as a solid plan could very well back fire. “That okay
with you?”

“Fine by me,” she says, turning a brilliant
smile on Cash. “I know what he likes.”

The guys around the bar start hollering and
whistling at that, nudging and teasing Cash. Cash just smiles at
Taryn. And it bugs me. I can’t tell whether there’s something
between them or not. Or if it’s just a tolerant employer-type
smile.

I hope if there ever
was
anything
between them that it’s over.

It chaps my butt to think of him flirting
like he does with me, watching me, teasing me, all the while
sleeping with Taryn. It shouldn’t matter. He’s a playboy and that’s
what playboys do.

But it does.

Dammit!

“Come on, boys. Let’s give ‘em a little
help,” Cash says. The people around him start cheering
enthusiastically. Cash smiles at them and then turns to face me,
leaning forward a little on the bar. His eyes meet mine and one
brow rises in that
holy mother of hell-
sexy way, then he
mutters, “You’ve got one chance to make my mouth water.”

I suck in a breath. And chills break out down
my arms.

Damn, he’s good!

I’m so glad for the room full of people.
Otherwise, I might embarrass myself by stripping off all my clothes
and climbing across the bar to wind all my body parts around
him.

Caution is nowhere in my head when I taunt
him in return. “Oh, I can do better than that.”

His lips curve into a nerve-racking smile. “I
don’t doubt that one bit.”

Dragging my eyes and my attention away from
him, I put all my concentration into making a good drink. It’s much
more difficult than it should be. My eyes keep trying to stray to
Cash.

As I’m rubbing the rim of the glass in salt,
I forget and look up. Cash is singing along to a song about
whistling and when the part comes for him to whistle, he puckers up
his perfect mouth and does it right along with the beat.

I can’t help but stare. And, as if he doesn’t
already have me flustered enough, when he stops whistling, my eyes
climb back to his and he winks at me.

It’s the exact moment I know I’m in trouble.
Big, big trouble.

Taryn pushes me to the side to slide a glass
across the bar in front of Cash. It pulls me from my thrall. I pour
my margarita, garnish it with a wedge of lime and a wedge of orange
and offer it up as well.

He sips first Taryn’s drink then mine and
then each one again, smacking his lips and savoring the flavors. I
wonder if he’ll really pick the best drink, or if he’ll simply pick
the one
opposite
the girl he’d rather see dance on the
bar.

I realize there isn’t an outcome I’ll be
happy with. If he chooses my drink as the best, I’ll wonder if it’s
because he wants to see Taryn dance. Not that it should matter to
me what he wants to see Taryn do.

But it does.

Dammit.

But then, if he chooses her drink, not only
will her drink be supposedly better, but I’ll have to dance on the
bar, which I really don’t want to do.

He nods and picks up my drink to finish it
off. “We have a winner!” he says, pointing to me.

I feel relieved and victorious, but also
strangely conflicted. Rather than look him in the eye, I remove the
empty glass when Cash sets it down on the bar. My eyes move past
Taryn who is smiling coyly at someone, I assume Cash.

“Good news, boys,” she yells happily. “I’m
still gonna be making margaritas
my
way,
and
you’ll
be getting some entertainment tonight. I call that a win-win.”

With a whoop, Taryn reaches back to flip on
different music, choosing a very suggestive song that I have no
doubts she’ll make good use of. When I see her climb up on the bar,
I move to the opposite end to get drinks for the handful of people
that aren’t watching her and cheering her on.

I do everything I can not to watch her
or
Cash. I don’t want to see his reaction. But when the
cheers get louder, my eyes are drawn down the bar despite my
resolve.

Taryn apparently jumped off the bar into
Cash’s arms. He’s cradling her and she has her arms wrapped around
his neck, very tightly it appears. She’s smiling like the cat who
ate the canary—or maybe the cat who
wants
to eat the
canary—and Cash is laughing.

Just as I’m looking back to the draft I’m
pouring, I see Taryn pull Cash’s head down to hers and kiss him.
And it’s not just a little peck. She looks like she’s trying to
swallow his face. And he’s not resisting.

Cold liquid gushing over my fingers pulls me
back to the task at hand. The pilsner is overflowing and beer is
running down my wrist and into the spill tray. I jerk back and set
the glass down, angrily flinging beer from my fingertips. I’m
inordinately mad at myself for letting Taryn and Cash rile me up,
and even more so for letting it affect me so blatantly.

I’m making furious swipes over the wet
counter, cleaning up my mess, when Cash leans across the bar and
speaks to me.

“I need you to stay after for just a few
minutes tonight. Got some paperwork for you to fill out. Shouldn’t
take long.”

I look up and meet his eyes. I want to
scratch them out. And then spit in his face. And then curse him for
being exactly what I thought he was.

A bad boy.

A playboy.

A heartbreaker.

But I also want to kiss him. And let him
carry me up to the private room above us and put an end to the dull
ache of desire that’s been plaguing me since the first night we met
when I pulled his shirt over his head.

Dammit!

He smiles as he leans back. “Great drink, by
the way.” He slaps the bar twice, like a pat on the back, and walks
off toward the mysterious door at the back of the room.

That’s officially the point where my night
takes a nose dive.

Strangely, what I’d thought would help
Taryn’s disposition seems only to have made her more hostile.
Unfortunately for her, my mood has plummeted, taking my patience
and tolerance with it. So for the rest of the night, I give just as
good as I get.

Even though I dread having to talk to Cash,
I’m really relieved when the night is over. Taryn and I had
graduated from thinly veiled remarks to her shoulder-bumping me as
she passed, to me purposely backing into her while she was pouring
a round of lemon drop shooters. From there, it escalated to her
pushing a drink into the floor and splashing Bailey’s all up my
legs. It made a horrendous sticky mess that took me far too long to
clean up. At that point, I figured the only logical progression
would be been hair pulling and vicious clawing as we roll around in
the floor, growling at each other. And, call me crazy, but I’m
thinking that kind of thing might be frowned upon in all places of
business that
do not
include a Jello pit.

That’s when I stopped antagonizing her. Now,
I’m just ready to go home.

As I’m closing up my end of the bar, I’m
thankful I remember most of what Marco showed me. The things I’m a
little fuzzy on I’m able to improvise by sneaking peeks down at
what Taryn’s doing on her end. She’s just faster at it than I am.
Obviously.

When she’s finished cleaning up her area, she
practically runs around the bar and makes for the door at the back
of the room. She doesn’t even glance in my direction, much less say
anything to me. And I could care less, really. Her attitude isn’t
the reason my stomach is in knots. My stomach is in knots because I
think I have a very good idea of who’s doing whom tonight.

For that reason, I take my sweet time
cleaning up. I’d rather die than interrupt them. In fact, I really
wish he’d just forget about my paperwork and let me go home.

I’m berating myself for giving a guy like
Cash a second thought when Taryn comes out of the room. I look up.
At first glance, she seems…bothered. But when she sees me looking
at her, she turns on her brightest smile, grabs her purse from
behind the bar and walks merrily out the front door.

I want to paper cut her. On every square inch
of her body. And then roll her in salt water.

Just the thought of that has me snickering to
myself, which is what I’m doing when Cash comes out. He’s not
adjusting his clothes or anything that obvious, but I know what
he’s been up to. And I’m furious.

“You about done?” he asks casually.

I snort. “Are you?” I could kick myself for
letting my upset show, but it sort of slips out before I can stop
it.

Cash’s brow wrinkles for just a second. “I’m
ready whenever you are. I know you need to get home.”

How convenient that you remember that
now!
You’re probably ready for bed. A
real
bed.

Gritting my teeth, I toss my rag in the
bleach and snatch my purse from beneath the bar. I refuse to rush
just because he’s finally ready. Refuse! Yes, I’ll be the one
paying for it when I’m exhausted tomorrow, but tonight passive
aggressive is all I’ve got.

He leads the way back to the carefully
concealed door at the back of the bar. As I suspected, it’s an
office. And a nicely decorated office, too. Especially considering
that it’s located in a bar.

The color palette is both soothing and
masculine with its rich creams and calming taupes. There are black
accents found throughout the room in the throw pillows on the sofa
and the lamps on the end tables. They tie in to the huge black desk
and expertly-carved cabinetry behind it.

There’s a partially open door on the back
wall. It looks as though it leads into an apartment. A very nice
and spacious one from what I can see.

With a sinking sensation, I realize he and
Taryn were probably back there. In a real bed.

I feel sick.

Cash motions me to a plush black and taupe
striped chair in front of the desk as he takes the black leather
chair behind it. He clicks a few buttons on the computer and prints
off some forms, sliding them across the desk to me. I take a pen
from the cup of pens sitting to my left.

Silently, I fill out the necessary tax forms
and employee forms as Cash makes what I assume is an employee file.
When I’m finished and there are no more papers to sign, I lay down
my pen and wait. He finally looks up at me and smiles.

“So, how are you liking it? Besides Taryn, of
course.”

I force my lips into a smile. “Fine, thank
you.”

I see a frown flicker across his forehead
again. “Is there anything you need to talk about? Anything I can do
to make your job easier?”

Other than stay the hell away from me?

I bite my tongue and hold my smile in place,
shaking my head negatively. He nods, watching me closely. “All
right, well I guess I’d better let you get on home then.”