But no one could stop me from sitting at the bar and having the same kind of good think I’d be having if Iwasable to order one of the cleverly named concoctions.
“Welcome. What can I get you?” the bartender, a cute tattooed guy wearing a period-appropriate hat and suspenders, asked me.
I glanced at the menu again, wishing so badly that I could order a Bee’s Knees or a Hanky Panky or even the Sweet Fallen Angel. Pretty much everything was made with gin. Alas.
“Can I just get a soda with lime, please?” I asked.
The bartender made the kind of face that said, “if you’re not drinking, why are you taking up a bar stool?”
After everything I’d just been through, I wasn’t about to be intimidated by this asshole. So I smiled, exactly the kind of smile Claudia would use to get her way—playful, flirtatious, and with just a hint of apology—and crooked my finger at him in a “come hither” gesture.
It worked like a charm. He leaned over the bar, closer to me.
“I really, really want to try one of these drinks,” I told him. I might have even batted my eyelashes a little.
“But…?” he said, clearly interested in my answer.
I pouted. “But I’m still on antibiotics for this sinus infection I’m getting over, and the two don’t mix.” There was no way I was telling him about being pregnant, not with all the questions that might entail (or worse: pity). “But since I’m just dyyyyying for a drink, I thought I’d do a good deed and pay for the next round for everyone else sitting at the bar. Anonymously, of course.”
His eyes lit up and he straightened. “Of course,” he said. “I totally get it.”
Placated, he made me my soda first and then got orders from the other people at the bar. Then he came back in front of me to mix them all. He was showing off for me, flipping the bottles he poured from and shaking the cocktail shaker like he was in a movie.
As he continued to perform, I smiled at him, grateful for the distraction. But even as I looked on, I was drifting off in my mind. To the reality I couldn’t deny I had made for myself.
This divorce was really going to happen, I was really going to be a single mom, and it was really looking like Claudia was going to be my baby’s stepmother. Thank God I’d already had years of practice holding back my intense dislike of her behind bland smiles.
I felt like such an idiot thinking that Ford had actually changed. Believing him when he said he loved me and wanted to build a family. I should have known better.
The bar wasn’t crowded, which is why I was surprised when a man slid into the seat right next to mine. There were plenty of stools available farther down. Stirring my soda and lime, I hoped I wasn’t about to get hit on. I really wasn’t in the mood.
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that he was built like a brick house, overly large for the suit he was in and straining the fabric in the shoulders and arms. It was an expensive suit, though, and it impeccably matched the flashy Ferragamo shoes he was wearing.
“What are you drinking?” the man asked.
Damn. Called it. I turned toward him and noticed that he wasn’t bad looking. Not that it mattered. I wasn’t in the headspace to entertain revenge-flirting at the moment.
“Just a soda and lime,” I said, trying to give off a polite but disinterested vibe.
“Would be better with a little…Stolichnaya,” he suggested. “Mind if I join you?”
Making a big show of looking at my watch, I said, “I’m flattered, but I’ve actually got to run soon. I’m not really looking for company.”
Just then the bartender came over, and my new friend ordered a Stoli on the rocks. The bartender poured it out in front of Mr. Stoli, who was quick to take an appreciative gulp before slapping a hundred dollar bill on the bar.
“We’d like some privacy,” he told the bartender, who took the money and sidled as far away down the bar as possible.
What the hell?
“I should really be going,” I said.
The man smiled. “Few things in life are better than good vodka and good company.”
“Right. Well, enjoy it. The vodka, I mean.” I tried to sound chirpy as I started to ease off my stool, but before I could get my feet on solid ground, his hand clamped around my upper arm. I stiffened immediately. “Let me go.”
“We need to talk,” he said, his voice low.
It wasn’t a request. It was a threat.
