When Rex spotted her slinking toward him from across the room, his eyes drifted down the length of her curvy body appreciatively. Well, she thought so, until his eyes didn’t roam back up. They remained fixed on Rosie.
Ouch.
Second-guessing herself, Addison glanced down at her evening dress with its sleek black lines and revealing—though not too revealing—neckline. There was a fine line between saying “I’m your one” and “I’m your one night stand.” But when she noticed the tall, dark, and sexy bartender flash her a lingering look over the bottles of top-shelf liquor, she knew it wasn’t the dress’s fault.
Never mind then. She’d dazzle Rex with her sparkling personality.
“Rex Harris.” She smiled as she approached the bar. “Rosie is all ready for you. What do you think?” To let him know she didn’t mean the grooming, she leaned against the bar to give him a better shot of that low neckline—okay, even Prince Charming probably needed baiting.
She toyed with Rosie’s leash, wrapping it teasingly around her finger. But Rex’s loving gaze was still glued to his pedigree pinscher. Oblivious to her efforts, Rex bent down and gave Rosie a pet.
Addison thought she heard a soft snort from behind the bar. When she turned to the bartender, he was studiously wiping down the glass counter, but she could have sworn that was a smirk on his lips.
“Oh wow,” Rex said, drawing her attention back. “Rosie’s fur has never looked so shiny. How did you do that?”
Addison beamed. “That’s the yogurt and oatmeal rub.”
“Yogurt?” He glanced up and seemed to notice her for the first time.
If she had a tail, it would be wagging. “Yes, the yogurt strips away the dirt and moisturizes, while the oatmeal treats the skin and softens the fur. It also makes for a good breakfast,” she joked.
He smiled, standing back up to take in the full view. “I can think of better breakfasts to make. I know my way around a kitchen.”
“You like to cook?” Mmm, she thought. Cooking skills were definitely worth a star.
“Only for someone special.” He swirled his drink before taking a sip, eyeing her above the rim. “Maybe I could cook for you sometime.”
That would make Addison someone special. She liked the sound of that. “Sounds delicious.”
“Why don’t you give me a call sometime?” He reached into his suit coat. “Here’s my card.”
“Thanks. Maybe I will.” She took the card and traded it for Rosie’s leash.
“Thanks again,” he said. “Come on Rosie. Shall we go for a walk?”
The pinscher’s nubby black tail shook in response.
Rex gave Addison a wink and turned to head across the ballroom, holding the leash aloft in true show form. Rosie trotted alongside him like she was already showing off for the judges attending the cocktail mixer that night.
Addison and Princess were watching him stroll away when a small wastebasket was thrust in front of her, obscuring her view. She flinched back and turned to find the sexy bartender holding it out. His dark eyebrows quirked up as he shook the basket expectantly.
She frowned at it. “What’s that for?”
“For that card,” he said.
“For Rex’s card? Why?” She clutched the slip of paper protectively. “Maybe I’ll give him a call.”
“You and about ten other girls at this party tonight.” He shrugged and put the wastebasket under the bar again. “But it’s your call.”
Her face fell. “Ten?”
In response, the bartender tilted his mop of dark curls across the ballroom where Rex was slipping another card from his pocket and flashing it at a young brunette waitress. Maybe I’m not so special after all, Addison thought. She picked Princess up, needing a little moral support from her girl.
“You think I’m special, don’t you baby?”
Princess gave her a kiss on the neck in reassurance … or maybe it was because she was wearing coconut body butter.
“Don’t feel bad,” the bartender said. “I’ve got eyes like an Afghan hound. I see all. I know all. Most of all when it comes to slimeballs like him.” He gave her a cheesy wink.
Addison gave the tall bartender the once-over. He had a certain tilt to his square jaw that spoke of confidence, or cockiness, she wasn’t sure which. Being a bartender, she was sure he’d had plenty of conversations across a bar with a pretty girl to make it the latter.
She leaned against the bar with a wicked grin. “Is that right? Or does it just take one to know one?”
She’d been that pretty girl across the bar and had heard every cheesy pickup line there was—she’d certainly fallen for enough of them. And she wasn’t about to fall for his.
He flashed a good-humored smile. “Can I get you a drink?”
“No thanks. I’m on the clock.” She turned her attention to the rest of the room to resume her search for true love. Her head bobbed around, and it was all she could do to not climb on the counter to get a better look at her options.
“Looking for someone?” he asked.
“Yes. I happen to be looking for Mr. Perfect.”
“Well, it’s your lucky day,” he said. “You’ve found him.”
Falling for it, she glanced back at him.
He spread his arms outward, presenting himself. “Right here.”
She snorted and rolled her eyes. “We must be talking about a different guy.”
He chuckled, not deterred in the slightest. “Oh, you mean a different perfect guy. Sorry about that.” He went back to wiping the counter with his cloth. “But I’ll let you in on a little secret. There’s no guy that’s perfect.”
“Sure there is,” she said. “I just haven’t found him yet.”
“No, really. Trust me. I know people.”
“People?”
“All people. Even your Mr. Perfect.” He gestured around the room vaguely. “I’m in the perfect position to people-watch, to observe the human species, to understand what makes them tick. I have years of practice.”
“That and the fact that if you ply anyone with enough alcohol they’ll spill their guts.” She used a dismissive tone, trying to send the guy a hint. She didn’t have long before the clock struck ten and she had to be backstage again.
He leaned on his elbows, settling in for a long discussion—apparently observing people didn’t make him an expert at taking hints. “Oh sure. People open up to a bartender. I’ve seen and heard it all. Nothing surprises me anymore.”
“I can only imagine.” As hard as she tried to ignore the guy, her curiosity was piqued. He was a good talker, engaging with an undeniably charming smile that bordered on devilish, the kind of smile that probably earned him a mint in tips.
He held her cornflower blue eyes with his own brown gaze, and she imagined he could sell a Jägerbomb to a nun. Maybe he had. She began to wonder what kinds of things he’d seen and heard.
But she didn’t have time to get distracted by stories. She hadn’t pulled out her best dress that night for nothing. Prince Charming was somewhere in that room. She could feel it.
“But there’s more to it than that,” he continued. “There’s a difference between what people are telling you and what they’re saying. When someone talks, at the same time an entirely different conversation can be going on. You just have to know how to tune into it.”
“How do you do that?” She was only half-listening, scanning the room again.
“Watch, listen, read between the lines. It can be how someone enters the room, in the way they dress, what drink they order, how fast they drink it, posture. Body language, you know?”
“Uh-huh. Is that so?” She was trying her best to block him out now.
“Take you, for example.”
“Me?” Her attention suddenly wheeled back around to him, her man-hunt on hold. She narrowed her eyes. “What about me?”
He began rearranging the liquor bottles until all the labels faced out. “You walk in here like you own the place, yet you’re p
ractically the help—”
“I’m not the help.” Her chin rose indignantly. “I’m an artist.”
“An artist? And your canvas … dogs?” He gestured to Princess in her arms.
She ignored the rush of heat beneath her skin. “Well, I am an artist. Business is booming,” she told him matter-of-factly, maybe even a little sourly. “Everyone in the doggy couture world will know who I am. I’ll be a household name.”
“What kind of house?” he asked with a sly grin. “A dog house?”
This guy was making fun of her. She wrinkled her nose at him. Who did he think he was? He didn’t know the first thing about her. Arrogant son-of-a— She stopped herself before she lost her cool. What did his opinion matter to her anyway?
“Look”—she glanced down at his nametag—“Felix. Canine fashion is very popular, I’ll have you know.” She ran a critical eye over him. “Of course, what would you know about fashion?”
He wasn’t even clean-shaven for the stylish event. And she could just tell by the way he let his loose curls flop around unchecked that he’d probably never heard of styling gel. Although she had to admit he did have a nice head of hair. Just long enough that the soft waves curled around his handsome face.
As though he noticed her scrutiny, he tucked a curl behind his ear. “Okay, okay,” he relented. “I can believe that. I’ve been working the dog show scene for a few years now.”
“Good. See? You don’t know what you’re talking about. And you don’t know the first thing about me.”
“You’re right, Addison Turner. I don’t.”
Her mouth popped open. She was about to ask how he knew her name when he held up one of her business cards. “I assume this belongs to you. I’ve been finding them left all over the bar.” He bit the inside of his cheek, clearly trying not to laugh. “I’m running out of garbage bags from cleaning them up.”
Addison raised her chin, already turning to leave. She didn’t need this kind of negativity. “Excuse me. But I have to look for someone.”
She and Princess walked away, but he called out to her. “Wait! Wait. You didn’t let me finish.”
Addison hesitated. As hard as she tried, she couldn’t seem to leave, especially once she saw the sheepish look he gave her. Cautiously, she returned to the bar, giving him a steady stare like he was a door-to-door salesperson and she was waiting for the catch.
“You’re right. I don’t know everything about you,” he began. “But I do know that your posture is strong and proud, like you’re six feet tall, not five-foot-nothing.”
She scowled. “Five-foot-two.” Why was she even bothering to argue with him?
“Five-two. Okay.” He held up his hands in mock surrender. “So you’re clearly very confident, gorgeous, intelligent”—she smiled—“but desperate.”
Her face fell. “Desperate?” Her voice rose, then she noticed an elderly couple with a Tibetan terrier shoot a look her way. She lowered her voice and hissed across the bar. “What do you mean ‘desperate’?”
“Your eyes scan this room like laser beams. Your target? Any single man.”
Her mouth fell open and a sound of complete and utter indignation came out, although she couldn’t quite find an argument. Her mouth snapped shut. She didn’t even want to dignify that with an answer.
Addison looked at Princess like Can you believe this guy? Where does he get off? But she couldn’t ignore Princess’s piercing stare. She knew Addison too well.
Traitor, she thought as she placed the dog on a stool.
Addison’s shoulders slumped. Okay, well, maybe that’s exactly what she’d come out there in search of, but was it really so obvious? The resentment his words created suddenly fizzled out of her.
“Is it so wrong?” she asked, at last. “I just appreciate someone with style. Grace. Good breeding.”
“Are you talking about a man, or a dog?” Felix asked. “Look, I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. You know what you want. But you’re like a girl on the prowl. I can feel the anxiety oozing off you.”
Addison rolled her eyes. “You cannot.”
“In fact, you’re getting it all over my counter.” To prove his point, he picked up his cloth and shooed her away before wiping down the spotless glass.
“And I’m not anxious.”
“Really?” His eyes dropped pointedly to her hands.
She followed his gaze and froze as she noticed the confetti in her hands. She’d shredded Rex Harris’s card into a million pieces. Okay, so maybe she was a bit nervous. It didn’t mean she was desperate.
Felix reached under the bar and brought out the wastepaper basket again. He held it up while she threw away the evidence.
He leaned against the bar, resting on his elbows like he was at home and not in a room full of San Francisco’s high society. “Maybe you’re not desperate. But you’re coming off that way. You’re a pretty girl. Let the guys come to you. Besides, what are you in such a rush for? You can’t be more than twenty-four.”
“I’m twenty-eight. And thank you.” She liked how sincere he sounded, curbing some of her annoyance with him. “But if I’ve learned anything from running my own business, it’s that you can’t wait around for things to happen. You have to make them happen. Take chances. Put yourself out there.”
“Well, just don’t put yourself so out there.” He gestured with his hands, like “out there” was an actual place to avoid. But where that place was, Addison couldn’t be sure.
“What do you mean?”
He leaned in until they were close enough that she could smell his cologne. The kind of cologne you’d follow a man around a store just to inhale. Princess must have smelled it too, because she placed her front paws on the counter to get closer. Felix gave her a soft rub under her chin.
“You have to be logical about it. Choosy,” he said. “You’ve got to hedge your bets. Make a wise investment of your time versus the effort you’re putting in. Think of it like a numbers game.”
“Love isn’t logical.” Addison laughed, wondering what cave this guy crawled out of. “Love is a dream come true. It’s destiny. You can’t explain it with numbers and odds. It’s a feeling.” She sighed. “Like when Meg Ryan hears her computer tell her ‘You’ve got mail’ and it’s from Tom Hanks. Love is Julie Andrews spinning on a grassy knoll singing ‘the hills are alive.’ It’s the wind beneath Rose’s arms as Jack holds her at the front of the Titanic, and the orchestra builds to a climax and—”
“And don’t forget lollipops, rainbows, and unicorns.” There was a condescending smile on his lips.
Offended, she cocked a perfectly penciled eyebrow. “That is why I’m looking for a man with class and refinement. Clearly someone like you wouldn’t understand.”
His own eyebrows shot up, but he shrugged it off. “Fair enough.” He moved to the other side of the bar and began stacking clean glasses onto the delicate pyramid of glassware. After a minute, a pretty waitress sauntered up to place a few orders.
Princess watched her chin-scratcher leave with a whine. Having made her point, Addison turned her back on the bar and continued the search for her Prince Charming. Princess followed her cue and turned around on her stool to face the dance floor. She jutted her chest out, acting all I’m too good for you, anyway.
When Addison noticed that she was anxiously tapping her manicured nails on the glass bar top, she froze. She snatched her hand back and leaned against the counter instead, the epitome of casualness. So totally not desperate. Nope, not at all. What did Felix know anyway?
Her eyes scanned the room, totally not like lasers, checking for wedding bands on fingers. But there were hundreds of people there that night. With all those expensive suits, finding Prince Charming was like trying to find a dachshund in a hot dog factory.
After a few moments, she picked Princess back up and began to inch her way around to the other side of the bar where Felix was talking with the waitress—shamelessly flirting, more like it. Not that she blamed him. She was
pretty, if a little obvious, wearing a bright red bra under a thin white button-up shirt. Addison thought it was a cheap tactic for attention. Who was desperate now?
Setting Princess down on another stool, Addison took out a stack of business cards from her clutch and arranged them neatly on Felix’s countertop while she waited. Finally, Red Bra left to do her rounds.
Addison leaned closer to the bar. “If I were to hedge my bets,” she began hesitantly, “you know, filter some of the rainbows and unicorns out, where exactly would I start?”
Felix’s brown eyes slid over to her, and he seemed to think twice about helping her before finally relenting. Throwing the white cloth over his shoulder, he leaned in and dropped his voice low. “Okay, you have to watch for subtle clues. Don’t be too hasty. Just sit back and watch.”
“What am I watching for?”
“General behavior. For example, if they’re eyeing up every skirt that walks by, then you’ll just be a number to him. Another skirt.”
“Like Rex.”
“Like Rex,” he agreed.
While she was watching for clues, a customer strolled up to the bar with his English bulldog in tow. He was a bit older than Addison, maybe ten years older, salt and pepper starting to fleck his chocolate hair. His smile showed all his brilliant white teeth, and when he turned it on her, she found herself glancing at his ring finger. Finding it conveniently naked, she smiled back. Not bad, she thought.
Addison waited to the side while he ordered a whiskey on the rocks and left. Once he was out of earshot, she leaned across the counter. “How about that guy?”
“Married,” Felix said.
She frowned. “But he wasn’t wearing a ring.”
Felix shrugged as he tucked a bottle of whiskey away with the others. “He took it off.”
“How could you tell?”
“There was a faint white line around his ring finger where the sun couldn’t tan it.”
“Maybe he’s recently divorced,” she said.
He nodded. “Or separated. And if it’s that fresh, do you want to risk being a rebound?”
“Okay, well let’s try someone a bit younger. How about that guy over there?” She pointed across the room to the man tapping his foot to the jazz music.
Beauty and the Wiener Page 2
