Page 15 of Her Chocolate His Bar

I pretended it didn’t bother me, but fuck, it was like being elbowed right in the gut.

Afterwards, I tried to focus on work, but halfway through my usual duties, I was pacing the floors.

“Bro, you need to chill,” Buck, one of my best friend’s and weekend bartender, said and pointed to a vacant stool.

His real name was David Antonetti. We met when we were in college and then again when I was working for a famous hotel chain, updating the bars in a series of their hotels on the west coast.

Buck was actually a multi-millionaire, having invested his trust fund before he finished school. He’d always let me in on the deals, and I had quite the nest egg myself.

The man simply had a nose for making money.

But rich or not, Buck enjoyed working at the bar, and the customers loved him.

Especially the ladies.

He was ridiculously good looking, all smiles and charm oozing out of his pores. He had that sweet boy next door charm that I could never pull off.

Not that I ever had a problem with women. Until I’d fucked up with Delani.

My gut twisted, and I groaned out loud. Days had passed since I’d had her in her shop, and I was starting to lose my damn mind.

The woman was driving me crazy. I’d been waiting to catch her alone, but every time I stopped by her shop, Delani was too busy to see me.

Her loyal employees, especially Bonnie, wouldn’t let me anywhere near the back room.

Hello, those women she’d hired ran interference better than some professional football players, and I knew a couple of them! There were dozens of professional athletes living in a twenty-mile radius of The Whiskey Bar, part of why I’d chosen this location.

I growled and ran a hand over my face.

Goddamn it.

Buck was right. And I hated it when that fucker was right. But yes, I needed to chill.

I’d spent almost every night dreaming about Delani’s sexy little body writhing against mine. Every day I wondered how long she was going to make me eat crow for my fuck up.

I deserved it, for sure. That was not even a question.

“Oh, the caterer for the tasting bailed,” Buck called out, and my head shot up.

“What? When?”

“Nunzio says he can’t do it, something about an unexpected trip. I don’t know what the big deal is, we can just get a restaurant?—”

“No. This tasting is too important. It needs a special touch,” I growled, anger coursing through my blood.

Panic started in my ankles, and by the time he finished, it was buzzing around my brain.

Fuck that fucking prima donna chef, Nunzio. He thought he was the east coast’s answer to Gordon fucking Ramsey, and the asshole wasn’t half as talented as he pretended to be.

Nevertheless, I fucking needed him for the tasting.

It wasn’t about money. I had that aplenty.

The Blair Group had connections money couldn’t buy. The world of whiskey was a cruel and exclusive club, and I wanted in.

Badly.

There was only one thing I wanted more than that. Delani.

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