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“Sorry, I’m just not impressed with the caliber of people here today.”
“Are you kidding me? The MacKenzie heirs have come out of the woodwork for this thing. Can you believe how adorable they are?”
“Meh.”
Harmony is still jaded from her last relationship, so she thinks all men are suspected of high crimes until proven otherwise. So, I let it go.
I’m so distracted by the rush of people waiting while I assemble samples of bourbon frozen yogurt with apple crumbles on top that I lose my balance in my stiletto heels and twist my left ankle.
“Ow!”
Harmony grabs my arm, preventing me from going down. “Are you okay?”
I shake it off as the pain jolts up my leg. “I’m fine.”
She sees me wince and gasps, “You can’t even put weight on it!”
“Yes I can,” I lie. “Ow, ow, ow.” I sit in the chair she shoves toward me, and I massage my ankle. “Or I will be able to put weight on it, just as soon as someone gets me an ibuprofen.”
Harmony shakes her head. “That’s a bad omen. I told you this was a bad idea.”
“Stop being such an Eeyore.”
I ignore pessimism most of the time. Harmony didn’t used to be like this. Ever since that loser ex-fiancé cheated on her two years ago, she lost all interest in going out and meeting people.
Well, I haven’t had an easy time of it either. I hold my chin high and smile through life because I like to stay positive. And if I’m going to be the one pulling this train to make our dreams of opening our own frozen yogurt shop come true, then I’ll do it.
To perk Harmony up enough to shower this morning, I bought her favorite shower steamer and corresponding scented candle.
She almost bailed when I showed her the outfits we’d be wearing, which I’d “borrowed” from the club where I work.
When she correctly pointed out these outfits were not business-like and made us look like a sex kitten pop duo, I explained the situation, just like I’m doing now. Again. For the tenth time.
“I’m not being an Eeyore. I’m being realistic. You can’t wear stilettos and hot pants to a business event. It’s tacky, and now it’s backfired,” Harmony says.
I fire back, smiling through the pain as I rub my ankle. “I told you. There’s one surefire way to attract the attention of a potential finance bro. Dress like a bottle girl and get them drunk,” I tell her.
“Did you read that in Forbes?” Harmony mutters, plopping samples of Triple Sec dreamsicle on the table.
“The worst that could happen is someone doesn’t like our product and isn’t interested,” I say, recovering enough to get back to work, scooping out a bowl of Absolut Peach cinnamon and topping it with a tablespoon of homemade cobbler. I hover over the ice chest as I stand on one foot, trying not to put weight on the other.
A masculine voice stands out from the crowd behind me. “I’m interested.”
“Just a minute sweetie,” I call over my shoulder as I work. Not the most professional, I admit it. Sometimes, working at bars makes me too casual with people. So what? I am what I am.
When I turn around, one of the MacKenzie twins stares straight back at me. The cute one. Oh. My. Gosh.
How can I tell them apart? I don’t know how, but this one gaped at me a minute ago and complimented my outfit.
He makes me a little uncomfortable with his brooding gaze that looks right through me.
“Hi,” I say, beaming at him, my heart pitter-pattering at his brown eyes.
“Hey,” he grunts.
“Be careful with that smolder; you might set someone’s panties on fire,” I say.
“Huh?” His brow furrows in bewilderment.
