The Allure of Dean Harper

by R.S. Grey

  The Allure of Dean Harper

  Copyright © 2015 R.S. Grey

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This book is a piece of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the seller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  Published: R.S. Grey 2015

  authorrsgrey@gmail.com

  Editing: Editing by C. Marie

  Proofreaders: Amanda Daniel and Jennifer Van Wyk

  Cover Design: R.S. Grey

  Stock Photos courtesy of Shutterstock ®

  The Allure of Dean Harper

  R.S. Grey

  Chapter One

  Lily

  I pride myself on knowing a good bartender when I see one. Unfortunately, the guy across the bar from me wasn’t one. I’d already watched him botch his last three drink orders. A tad too much orange juice here, not enough gin there. The customers took the glasses with big smiles and even bigger tips, but I knew better. It was my job to know the difference between a decent drink and a cocktail that earned its keep at a place like this.

  Well, technically “job” incorrectly implies that I was being paid.

  “Are you going to order something or…”

  The waitress purposely let her sentence trail off, but I heard the message loud and clear: “Or just sit on that bar stool for another hour, staring at the menu like a freak.”

  I turned over my shoulder and flashed her an apologetic smile. “I’ll probably just need another minute to decide.”

  She huffed out an annoyed breath and flipped her notepad closed. I tried to offer an apology, but she was already gone, waltzing toward a table full of red-faced businessmen with cash to burn. They were already on their fourth round of drinks for the night. One of them reached out to grip the back of her leg as he ordered. I rolled my eyes and turned back to my happy hour menu.

  I’d practically memorized it, but I was no closer to deciding what I was going to order. It was my first night in New York and I was out alone, a little broke, and a lot hungry. I’d convinced myself that I could splurge for my first night in the city, but the twenty-something dollar appetizers still made me gasp. What choice did I have though? Food critics critique food. Good food. They don’t rank the top ten fast food joints in order of least-likely-to-give-you-a-heart-attack-on-the-spot. If I wanted to transcend Buzzfeed and actually create a name for myself in the city, I had to rub elbows at the best restaurants. I just hadn’t quite worked out how I would afford it yet.

  The couple to my right were served another round of appetizers: seared mahi mahi and fresh spring rolls. I watched them dive in, not even bothering with the Thai basil dipping sauce. Heathens.

  “Can I buy you a drink?”

  I shifted my gaze from my neighbors over to the balding gentleman sliding into the bar stool beside me. He looked closer to my dad’s age than my own, but that didn’t stop him from eyeing me like I was the answer to all of his prayers. Little did he know, he was about to be the answer to mine.

  I smirked and dropped my menu onto the bar. “How about the crunchy tuna rolls instead?”

  His smile fell. “Are you serious?”

  Why is it customary for men to buy women drinks when they want to get in their pants? You know what will drop my pants? Crunchy tuna rolls.

  “This restaurant is known for their food, not for their drinks,” I explained.

  His gaze slid from my face down to the menu and back again.

  “But, I was kidding,” I added to ease his mind. I may have been from Texas, but even there, gifts from strangers seldom came without strings attached. I was desperate, not stupid.

  Still, he ignored my protest and flagged down a passing waitress to put in the order.

  I should have felt guilty for asking him to order me food when I had zero intentions of going home with him, but I didn’t. After I took a picture of the food for my blog, I’d let him eat it. As soon as the crunchy tempura and spicy aioli hit his mouth, he’d be thanking me for suggesting it.

  He dragged his gaze down my body and I narrowed my eyes on him. He was wider than he was tall, with a pinstripe suit and sweat coating his forehead. I watched him dab away at it with a handkerchief before he spoke up.

  “So are you from around here?” he asked.

  “Nope. You?”

  I didn’t want to lead him on, but until I had a photo of that crunchy tuna roll saved on my phone, I had to humor him with conversation.

  “Staten Island, born and raised,” he bragged. “I do construction in the city though.”

  I nodded as I pulled out my phone. It was rude to check it during conversation, but I couldn’t resist. I’d put in an application at a restaurant earlier that day and was anxious to hear back from them. I doubted they’d get in touch with me during happy hour on a Friday night, but I still had to check.

  He scooted his stool almost imperceptibly closer to mine, dropped his hand to my leg, and squeezed.

  “Know anythin’ bout construction, honey?” he asked with a thick New York accent.

  My heart stopped as I registered the feeling of his meaty paw on my bare skin. It was there for one, maybe two seconds before I reached down and yanked it off.

  “Touch me again and I’ll stab you in the eyes with these chopsticks.”

  His beady little eyes opened wide at my threat—clearly, he wasn’t used to his prey biting back.

  I was already scooting off my barstool when my phone vibrated in my hand. What a perfect exit. I wanted to get far away from Meaty McGrabsALot and I had to answer my phone.

  He twisted on his stool and threw his hands up in defeat as I walked away. “Oh c’mon. Stay! I was just playin’ around.”

  “Well then, you should work on your delivery, ’cause that wasn’t very playful.”

  By the time I pushed through the door of the restaurant, I didn’t have time to consider the unknown number on my phone. It was about to stop ringing and I hated returning calls from strange numbers. That inevitable conversation: “Yes, hi, you just called me—No, I don’t know anyone named Lupita—uh, no soy Lupita, lo siento.” Apparently, I shared my digits with an elderly woman from the Dominican Republic. Whodathought?

  “Hello? Can you hear me?” I answered as I held the phone to my ear.

  The city noise made it nearly impossible to hear the woman on the other end of the line. I squatted down, wedged my finger into my free ear, and pressed the phone against the other as hard as possible. If I’d shoved it any closer, I’d probably have radiated my brain.

  “Hello—can you hear me?” I asked again.

  “Yes. Hey. Is this Lily Black?”

  I covered my ear and ducked back against the building, hoping it would help block the noise.

  “Yes. Who’s this?”

  “Zoe. From Provisions.”

  My heart leapt at the name of the restaurant I’d been waiting to hear back from.

  “Listen, I know this is kind of insane of me to ask, but we’re really short staffed tonight.” Her voice cut off and then I heard muffled yells from her end of the phone. A second later, she spoke back through the receiver. “Lily, you still there?”


  I smiled. “Yes.”

  “Is there any way you could get here like…” She paused again. “Now?”

  I stared at the street signs around me like that would help. Ha. I’d spent twelve hours in New York. The only street names I knew were Broadway, 5th, and Wall Street—none of which would help me in this situation, but I didn’t want to let Zoe know that. You can get anywhere in the city fairly quickly right? It’s an island; how big can it possibly be?

  “Uh, I think I can be there in like ten minutes, but I haven’t had an interview or anything.”

  She laughed into the phone like I’d just told the funniest joke she’d ever heard.

  “Where do you see yourself in ten years?”

  “I…uhh…”

  “God, that was a joke. Get here.”

  The line went dead and I stared down at the black screen in shock. I had ten minutes. Well, now nine minutes and fifty seconds. SHIT. I typed Provisions into Google Maps and then cringed as the route popped up. By car, I could get there in eight minutes. Walking, I’d need at least twenty. I didn’t have cash to spare on a cab, and I wasn’t brave enough to try the subway system. That left me with one option. I tied my long hair up in a ponytail, threw my purse over my shoulder, and took off in a dead sprint toward Provisions.

  By the time I arrived outside, sweat dripped from my brow, I’d skinned a knee after tripping over a curb, and I was pretty sure I had about five different pieces of gum stuck to the bottom of my heels. All in all, it wasn’t my best look.

  Clumps of people crowded outside the restaurant, waiting to be seated. I edged my way through them, trying to catch my breath as I went. Finally, I arrived in front of a massive black door flanked by two round topiaries. Right above the door, shining under a spotlight, “Provisions” was spelled out in thin metal letters.

  I reached for the door handle, still breathing like a wild woman as I stepped into the dim light of the restaurant’s foyer. Untreated marble floors sat below crisp grey walls. Black-and-white photos were positioned at eye level around the small room. They were snapshots of everyday objects: an apple, an iris, stacked bricks; it was the scale and simplicity of the photos that turned them into something intriguing.

  “Uhh, can I help you with something?”

  I turned toward the hostess positioned behind a black podium. A gold desk lamp shined down on her list of chosen people who’d get to dine in the restaurant that night. Her sour expression told me I clearly wasn’t one of them.

  “I’m here to see Zoe,” I explained, trying to keep the exhaustion out of my voice.

  The woman arched a brow at me, scanning down my body once before returning her sharp stare to my eyes. I knew without the aid of a mirror that I looked frazzled. Most of my blonde hair had fallen out of my ponytail and there was definitely blood running down my shin. Still, her sourpuss stare didn’t affect me. I could see right through her fake tan and eyelash extensions. Her smoky eye shadow was caked on so thick I was surprised she could even manage to lift her eyelids. Women like her didn’t faze me. Why? Because they were predictable, almost like they were playing a part they’d seen on daytime TV.

  I held my ground and crossed my arms. The message was clear: your move.

  I would have stayed like that until she went to retrieve Zoe, but luck was on my side. A moment later, a brunette woman with a short pixie cut rounded the corner into the foyer like she was on a mission. She glanced from the hostess to me, and then back again.

  “Crystal, what the hell are you doing? We don’t pay you to stand there with resting bitch face.”

  I resisted the urge to laugh.

  Crystal rolled her eyes, but held her tongue. I watched her grab a clipboard off the podium and huff away in a cloud of perfume and glitter.

  When she was out of earshot, the pixie-cut woman turned her attention to me.

  “Please tell me you aren’t Lily.”

  My confidence faltered.

  “Zoe?” I asked, wiping my sweaty palm on the side of my dress.

  She ran her hand down her cheek.

  “No. No. This won’t work out,” she said, shaking her head.

  “What? Why?” She hadn’t even given me five minutes to prove myself.

  She glared at me, waving her hand out in front of her. “Because the last thing we need in this restaurant is another fucking Barbie doll.”

  Chapter Two

  Lily

  I knew what Zoe saw when she looked at me. I could sense her disdain. Within five seconds of meeting me, she’d already lumped me in with the Crystals of the world. How wrong she was.

  She crossed her toned arms and I scanned over the colorful tattoos running from her shoulders to her elbows.

  “Give me a chance to prove myself,” I said, holding my ground.

  She pursed her lips. “Listen, you’re not the first girl to come in here with a face that could kill, though yours looks like the first pair of natural lips I’ve seen in a decade. What’s your angle? You want to be an actress? Model? You want to find yourself a sugar daddy to fund your stay in the city?”

  I let her barbs glance off and narrowed my eyes on her. It made sense, really. Zoe’s job was to manage a wait staff made up of self-absorbed sociopaths. Why would she want to add one more to the mix? Lucky for her, I wasn’t a sociopath, and I was only somewhat self-absorbed.

  “Where’s your bar?” I asked, ignoring her line of questioning.

  She tilted her head, confused.

  Fine. I didn’t need her help. I could already glimpse the main bar in the restaurant, tucked against the sidewall. There were two guys working behind it, moving like cyclones trying to fill orders as fast as possible. The setup would be simple—bars aren't rocket science. After I’d finished up culinary school and a two-semester bartending program, I’d landed a job working at a dive bar one town over from mine. No big deal, right? Wrong. New York yuppies had nothing on a bunch of burly Texans. They wanted their drinks, and they wanted them yesterday.

  I moved past Zoe without another word and bee-lined for the bar. It was hard to navigate through the crowd, especially as they clumped together, trying to get the bartender’s attention. I pushed through them, using elbows and sheer force when needed.

  The bar came up to my stomach and there wasn’t an entrance in sight, but I didn’t let that stop me. I tossed my purse over onto the ground and then pushed myself up onto the black marble countertop.

  “What are you doing?” one of the bartenders yelled as I swung my legs over the bar.

  “Finishing up my job interview,” I threw back, not bothering with any more explanation. My feet landed with a thud on the black rubber mat and then I turned back to the crowd. Half a dozen people were staring back at me with shocked expressions. I let them gather their wits as I washed my hands and reached for a spare drink shaker.

  The other bartender waltzed over, his male-model looks completely wasted on me. I had a thing about guys who spent more time in the powder room than I did.

  “You can’t be back here,” he said, trying to reach for the drink shaker in my hand.

  I pulled it out of his grasp and smiled.

  “I’m here on special order from Zoe,” I lied, only somewhat.

  His mouth dropped and I turned back to the crowd, bored with him already.

  “You.” I pointed at the petite girl in front of me. She had a fifty-dollar bill tucked in her hand and was being crushed by the crowd pushing in behind her. “What are you drinking?”

  She stared back and forth between me and the other bartender, unsure of whether she was allowed to answer me.

  The bartender threw his hands up and walked away. “I don’t get paid enough for this shit.”

  I smirked as I stared at the girl, waiting for her to reply.

  “Uh, okay. I need two dirty martinis and a gin fizz,” she stammered.

  Easy.

  “Do you prefer a certain type of gin?”

  She shook her head and I bent down to che
ck out the liquor offering behind the bar. They had a few good brands of dry gin, but I preferred the cucumber and rose flavor that Hendrick’s offered. I set out three cocktail glasses and got to work on the dirty martinis. Ice, gin, brine from cocktail olives, and extra dry vermouth were added to the shaker before I tossed it all together and strained the mixture into the first two cocktail glasses. I rinsed the shaker and reached for lemons, but stopped short when I couldn’t find any gimme syrup. I decided I’d have to bring in supplies for my next shift if I lasted through the night.

  Instead of bothering Captain America and Ken doll, I found simple syrup and hoped it would do. I didn’t have time to ask where every single ingredient was if I wanted to actually help the other bartenders work through the crowd.

  I directed the woman to pay with the other bartender and focused my attention on the next customer. Though he probably hated it, one of the bartenders, Brian, and I worked out a system within five minutes. I took orders, and filled them, and he cashed out the customers or transferred their drinks to the tab at their table.

  I’d finished making two White Russians, a Sea Breeze, a screwdriver, two more dirty martinis, and a slew of gin and tonics before Zoe joined me behind the bar and gripped my arm. I set down my shaker and turned my attention to her.

  “I get it. Barbie knows her shit,” she said, pulling me away from my self-assigned station. “Brian keep up the bar. Lily will be back in a few minutes.”

  I smiled and let her pull me away. If I was coming back, that meant I’d landed the job.

  I followed Zoe through the restaurant, taking in the scenery as we went. Provisions continued to surprise me. The floor plan was spectacular, but the open courtyard in the center of the restaurant took my breath away. I hadn’t seen anything like it before. Customers were crowded around tables, eating under a grove of trees. Twinkle lights hung from the branches, basking them all in gentle light.

  We circled around the perimeter of the courtyard and then Zoe led me into a back hallway toward a door that read “Employees only.”