“Willow, it can be all that bad,” Ian soothed.
“Yes, it can. I hired a specialty bartender for this weekend’s wedding, and he’s cancelled last minute. All the other potentials we vetted are already booked. Of course they’re booked! We only vetted the best! I don’t know what we’re going to do. This wedding is so high profile, if even one thing goes wrong, that’s it. Our reputation will be shot! POOF! Oh, hi, I’m Willow.”
This last was said to Quinn who met the frenzied infodump with an intelligent, “Huh?”
“This conversationalist is Quinn,” Clancy reluctantly introduced. “New bartender.”
“Don’t sound so thrilled,” Ian muttered.
Willow whirled back to Clancy. “Does that mean you can spare Jason this weekend to help us? He’s not nearly as talented as the mixologist we hired, plus I know he’ll hit on every female from eighteen to eighty, but he’ll at least be able to keep the booze flowing. I swear, we’ve nearly tripled our usual liquor order. I’ve never seen anyone drink as much as these politicos.”
“Clearly, you’ve never been to a Polish funeral,” Quinn quipped.
“I fired Jason,” Clancy announced. Both Ian and Willow swung matching looks of surprise in Quinn’s direction so fast, she instinctively reeled back on one foot.
“I-I already knew that.”
“Was he hitting on the guests again?” Ian asked in a dark tone.
“How do you think Quinn got behind the bar?” Clancy returned.
“What am I gonna do?!” Willow wailed.
Quinn reached for a bottle.
“Calm down, missy,” Clancy ordered. “This is not a catastrophe.”
Willow’s fingers made grooves in Clancy’s arm as she shook it. “Do you not know whose wedding we’re hosting?! The bride is Senator Thornquist’s granddaughter! Anyone who’s anyone in D.C. will be here this weekend. We’ve had Kennedy sightings! Luke’s had to hire extra security to cover all the VIPs who’ve RSVP’d. This wedding could catapult us to an entirely new level of clientele.”
Quinn bit her lip. That sounded nearly too familiar for comfort. She’d thought the same when she took the Atlantic City job.
“Nothing can go wrong this weekend, Clancy, including my missing mixologist!” Willow yelled, and Quinn decided enough was enough.
“Ho-kay. Let’s take a breath for a moment.”
“What?!” Willow shrieked at her.
Quinn laid a napkin on the bar and placed the glass on it before Willow. “Drink that.”
Willow eyed the glass like it might bite her. “What’s in it?”
“Absinthe. Not really,” she quickly added when Willow’s head shot up with alarm. Ian barked out a laugh. “It’s my own concoction. I promise you’ll love it.”
“Is it low-cal?”
“Sure.”
Willow looked like she didn’t believe her, which was probably a good thing since Quinn didn’t know or care how many calories were in her drinks.
“Sit down and have a drink, Will,” Ian urged, laughter still in his voice. He turned to Clancy and gestured toward Quinn. “I like her.”
“I can die happy,” Clancy grumbled.
Willow looked puzzled, like she’d walked in on an entirely different conversation than the one she thought she was having, but she took Ian’s advice and Quinn’s drink.
“This is delicious. What in it?”
“Unicorn tears. I’m kidding. Everyone knows unicorns don’t cry.” Willow choked on her swallow. “There, see? Already you’re feeling better. Take another sip, and let’s break this down. Who the hell are the Barefoot Brides?”
“There’s three of us, Gussie, me, and Ari. We run Barefoot Brides, an all-inclusive destination wedding planning service, out of the resort. I handle all the food and beverage, catering, bakery. If you consume it, I cover it.”
“Good tagline,” Ian murmured.
“Stop helping,” Quinn ordered without thinking. But Ian seemed to take it in stride. “Okay, so you hired a mixologist for your fancy pants wedding this weekend, and he crapped out on you. Is that the gist?”
Willow blinked once. Quinn had a feeling bare bones tactics were not normally in Willow’s wheelhouse. “Yes. Exactly.”
“The hell’s a mixologist?” Clancy asked.
With Willow now sucking back Quinn’s souped-up version of a Malibu Breeze, she began to cut up some fruit for the next wave as she explained, “It’s kinda like a cocktail scientist. Mixing drinks is basically combining chemicals and flavors. All kinds of concoctions out there waiting for their debut.”
“I saw one at a wedding convention earlier this year,” Willow explained. “He was so entertaining, serving up bits of history on the different cocktails while he mixed drinks for the crowd. By the end of the seminar, everyone was seriously well-lubed.”
Quinn nodded knowingly. “Signs of a job well done.”
“I’ve been trying to get one of our brides to request a mixologist ever since.”
“If you’d like,” Quinn offered all too casually, “I can fill in for your missing mixologist. Provided Clancy can work without me on my first Saturday at the restaurant.”
“Won’t even miss ya, given you’ve never worked one yet.”
“But—I thought you were merely a bartender.”
It was the pang of professional insult that had Quinn reaching for her bag and handing over her business card.
Instantly, she reached out to snatch it back. What was she thinking sharing that information with these people she’d know for less than an hour?! She was trying to hide here, not announce her newly found hiding place to the world!
But the damage had been done. She could only watch as Willow read the words Quinn had painstakingly crafted when she first decided to go into business for herself.
In the Mix. Specialty cocktails for the discerning connoisseur. Let us shake and stir you.
“Now that’s a good tagline,” Ian said, reading over Willow’s shoulder.
“One of the top three results of any Google search for mixologist,” Quinn replied with no small amount of pride.
“I can’t believe this,” Willow said. “You’re exactly what we need. Ari would say the universe brought you to us.”
“More like Interstate Seventy.” And, indirectly, the Russian mob. “But whatever works. Now, I’m not a wedding planner like you, but I’m pretty sure no bride is gonna want to be upstaged by some cocktail hawker at her wedding, and from the sound of them, I doubt the guests are going to want to stop and watch the bartender toss around some cocktails. And I need more than forty-eight hours to custom make a program for you anyway. But I can make up a small specialty drink list and be behind the bar to add flavor when they get them filled. How ’bout I make up a list of drinks and come by your office later to go over them?”
“That would be awesome,” Willow gushed. “You’re hired.”
“We haven’t discussed my fee.”
“I don’t care. We’ll pay it.” She hopped off the chair with renewed vigor. “I’ve got to go tell the others. Our office is behind the registration desk. Come by around nine tomorrow morning? Will that give you enough time?”
“I’ll make sure it does.”
Willow threw good-byes over her shoulder, too eager to spread her good news to stay any longer.
“Well, I’ve neglected my kitchen too long,” Ian decided. “Though can’t say it hasn’t been damned entertaining. You can have your roost back, Clancy. Good to meet you, Quinn. Welcome to Junonia.”
A waitress brought up another order. Quinn grinned at Clancy as she filled it. “Guess I’m staying then.”
“Guess so.”
“Geez, don’t sound so thrilled.”
“Woman, you’ve been here three hours, caused two scenes, and solved one crisis. I don’t know who or what you are, but for sure you’re not boring.”
She picked up her neglected pint glass and clinked it against his tumbler. “Here’s looking at you, kid.
Don’t glare at me. I’ve been holding that one in since I walked in the door.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Here’s to alcohol, the rose-colored glasses of life.
—F. Scott Fitzgerald
Casa Blanca, Barefoot Bay, Florida.
The next day
“Toldja. Beaches, babes, and booze. The unholy trifecta. Praise sweet baby Jesus.”
Twist’s voice sounded through Jasper’s ear pierce as he scanned the patio area where the rehearsal dinner cocktail hour was under full swing.
He had to admit that, for once, Twist had got it right.
The Thornquist wedding—or the Thorny Wedding as the security team had taken to calling it—was as opulent as advertised. Jasper stopped trying to count the number of recognizable faces from notable Washington families after the first hour. Not that he knew a lot of them on sight. Twist had a better take on the Who’s Who, given he came from some seriously old money, a secret he kept close and actively hid from their team.
“There’s definitely enough booze,” Jasper agreed. “We’ll be fishing women in formal wear out of the pool before the bride gets down the aisle.”
“Ah, the wet gown contests. Nothin’ like a dirty debutante.” He sighed with such exaggeration, Jasper fancied he felt an actual breeze. “Sometimes, at night, I can still hear the screams…of pleasure.”
He absolutely would not smile at Twist’s ridiculousness. “We’ve been here twenty-four hours and your degenerate side is already at full throttle.”
“Brother, it’s my best side.”
“How ’bout we try to be professionals for a while. Did you tag the congressman’s daughter?”
“Your four o’clock. She’s on her third drink and laughing with the bartender.”
“Spectacular. That’s what we need: a horny bartender.”
“The bartender is a woman, and if she’s horny for the congressman’s daughter, then I’m moving in for a ringside seat. Shee-it, she is hawt.”
At the mention of a female bartender, Jasper’s head instantly filled with the image of Quinn, her whole body shaking with laughter at something stupid he’d said before she leaned her elbows on the bar to get closer to him as if even the air between them was too much distance to bear.
Until she’d run out on him six months later while he was OUTCONUS and put all the distance of the world between them for good.
Annoyed, he shook off the memory like he longed to shake off the woman. That’s why he was here, right? To exorcise the taste and feel and haunting memories of his wife on a willing woman.
Ex-wife.
A short-term, holiday affair was the perfect way to end the self-enforced abstinence he’d endured since his divorce. Jasper was normally careful who he fucked, his career and his family history enough that he didn’t treat sex as casual even when having casual sex. The one time he’d taken a chance on a wild lover, she’d quickly become his wife and soon after broken his heart but good.
This temporary fantasy away from his shattered life was the perfect place to learn from his mistakes. And make a few new, short-term ones.
“Was it ‘hot’ or ‘horny’ where we lost you, Queen?”
Twist’s voice held more than a thread of humor in it. If he made one comment over coms about Jasper being hard up, best friend or not, he was going to kill him.
“Sit rep,” he snapped.
“You’re not CO on this op,” Twist reminded him with no small amount of glee. “Man, you should see this bartender.”
Jasper rolled his eyes behind his aviator shades. “We’re on a job, Twist. Not on vacation or the prowl.”
“We’re on a job on vacation, Queen. And I take my wingman duties seriously for both. Relax. You can count on me to Set. You. Up.”
“I’ll relax when you stop yapping in my ear while I’m getting paid to look after people who could buy or sell small countries with their pocket change.”
“You better have more than change in your pocket, brother. Not kidding, Queen. You need to come over here and check her out. She is smokin’ hot.”
“Happy as I am to hear you appreciate the staff, maybe you could spare the rest of us the play by play, Sisti.”
Luke McBain’s terse voice made Jasper grimace. Thanks to Twist, he was getting chastised over coms. Soon as they were off duty, he was gonna kick Twist’s ass.
“I could do for a little play by play,” one of the other guards admitted. “These political fuckers are boring as hell.”
“These political fuckers are our well-paying clients,” McBain reminded everyone. “Try not to disrespect them to their faces.” A series of “yes, sirs” flooded the com line. “Rehearsal’s over. We’re headed back to the resort.”
Along with five of his guys, McBain was down on the beach guarding the principals—bride, groom, attendants, and parents—while the rest of them babysat everyone not in the wedding party. That McBain’s wife and her wedding planning partners were on the beach probably had a lot to do with his hands-on approach at that vector. “Queen, report.”
“Guests are bugging out from the patio, moving into the dining room. Got ten lingering.”
“Hustle them along. I want everyone under roof in five. Rocco, Johnny, and Marlowe, you three are in Junonia’s main room covering the dinner. It’s a sit down, so stay out of the way, but remain visible. The rest of you patrol the perimeter. Sisti, meet up with Queen on the patio. The two of you take position inside the restaurant at the bar.”
“Sure you want Twist close to the hot bartender?” Jasper asked.
“I’ve seen the woman. If he hits on her, I’ll want a ringside seat. I could use a good laugh today.”
Jasper wasn’t the only man chuckling over the channel at that one.
He moved from his position at the back corner of the patio from which he could see all the way down to the beach. Table by table, he gently urged people into the restaurant proper, waiting as the women gathered the whatnot women everywhere seemed to cart around with them no matter the occasion. His go bag had less to it than some of these women’s purses.
He felt Twist at his six as he helped an octogenarian to her feet and transferred her surprisingly strong grip to the arm of a waiter. The old dame patted his ass before shuffling off.
“Please tell me you’re not that hard up,” Twist begged, and Jasper heard him in stereo; at his back and again through the coms.
Damn it.
“Fuck off,” he muttered.
“Oh ho!” Twist chortled with an elbow to Jasper’s gut. “Queen’s losing his cool! Is the world ending?!”
“Keep it up and yours can be.”
Twist snorted, and Jasper would’ve been happier to see his friend up to his old tricks if only he wasn’t the target.
“I can do you better than a biddy,” Twist promised.
“For the love of my sanity, don’t help me.”
“Gotta look out for my boy.”
“Try doing that by not discussing my sex life on open coms.”
“What sex life? You haven’t gotten laid in months.”
“You know wingman and stalker mean two different things, right?”
“Rumor has it, you’ve got the bluest balls on the team for a man without a pregnant wife or girlfriend. The boys have bets on how long it’ll take you to nail someone this weekend.”
“I’ll take that action,” Ryan, on the perimeter, piped in.
“Me too,” added Rocco from inside the restaurant.
“Done,” Twist confirmed. “We’ll settle up after the dinner.”
“I’m not hitting on the bartender,” Jasper vowed. “Leave me out of this little clique.”
Twist slapped a consoling hand on Jasper’s shoulder. “Ladies like it when you know how to find that part.”
Laughter rang on the coms again while Jasper shook his head. “I can’t believe this shit,” he muttered.
“Believe it. Consider Operation King Me underway.”
Jasper’s gaze hit on
McBain, who waited for them at the patio door to the restaurant. “Shut it,” he ordered even though he knew McBain already heard Twist’s nonsense in his ear.
“When Nick gave me your names, I had no idea we’d be getting security and a show,” McBain gibed. Jasper bit back a grimace. McBain eyed Twist with a peculiar gleam that made Jasper uneasy. “You know, don’t you?”
That nagging sense of trouble that had been prodding the base of Jasper’s skull all day finally burst. “What did you do?”
But Twist looked equally confused. “Swear Roy, I have no idea what he’s on about.”
Boss or not, Jasper raised a brow at McBain in silent demand. He jerked his head in a “follow me” motion and led the way from the patio into the restaurant’s bar.
“I thought it was coincidence or a joke. But my guys only finalized her background check this morning.”
Her? Alarm snaked up Jasper’s spine. Oh, hell no.
“They gave me the final report this morning,” McBain continued. “Not hard to see you share the same last name.” He gestured toward the bar where a woman worked to fill cocktail orders. “Don’t suppose she’s your cousin?”
Jasper watched her move, the dance of her motions unchanged from a year before, a sinuous weave that only hinted at the flexibility she’d brought to their bed. He’d told her once he’d never seen anyone make pouring a glass of wine look so sexy.
This was still true.
Her dark-brown hair hung past her shoulders now to the middle of her back, long layers that fell forward to brush her sharp cheekbone when she bent over the bar to serve a drink. He knew how those strands felt when gripped in his hands, or scraping down his belly as her wide, lush mouth mapped its way down his body to her target.
She wore the standard server’s uniform of white top and black bottoms, but her collared, tuxedo shirt was fitted to her impressive rack, emphasized by the two buttons she left undone to show the tempting gulley in her cleavage. The shirt nipped in at her waist and what little of her black trousers he could see clung to her hips. A long pearl necklace was twisted into a knot to dangle down her front and Jasper knew, he knew, she’d be wearing her motorcycle boots, even to this kind of wedding. When she stretched for a bottle off the top shelf, the banner of skin left bare at her midriff came into view and Jasper proceeded to completely lose his shit.
Barefoot Bay: Wild on the Rocks (Kindle Worlds) Page 5
