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The drink is already in my hand before I finish the sentence.
Bambi scrunches her freckled nose as I toss it back and savor the syrupy burn down my throat. “I’ll take mine neat,” she tells Mike. “Room temp. Like a normal person.”
I chuckle and set the empty tumbler down. “Judge me all you want. We live in a fucking desert. Ice is a blessing.”
As I wait for her to finish her drink, I take the moment to lean back and scan the room. I’m not looking for anything or anyone in particular. Sometimes, it’s just nice to enjoy the sights and sounds of the empire I rule over.
The same empire that should have been my brother’s.
We’re about to leave the bar and head for the office suite when a woman’s voice reaches my ears. “… No, thanks. Really.”
It’s the way her words tremble that pulls my attention.
“C’mon, baby.” Some guy in a dark leather jacket with too much gel in his hair rubs her waist as she tries to slide off the stool. When she leans away, his fingers tighten. “I got a room upstairs. We can have a real nice time?—”
She musters a quivering smile and tries to maneuver from his grasp. “Really. It’s okay. I’m good.”
“But I bought you that drink!”
“I didn’t ask you to.” There’s fear in her eyes, but she’s trying so hard to be polite.
The bartender starts to move in their direction, but I give him a subtle signal to back down.
I’ll handle this.
Bambi sits back and orders another drink, this time something pink with a fancy straw. She knows how I operate. She’s ready to enjoy the show.
“Good evening.” I saunter up to the tangled pair, my most brilliant host’s smile plastered on my face. “How are you two doing tonight?”
“We’re fine, man. Everything’s fine.” The man waves me off with an irritated flick of his hand.
I loft a brow. “Is it?” My gaze slides to the woman. She looks shaken, but she forces a smile of her own.
“I was just leaving,” she mumbles, grabbing her clutch.
“Please—stay.” I gesture to her barstool but still give her wide enough berth to run if she feels the need. She doesn’t know who I am, but her eyes do a quick once-over and something eases just a bit in her posture.
Before she does decide to run, I gesture for the bartender. “Mike.”
He slides over, his face serious even as his eyes glint with mischief. We love this game. “Yeah, boss?”
“What is this beautiful young lady drinking?”
Mike cocks his head at the empty glass on the countertop. “Well rum and coke.”
I click my tongue in mock admonishment. “Oh, no, no, no. We can do better than that.”
The gropey man huffs and holds a hand up to interrupt me, but I ignore it. Right now, he doesn’t exist. And when I do decide to turn my attention to him, he’ll long for the days when I didn’t know him from a fucking hole in the ground.
I lean against the counter and focus my attention on the woman. “What’s your poison? Anything under the sun. Name it and it’s yours.”
“Listen, buddy—” The man grabs my arm. And then he yelps when he’s immediately ripped away by my security.
I stay focused on the woman. She blushes and settles back onto the stool. She is pretty, I’ll give her that. Definitely a tourist, and given the tan line on her ring finger, I’d guess a recent divorcee.
“Um, I don’t know…” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. The ends are frayed and her roots haven’t been touched in months. It doesn’t take long for me to piece together the story of someone scrimping by just to survive an ordeal. This is probably her one chance at a break before she’s back to cold, hard reality. “Vodka? Maybe?”
My smile broadens. “Have you ever tasted Russo-Baltique vodka?”
