Page 81 of The Work Wife

He recognized the voice despite the fact it didn’t go with the woman standing in front of him.

“Anna?”

* * * *

“Shit,” was all Anna could think to say. That one word encompassed so many things. Her anger at herself for bringing him to the pub in the first place. Worry that he would think she was unprofessional and not want her to work for his company. Nervousness. He’d just heard her perform. What had he thought? Did he like it?

“I can’t believe it’s you,” he said, obviously stunned.

“Yep. It’s me. How long have you been here?” Maybe he’d just walked in and hadn’t watched.

“Since you got here.”

“What did you think of the show?” She fought back a wince, and tried to sound confident.

“Amazing. I had no idea you could sing and play the guitar.”

“This is where the real me gets to come out.”

“This is the real you? What are you at work?”

“Restrained,” she said with a smile. “Very restrained.”

“I’m sorry about that.” He actually looked sorry.

“It’s kind of the way things have to be. I need to be professional at work, and that means looking the part, right?”

“Did you just get this?” he gestured toward his lip, indicating her piercing.

“No. I wear a clear plastic spacer at work so no one sees it.”

“And your hair?”

“When it’s down you can’t see the purple.”

“Amazing. You’re like a secret agent.” He smiled. She’d always loved his smile, even though she rarely ever saw it.

“Bellz? You want the reverb turned up for the next song?” Chuck, her bass player, asked as much to see if she needed the reverb as to make sure she didn’t need any help getting rid of her new “fan.” It was their secret code.

“No, that’s okay. I can take care of it. Thanks.” Her answer meant she could take care of this guy too. Or so she hoped.

The way he was looking at her made her tingly. He was a very handsome man, but his intensity always kept her from fantasizing about him. Seeing him in jeans and a T-shirt drinking a beer transformed him right in front of her eyes.

The fantasies she’d been holding in swirled around in her mind unbidden, and very unwelcome.

“So Bellz, huh?”

“My real name is Annabelle. My friends call me Bellz.”

“And I’m not your friend.” He raised his brow with the observation and she closed her eyes.

“Sorry. That didn’t come out right.”

“No. I get it.” He nodded. “But I hope now I’ll be able to call you Bellz.”

His voice had dropped from his normal low to sultry. Had he meant to give her goose bumps? Was he toying with her?

“We’re back on in five,” Murray, her drummer, mentioned as he passed with a bottle of beer.