Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

SIMON

T he Hall was a special kind of shitty bar. I had seen my fair share of dives, but this place had a unique blend of middle-class regret that clung to the air. The pool tables needed re-felting or, better yet, burning. The dim lighting was partially due to burnt-out bulbs and partially, I suspected, to hide the bar's dismal state.

My hotel was a block away. I wanted a drink, and I didn't want to drink alone in my suite. I knew there would be a bar nearby—there always was. I did a lot of traveling and knew all I had to do was walk out the front door of a hotel and look for where the people were. That was what brought me to this dive. I heard the music pouring out the door and figured it would be the perfect place to get lost in.

I liked to people watch. I could usually do it pretty well when I was in a dark, loud space. People were usually too drunk to recognize me or too busy trying to hook up for the night to pay me any attention. I did garner some attention from the single women, and sometimes, I returned that attention. Only if I was in the right mood.

Tonight, it wasn't about finding a willing woman to take home. Tonight, I wanted to get drunk enough to take off the sting of my failed family dinner but not so drunk I did anything that would land my face on the front page of a newspaper the following day. It was a fine line. One I had learned to navigate quite well over the years.

Unfortunately, it didn't look like I was going to be anonymous here. I was too close to Houston—my home base. People murmured as they recognized me. I ignored the stares and whispers, crossing the dance floor, which parted without me having to say excuse me even once. Then I spotted her, standing behind the bar—a beautiful young woman with long black hair that somehow shone in the bar's dull light. Her eyes tracked my approach. Her painted red lips and her heavily made-up eyes showed their surprise. I gave her one of my most charming smiles as I rested my elbows on the bar.

"At least there's one pretty thing in this shithole," I said, smirking.

Her eyebrows shot up with a cocky smirk on her lips. She didn't respond immediately. Instead, she turned to fix a drink for another customer. When she finally turned back to me, her expression was cool. "What can I get you?"

"Whiskey, neat," I replied, watching her closely.

She made the drink wordlessly, her movements efficient and practiced. When she slid the glass over to me, she didn't linger or offer a smile. Her short nails were painted black, and I caught a glimpse of a tattoo on the inside of her wrist. This was new. Women usually fawned over me, and here she was, giving me the cold shoulder. I was certain she knew who I was or at the very least was interested. I saw the look on her face when I walked in. I was going to assume she didn't know who I was. I didn't get the impression this little firecracker kept up with the who's who in the world of business.

I took a sip, appreciating the taste, even if it was a little cheaper than my usual brand. "What did I do to deserve the bad service?"

Her smile was sharp. "Why would you expect good service in such a shithole?"

I liked that she was using my words against me. I forgot about all the people shooting me curious glances, focusing instead on her. "Touché. What's your name?"

"Does it matter?" she shot back, turning her attention to another customer. I watched her move. She was confident. And sexy. The tight jeans and tiny top showed off one hell of a body. I had a feeling if it came down to a fight between the two of us, she would easily kick my ass. I had a flashback to a movie I watched when I was younger—Coyote Ugly. This girl was giving those vibes. If she hopped up on this bar and started dancing, I was going to ask her to marry me for fulfilling a boyhood fantasy.

I leaned back, amused. The bartender noticed all the attention I was getting but was doing her best to ignore me. The more she ignored me, the more I wanted her.

When she had a break between pouring shots and beers, she looked at me again. I held up my empty glass. She rolled her eyes and made her way back to me. "Want another?"

"Please."

She quickly poured another drink and slapped it down in front of me hard enough to slosh some of the liquid over the edge. My eyes locked on her dark brown eyes. I saw fire. I wanted this woman in my bed. I wanted all the fire and crazy writhing beneath me.

"What are you doing in a place like this, anyway? Shouldn't you be back in Houston with your hands in everyone's pockets?"

I burst out laughing. She wasn't joking, which made it even more amusing. People didn't usually talk to me like this. And to my surprise, she knew who I was. "Maybe I needed a break from all that."

"Right. Because destroying the environment must be exhausting," she quipped, moving down the bar to serve another customer.

I couldn't help but watch her, fascinated by her quick wit and no-nonsense attitude. She was beautiful and ruthless, especially with her customers, who seemed to enjoy her nagging sense of humor. Despite her apparent irritation with me, she drifted back my way.

"Why are you in a place like this?" I asked.

"I'm sure it's hard for you to understand, but little people like me have to serve guys like you to feed ourselves," she quipped.

"That's not what I meant, and you know it," I countered, keeping my tone light despite her harsh words. There was something more to her, something that intrigued me. "Why are you tending bar in some seedy joint when you could be doing just about anything you wanted?"

She shot me a bemused look from under her long lashes, her dark eyes dancing with amusement. "Who says this isn't what I want? Not everyone dreams of high-rise offices and million-dollar deals."

As someone who'd always been ambitious, always focused on getting to the top and being the best, that was hard for me to understand. "But why do I think that's a load of shit?"

"Does destruction take days off to hang out in seedy bars like this?" she countered. "Shouldn't you be counting your stacks of money or looking for the next woman you'll date and dump?"

I couldn't remember the last time someone had given me such a hard time. "Who says I'm not?" I replied with a grin.

She laughed. "Yeah, if you think that's me, you're dead wrong. Guys like you annoy me."

"I picked up on that."

Every so often, the music would stop, and a raffle number would be called out or the announcer would reveal they got a fifty-dollar donation. Judging from the cheap posters around the place, I gathered they were raising money for a Christmas Eve event. This seemed like an odd place to go to get money. Every shoulder tap from someone asking me to buy a raffle ticket annoyed me. I brushed them off, focused entirely on the bartender. She was unlike anyone I'd ever met. I wanted to give her my full attention, even if she was doing all she could to ignore me.

Suddenly, the bartender's face brightened in recognition, and she moved to serve a new customer—a local, I guessed from their conversation. I watched her interact with the man and felt a surge of jealousy. I had never been jealous. I never had a reason to be, but this was different. I wanted her leaning forward and talking to me, showing me that pretty smile. She was laughing with the guy while she quickly made him a drink. After she handed it to him, he leaned across the bar and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

She glanced my way and grinned.

Holy shit.

She knew exactly what she was doing. What a little devil. She continued serving customers, tossing bottles and opening beers like she'd been doing it all her life. I watched her move behind the bar, her confidence clear in every step.

When there was a lull, she made her way back to me. "Are you going to have another, or have you had your evening entertainment?"

"What?"

She waved a hand over the area. "Guys like you come in here to see how the other half live. You judge and then you laugh and then you go home to your penthouse or mansion. I'm asking if you're done watching us like you're visiting a zoo, or do you want another drink? You don't get to sit at my bar if you aren't drinking."

"Are you always this charming, or is it just for me?"

She glanced at me, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. "Just for you, Mr. Locke. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a job to do."

"At least tell me your name," I said, leaning in slightly.

She shook her head. "You wish."

I laughed, genuinely entertained. I pulled out my checkbook and wrote an amount on it, tearing the check free. "Here," I said, handing it over. "Give this to the fundraiser organizer."

She took the check, her eyes widening slightly at the amount. "Why the sudden generosity?"

I shrugged, standing up. "Consider it my good deed for the day."

Without another word, I threw some money down to cover my tab and leave a hefty tip and then I left the bar, feeling a mix of satisfaction and curiosity. That bartender was something else. As I walked out into the night, I couldn't help but think about what she had said. Her sharp words and cool demeanor had been a refreshing change from the usual fawning I was used to. She didn't care who I was, and that intrigued me more than anything.

As I walked back to my hotel, I thought about my family and how they always expected money from me. Tonight, I had given it away freely, but it had felt different. It hadn't been about obligation or guilt. It had been a genuine desire to do something good, sparked by a beautiful bartender who had no idea how much she had affected me in just a few hours.

That money could have been Matthew and Carmen's if they just had the balls to look me in the eye and ask for it. But they didn't. They expected it and that was what pissed me off.