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“God, I need a drink,” Sally groaned, leaning into the long, polished bar of the Bungalow Bar, a swanky, upscale bar in the hotel where her company was holding its yearly conference, and waving down the bartender.
Ignoring his flirty look, she ordered a dirty martini and slapped her Visa card on the bar top. “Keep ‘em coming.” The bartender was stone-faced when he handed back her card, and she didn’t care. She wasn’t in the mood to play flirty, especially not with a man who used his charm and looks to get a bigger tip…and the occasional thirsty woman.
It had been a shit day, which was only the first day of what looked to be a shit week, and she still had shitty seminars to juggle while also somehow being her shitty boss’s gopher in stilettos and second-hand Stella McCartney.
Not even taking the time to taste her drink, she finished it, then practically slammed the glass down, tapping the bar for a refill. The bartender gave her a pointed look. She grinned unapologetically. He refilled her drink. She downed it.
Nothing like getting blitzed then trying to survive the hangover while dealing with misogynistic assholes and their idiotic admin problems.
That marketing degree is sure coming in handy now, huh, Sally?she mentally sneered. After graduating with a 3.8 GPA from Florida State, she should be turning down job offers left and right, but…nope. She was still stuck in the admin job she accepted on the promise of quick advancement into marketing management. That was bullshit then, and it was bullshit now.
Doing her absolute worst voice impression of her dick bag boss, she muttered, “Sally, fetch me the Goldman campaign file—and on your way to my office, grab me a coffee. Sally, spend 30 hours on this marketing portfolio, then spend another 10 fixing the mistakes I made trying to switch your name out for mine on the graphics. Sally—”
“When a gorgeous woman is talking to herself in a bar, one must wonder if she’s dangerous or just drunk enough to make the night more interesting.”
At the baritone voice murmuring hotly in her ear, her nipples hardened, and her breath caught.
Motherfucker!What was he going here? Was no place safe?
“Hello…Sallina,” Sylvester drawled, his breath hot against her neck as he spoke her name like a caress…one she felt all the way to her pussy. A shiver raced through her, and she barely caught it before it escaped.
Swallowing another mouthful of martini, she didn’t bother looking over her shoulder before replying. “Mr. White,” she said, her words venomous. “Should I expect a security guard to appear to help remove me from your presence, or can I enjoy my third and then fourth martini in peace?”
He chuckled, the chest-deep sound like a vibrator to her already perky clit. “Drinking alone, Sallina? I’d thought a woman like you would appreciate some company,” he murmured, his breath sliding over her heated flesh.
“A woman like me? You mean a gold-digging, opportunistic slut, who must use her brother’s connections to find wealthy men to fuck and then bleed dry, right? Women like that, right?” Suddenly feeling the effects of the booze and her disgust for the man behind her, she placed the glass on the bar top, nodded to the bartender to close her tab then gave him a thankful glance. At least he’d kept his judgments to himself, unlike Sylvester.
“Sallina….”
She held up her hand and finally turned to look at him. She wished she hadn’t. Dressed in a light gray suit that did glorious things to his green eyes, standing with his hands in his pockets, and his dark hair deliciously messy yet perfect, the man looked like he’d stepped right from a Satellite Magazine shoot. Sharp features made to cut class and set fire to panties, he smirked at her with lips she wanted to suck. Memories flooded her, memories of those same lips kissing her, tasting her. Devouring her mouth until she couldn’t breathe, ravishing her dripping pussy until she couldn’t cry out anymore, whispering words so beautiful and sweet, she couldn’t stop her heart from wanting them to be real.
And they hadn’t been.
She sucked in a breath and nearly groaned at his scent—warm, masculine, and just the same as what he’d left behind on her pillows that night.
“Look, I didn’t come over here to start a fight—”
“Why are you here?” Was that her voice? Why did she sound so breathy? Ugh!
His lips curled into a smirk. “Why are you here?”
She shrugged, fingering the stem of her martini glass. “Work. The bosses have conferences here every year, and they need me to make sure everything runs smoothly.”
“Oh? And what is it you do? Where does the incomparable Sallina Mendez work?”
It was her turn to smirk. “If you remember, I told you that months ago.” She had…then again, she’d only shared the most basic information about her job since she’d been so adamant about keeping personal details to herself. It had begun as the prelude to a one-night stand, but it had ended so differently.
“I remember,” he said, a slight grin playing on his sexy as hell lips. “I remember you being so vague I didn’t know if you were the receptionist or the badass boss lady. I want to say it’s the latter.”
“I work at Sharp Image Marketing,” she admitted.
He nodded thoughtfully. “Are you the boss lady?”
She chuckled, the martini striking cracks into her internal walls. “I wish I were the boss lady. That office would be run like a tight ship, and the old-school boys club on the top floor would be out on their asses wondering where their dicks went.”
He chuckled, the sound deep, velvety, delectable. She shuddered, her nipples tingling. Lord, she should have worn her padded bra, but the last thing she’d wanted that morning while getting dressed was perkier boobs around all those leering corporate douche eyes.
“And with that, I’m out. Have a good night, Mr. White,” she drawled, proud of how smooth and level her voice was despite the number of cocktails she’d inhaled.
