Betting the Bad Boy (Behind the Bar)

by Stefanie London

  “I’ll still be looking for a full-time job.” Her hands fidgeted in front of her. “I don’t want to be dishonest about that.”

  “And I can’t have you walking out of here and leaving me high and dry.” No matter how good her coffee was.

  “What if I promise to be one hundred percent honest with you about where I’m at with my job hunting? You’re not going to get more loyalty than that from anyone else.”

  She had a point. Staff turnover had left them in the lurch on more than one occasion and she had been up front about what she wanted from the job.

  “Fine,” Noah said. “But if you promise to be honest with me I expect you to follow through. None of this three-strike crap, either. You try to pull one over on me again, you’re out.”

  “I promise.” Her eyes lit up, and damn if it didn’t thump him right in the chest. She was a pure ray of sunshine. “When do I start?”

  “Tomorrow.” A sly grin crept across his lips. “And promise me you’ll keep yourself covered, okay? We’ve got a dress code to adhere to.”

  Chapter Three

  Paige huffed and ripped her T-shirt up over her head. Her floor was littered with discarded outfit options—from denim shorts (too casual) to tank tops (way too casual) to pretty skirts (no more wardrobe malfunctions, thank you very much).

  Sally wasn’t around to offer any support. In fact, she’d been MIA since Paige arrived home yesterday afternoon. Staying at the boyfriend’s place, apparently. Perhaps she’d already started moving her things over. Paige should have enjoyed the quiet and the chance to watch what she wanted on TV, especially given Sally had a penchant for cringe-worthy reality shows. But all Paige had wanted was a chance to debrief over her crazy—potentially stupid—decision.

  Nowhere in her life plan did it say go back to serving coffee. In fact, she was pretty sure that the original document she’d written by hand during her first semester of university said stop serving coffee.

  Yet here she was.

  “Just pick a bloody outfit,” she muttered at her reflection. “It doesn’t matter what you look like.”

  A determined meow sounded from the door where Sally’s black cat, Damon, glared at her. Yes, the damn beast was named after a character in The Vampire Diaries, but Paige was certain something had been lost in translation and that the cat had misunderstood its name to be Demon. Because it sure as hell acted like one.

  “I fed you already,” she said as she reached for a simple white T-shirt and pulled it over her head.

  The cat’s tail swished. Meow.

  “Cry all you want but you’re on a diet, buddy. Vet’s orders.”

  The cat sniffed and then stalked off, its tail flicking back and forth. She got the distinct impression that she was going to pay for it with a paw to the face in the middle of the night.

  Paige tugged on her jeans and stuffed her feet into a pair of high-top sneakers. The outfit didn’t project that she was trying too hard, but the white cotton made her skin look lightly tanned, and she’d curled her long hair so it had a bit of extra bounce. Nothing fancy. Her “you, but slightly better” look.

  Or in this case, her “you, but slightly more employed” look.

  She’d be lying if she said there wasn’t part of her that wanted to impress Noah. Which was stupid. He was her boss. And she was a little touchy about workplace relationships after the incident at her last job. So trying to get his attention with anything other than her hard work and coffee-making skills was a dumb idea.

  “You’re doing this for the money,” she reminded herself as she repacked her belongings into her suitcase, away from the prying paws of one sneaky cat. “One month. Until you get a real job.”

  By the time she made it to First, her stomach was doing backflips. Noah had asked her to come in at eight, ahead of the brunch crowd. Given it was a Saturday morning, he said the place would be jam-packed from about ten until two thirty. Then she could finish up her shift around three.

  South Melbourne was strangely peaceful at this time of morning. Nothing was open yet, and the streets—which were normally lined with cars—were empty. But the sun already beat down, making the horizon shimmer as if you were watching it through a silk veil. It was going to be a scorcher, they’d predicted. Paige made it to First with five minutes to spare, sighing with relief as cool air swept over her skin when Noah opened the front door to greet her.

  “Do I need to ask if you’re appropriately dressed for a day of work?” he said with a cheeky smile.

  “Don’t worry, I did a full booty check before I left the house,” she quipped. “I think we’re good.”

  Being the resident “Goody Two-shoes” of her high school, she’d learned it was hard for people to make fun of you if you laughed at yourself first. Not that she detected any maliciousness in Noah’s teasing. But the reaction was automatic.

  “You and I are going to get along just fine,” Noah said with a grin as he locked the door behind them.

  Paige couldn’t help but notice the tiny tingle of awareness that ran down her spine knowing she was the reason for that smile. It was the kind of smile that should come with a warning label.

  Caution: smiles may cause panties to spontaneously combust. If contact occurs, rinse under a cold shower…or ten.

  “How comfortable do you think you’ll be at the coffee station today?” he asked as they walked through the seating area. “I’ll be around to supervise, but I have to take care of some paperwork, so I’ll be out back for a while.”

  “I’ll be fine. My parents’ business was our second home. I’m used to the environment.”

  Guilt tugged at her heart. Her parents would be devastated to know that she’d left them behind, only to be working the exact same job that she would’ve had back home. She could picture her mother’s face—those big hazel eyes bracketed by frown lines. The sad downturn of her lips. She’d worn that exact expression when Paige had announced her plans to move away.

  “That’s great. We’re short-staffed currently.” They walked into the bar area and through a door that led to a small back office.

  In the confined room—which was more of a glorified cupboard than an office—Noah’s bulky frame seemed to take up all the space. It was impossible not be near him as they stood at the desk while he ran her through what he needed. His shoulder brushed hers briefly, and the sparks that shot through her body were bright and hot.

  Get a hold of yourself. This isn’t the first time you’ve been around a guy.

  But it sure felt that way. She hadn’t experienced these kinds of tingles since her first kiss behind the sheds in high school.

  “It’s not like I had anything else to do.” She handed over the paperwork he’d given her yesterday, trying not to notice how his fingers grazed hers. “The social life becomes quite limited when you’re broke.”

  “I guess you wouldn’t know too many people here, either. How long since you moved down?”

  “About four months.”

  “And you still haven’t been able to find work? That’s brutal.” He shook his head, the genuine sympathy causing her breath to stick in her throat.

  What was she supposed to say to that?

  Oh no, I had a job. But I got fired when my I dated a colleague who got mad that I didn’t put out and then lied to the whole office about me being a slut.

  “Yeah, it’s rough,” she said, swallowing past the tightness in her throat. “What doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger, right?”

  And she’d learned her lesson. Never ever mix business and pleasure.

  …

  Noah could call a fake smile at a hundred paces. There were quite a few tells—the lack of crinkling around the corners of the eyes. Tightness in the lips. Tense shoulders.

  Growing up with sisters had given him what he liked to think of as his secret weapon when it came to women—a resistance to taking words at face value. As a man, he was wired to say what he thought, regardless of whether it might come to blows.


  But women were strange and complex creatures. Words often took on alternate meanings and you had to be alert for the secret signs of their real message. That had been especially important growing up, where the girls he’d needed to protect were often reluctant to speak out or tell the truth. He’d learned the very important life lesson that “I’m fine” meant anything but.

  “I’m glad that you ended up here. This will be a mutually beneficial arrangement,” he said, sliding the paperwork into a folder and placing it on top of the keyboard as a reminder to check it over later. “We’re going to work well together. I’d put money on it.”

  A faint pink tint flared out over her cheeks, and tension drained out of her eyes. “You’re on.”

  They headed back into the bar area to prepare for the day. Everything was ready to go from the previous night, so he could take it slow with Paige until they opened. Get to know her a little better.

  Much easier to focus on chatting to a gorgeous woman than worrying about the weight of his upcoming decision sitting heavy on his shoulders.

  “Why don’t you make yourself a coffee?” he said, shaking off the weird twinge of dissatisfaction and coming around to the customer side of the bar.

  “Sure. You want anything?” She reached for one of the takeaway cups and set it on the bench in front of her.

  “I wouldn’t say no to a cappuccino, especially after the one you made yesterday.”

  The grinder sounded, and she deftly scraped the excess off into the knock box. “I’m glad you’re a fan.”

  Oh, he was a fan all right.

  Paige in a white T-shirt and jeans so tight they could have been spray-painted on was exactly what he liked. She had a tight, athletic body—but it was the freckles that got to him. A dusting of brown dots coated her cheekbones and the vee section of chest exposed by her top. It immediately made him wonder how far down her body they went.

  “How do you like Melbourne so far?” he asked, forcing his eyes away from her bare skin.

  “Well, I can walk down the street without someone gossiping about where I’m going.” She laughed and shook her head, sending warm brown curls around her shoulders. “And I can talk to a man without my mother brainstorming baby names.”

  That sounded like his idea of hell. He’d spent a good portion of his life coasting from family to family, chewing up opportunities like candy. Each new house was a “fresh start” until he’d had so many that he wasn’t sure there was anything more to life than unfamiliar faces and getting-to-know-you questions. No wonder he hated being tied down.

  Maybe that was why the idea of managing Des’s new restaurant had him feeling like his flight response was about to kick in.

  “I feel like I could get lost in the crowd here,” she said with a wistful smile. “That might be scary to some people, but I like the idea of not having to censor myself all the time. Not having to worry if someone’s going to overhear a phone call and report it back to my big brother.”

  “He’s protective?”

  “Bordering on overbearing.” She looked up from steaming the milk. “Actually no, he’s squarely in the overbearing category.”

  “Hey, don’t knock big brothers. I hear some of them mean well.”

  Her eyes twinkled. “How many sisters?”

  “Three.” He didn’t point out that they weren’t related by blood. Megan, Amanda, and Ginnie were as close as he’d ever get to a real family—so he wasn’t going to fuss with labels. “And they’re all trouble, the lot of them.”

  “Don’t knock little sisters. I hear some of them are just trying to live their own lives.”

  She stopped to concentrate on pouring the milk. It was perfectly steamed; he could tell from the way it curled around the edges of the cup, creating a heart-like shape. No big bubbles or dry, dense foam. She re-created the leaf design from yesterday, each line smooth and crisp. The customers were going to love her.

  She frowned at the coffee for a second. “I’ll have this one.”

  “What’s wrong with it?”

  “The leaf isn’t straight.” She let out an annoyed huff and started work on the second coffee. “This one will be perfect.”

  Ahh, a perfectionist. Noah stifled a smile; she reminded him of his sister Megan. They shared the same attention to detail, the same desire for precision.

  “How long ago did you open this place?” Paige asked.

  “Uhh…” The words caught in Noah’s throat. “First opened four years ago.”

  Not a lie, but he hadn’t exactly corrected her assumption that he was the owner. It hadn’t even occurred to him that she would mistake him for Des. To someone like her, with her fancy degree and bright future, making coffee was an interim job. He opened his mouth to clear things up, but Paige beat him to it.

  “You’ve done an amazing job with this place. I feel so at home here already. I bet your family is really proud.”

  Proud? Not fucking likely. Fact was, his family didn’t know a damn thing about him. They’d assumed he was a bad egg, like all the other foster parents he’d disappointed. But the second he turned eighteen he went out on his own and became independent. It’d killed him to leave his sisters behind, but for once in his life he needed to know that he was in charge of what happened to him. That he could create his own security.

  “Thanks.” He cleared his throat. “This place is run by my mate, Des. I’m filling his shoes while he’s away.”

  He decided not to mention the fact that Des had plans to expand the business and seemed to think Noah was the right person to help him manage it. What would be the point? It wasn’t like she’d be sticking around, anyway.

  “Oh.”

  “I’m normally the barista and resident newbie wrangler.”

  “So I guess that means I’m filling your shoes, then?” Her eyes ran down his body. “Big shoes to fill.”

  “You know what they say about men who wear big shoes.”

  “They’re likely to be clowns?” She brought her coffee up to her lips and sipped, her eyes peeking over the rim.

  Laughter vibrated in his chest. “Yeah. Something like that.”

  …

  By the end of week one, Paige felt like she’d been working at First for years instead of mere days. The staffers were friendly, immediately building up a joking rapport with her as Noah had done and making her feel like one of the team. She could see herself being friends with these people.

  See, people from the city are no different from those back home. Mum doesn’t know what the hell she’s talking about. No vultures in sight.

  Never mind the fact that her parents might’ve been right about the accounting industry, though. She’d only had one interview all week and it had gone belly-up when the interviewer had asked her about the gap on her résumé. She’d fumbled her response, making it totally clear she was hiding something. Needless to say, she hadn’t been called back for a second interview.

  “What are your plans for tonight?” Libby, a gorgeous redhead who was engaged to the bar manager, Paul, perched on a stool and sipped an iced latte.

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Paige shrugged as she cleaned down the espresso machine. “My roommate is staying at her boyfriend’s place for the weekend. So probably Netflix and pizza.”

  It wasn’t a bad way to spend a Friday night, but the truth was that Paige was getting a little bored of moping around Sally’s apartment. Having no cash meant that it wasn’t easy to get out and meet people. Sally’s artsy friends, while nice, weren’t her typical crowd. And Damon didn’t exactly make for pleasant company.

  “If you fancy a night out, we’re having a test run of our new mixology class here at the bar,” Libby said. “I’ve put a couple of new recipes together and we always give the staff a chance to be guinea pigs before we release the classes to the public. It’s free, and there’ll be plenty of booze and snacks.”

  “I shouldn’t.” Paige concentrated on wiping down the portafilters and lining them up in size order. “I don
’t want to be the new girl awkwardly tagging along.”

  “Not at all. It would be great to have you. I’m always looking for some fresh blood.” Libby grinned. “Plus, it’s nice to have another girl around here. The boys always pooh-pooh my sugary cocktails.”

  “Well, if you don’t think I would be intruding…”

  “You wouldn’t. Trust me.” She pulled a compact out of her bag and touched up her lipstick. “Be here at nine.”

  Excitement bubbled up in Paige’s stomach. “I will.”

  Her mind immediately went to Noah. Would he be there? If he was managing the bar he’d surely be involved in the team activities. Her stomach fluttered, but she tamped the sensation down.

  Don’t you dare screw this up. You need this job, and you’re not going to wreck it by falling for the boss.

  Chapter Four

  Noah pressed his fingers to his temples as he stared at the roster in front of him. Numbers had never been his strong point, and trying to make everyone’s hours line up was giving him nightmarish high-school exam flashbacks. The roster had seemed easy enough—until he’d taken into consideration minimum shift lengths, overtime limits, and all the special events they had booked.

  “I’m ready for a fucking drink,” he muttered to himself.

  “Must be your lucky day,” a female voice singsonged behind him. “I’m about to get the class started and I believe you promised me a cocktail-shaking showdown.”

  He looked up to find Libby’s sweet face staring down at him, her brow creased in concern. “I really need to get this done.”

  “I’m sure it can wait until tomorrow.” She leaned over his shoulder and tapped one shiny pink nail against the column to the far left of the screen. “If it’s not adding up that’s because you missed the decimal point here and there’s a little error in your calculation here.”

  Shit. How had she so quickly managed to catch the very thing he’d been poring over the last fifteen minutes? Must be because his eyes had gone square from all the paperwork his temporary job entailed. The thought of doing this full-time made him want to throw the computer against a wall.