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I laugh, because she’s got to be kidding. “What are you drinking?” I ask. “It’s on me.”
She looks surprised again, and I wonder what kind of assholes she’s been meeting to make her this impressed by basic chivalry.
“A vodka soda, please,” she says, then pauses, and gives a weary sigh. “Make that a double, actually. And a draft beer.”
So she’s here with someone.
I cast a quick glance around, looking for likely suspects, but the bar is packed tonight. Finance bros and stuffed shirts everywhere – although something tells me, she has better taste than that.
“Thanks,” she says again, as Maeve whisks off to grab our drinks. “I would have been waiting here another hour, for sure.”
“Hey, I can’t have you fainting with thirst in my establishment,” I smile. “It would be bad for business.”
“This is your bar?” she asks.
I nod. “Me and some buddies. We have another spot uptown we just opened, Renegades,” I add, unable to keep the note of pride from my voice. Our empire is already growing.
“Mavericks and Renegades,” she repeats, a smile playing on the edge of her lips. “And here, you seemed like such an upstanding citizen.”
I laugh. “Don’t worry, we’re more into blazing our own trails than we are into trouble-making.”
“Uh-huh,” she looks me up and down, like she can see straight through me. “A likely story.”
I smile wider, about to ask her name, when some guy elbows in beside her. He’s one hundred percent Eurotrash, with tanned orange skin and his shirt open to reveal a rug of chest hair.
“I wasn’t feeling patient,” he says with a faint accent, leaning in to her.
There’s no way this guy is her date, and sure enough, the woman flinches. “I’m sorry they’re taking so long at the office,” she says politely stepping back. “We’re usually a very punctual bunch.”
Work. That explains it then – and why she ordered a double.
“The rest of your coworkers are not coming, princess,” Mr. Orange says with a smirk. “I asked to be, eh, privately entertained, and here we are.”
Gross.
I quickly step in. “Need any help?” I ask, but she shakes her head.
“Come on, beautiful,” the asshole whines. “I’ve heard about you American girls, and I would like to see for myself if you—”
Before I can react myself, the brunette pulls back her fist and punches him.
Hard.
In the dick.
And then dumps her drink over his head.
Holy shit! I burst out laughing in surprise – and awe. I guess you really can’t judge a woman by her boxy suit, after all.
But Mr. Orange isn’t so impressed. “You bitch!” he roars, doubled over.
“Oh no,” she says sarcastically. “And I thought this was going so well.”
She turns on her heel, and walks out. Mr. Orange lunges after her, but I yank him back.
“Yeah, not so fast.” I draw up to my full six-foot-two height and level him with a glare. “Hands off the nice lady.”
“But—”
