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Ella and Lucy exchanged glances. “You’re on.”
Grace stood and took a deep breath. This was going to be fine. She was used to talking to sophisticated men. It had been her job for the last few years, after all. Talking about French wine to cultured merchants, explaining the grape and the vintage, persuading them to buy crates to sell.
“Your ass looks amazing in that dress,” Ella whispered. “He’ll never know what’s hit him.”
Ugh. Here went nothing. “After this, you guys owe me another drink,” she told them.
Grace walked over to the bar, aware again of how overdressed she was. Her light brown hair was curled in waves over her shoulders, and she shook it, hoping it could cover her too-obvious cleavage, too.
“Can I have a glass of water, please?” she asked the bartender.
“Still or sparkling?”
“Still, please.”
She could feel Suit watching her. Her skin was tingling again, like she’d touched an electric fence and the pulses were washing through her body. Dammit, she needed to get this over with.
When the bartender brought her glass over, she turned to look at Suit, standing three feet away from her. “You’re the cab guy, right?” she asked him.
He lifted a brow. “I thought I recognized you. You’re the water rat.”
Well, that wasn’t exactly the compliment she was hoping for. Still, it was accurate.
She lifted a brow, because this needed to be done. “Listen, can I ask you for a favor?” she said, aware that Ella and Lucy were still watching her.
“You want me to call you another cab?” he asked.
She laughed. Damn, she liked him. “No. I need you to talk to me for five minutes.”
He glanced over her shoulder, his brows scrunching. “Why? Is somebody bothering you?”
Oh. He thought she was trying to avoid a guy. “Not like that. My friends…” She sighed. “They’re being a pain. I just need to talk with you to shut them up.”
He glanced over her shoulder again, presumably to where Ella and Lucy were sitting, because she heard them giggle.
Ugh.
“Actually, forget it. It’s stupid and juvenile.” She took her glass, ready to walk away and internally scream. “Have a good evening.”
“Wait.” He reached for her arm, his fingers brushing her skin. She felt herself flush. “I can talk to you,” he murmured. “What is it, a bet?”
“Something like that,” she admitted, feeling stupid.
He took a sip of his whiskey, eyeing her carefully. “What kind of bet?”
“They want me to flirt with you.”
“And you don’t want to?” he asked, looking interested.
“I don’t know. I…” She looked at his left hand. “You’re not married, are you?”
“No.”
Oh.
“Let me buy you a drink,” he suggested.
“I have some water.” She pointed at her glass. She was pacing her alcohol intake – she had to be up early to meet her parents for breakfast in the morning. They were in New York for a completely different reason – her dad had booked Broadway tickets for her mom’s birthday treat. And since they were in the city, they’d give her a ride back to their small hometown.
