Page 20 of Miss Manage

“Do you?” If he was going to be blunt, then I’d return the favor.

He didn’t break eye contact. If anything, his gaze sharpened, the easy grin fading into something darker, more focused. For a moment, neither of us moved, the silence between us thickening until the air itself seemed to hum. Respect, challenge, attraction were all lines blurred in that single beat, and I hated how much my body reacted.

I should really get back, and was about to make my excuses.

But before I could slide off the stool, the bartender returned and set a crystal glass in front of me. “Another dirty martini for the lady,” he proclaimed with a flourish. Then, lowering his voice conspiratorially, he added, “Made it extra dirty, just the way you asked.”

Heat prickled at the back of my neck. I’d asked for extra olive juice, but Gabriel’s low chuckle told me he wasn’t going to let the bartender’s comment slide.

He leaned slightly closer, his voice pitched low. “Be a shame to let an extra-dirty martini go to waste.”

I shot him a mock glare, half warning, half unwilling amusement.

Thankfully, the moment broke when a stunning blonde breezed in, every eye in the place turning her way. She was wearing a barely there, sparkly silver dress that resembled a disco ball as if it had been stitched to her curves. The hemline was scandalously high, and the neckline plunged leaving little to the imagination. Her stilettos clicked across the floor like she was walking a runway instead of a bar.

She slid onto a stool at the far corner, tossing her long hair over one bare shoulder and laughing a little too loudly at whatever the bartender who’d rushed over to greet her said. Maybe the “extra-dirty martini” line had landed differently for her.

It took all of thirty seconds before an older man rose from his seat and swaggered her way. He was wearing a Gucci shirt in a loud print exposing half his chest and a Rolex the size of a small clock.

“Hi, beautiful. You come here often?”

I rolled my eyes causing Gabe to let out a quiet laugh.

To my surprise, the blonde didn’t shoot him down. She giggled and twirled her hair. “No, actually, I’m only in town a few days.”

Jesus. Was this really how things worked now? She was way out of his league. I must have scoffed out loud because Gabe turned his head slightly toward me.

“Not a fan of the ‘come here often’ line?” he teased.

I angled toward him, arching a brow. “What do you think?”

His lips curved into a slow smile, the kind that made it clear he already knew the answer. “I think if someone tried that line with you, he’d soon be running for the door with his tail between his legs.”

I matched his smile with one of my own, sharp and dry. “If I were that good, you wouldn’t still be sitting here.”

He threw his head back and laughed, the sound rich, unguarded, and irritatingly contagious.

“Ouch.” His eyes sparked with amusement. Then, softer, with a hint of steel under the humor: “But I’m not hitting on you, Charlotte. Believe me, if I was…you’d know it.”

Dammit, body, get it together. Do not fall for his magnetism. He was after my promotion. And this? This was probably a game to him. Try to bed the boss so he could tell his buddy John tomorrow just how I’d performed. Or worse, go to HR and have me packing my boxes by noon on Friday.

Against my better judgement, I drained the newly delivered martini in a few chugs. “Hopefully, you’d be smoother than that guy.”

“The bar is low. I’d like to think I could be far more creative in my approach.”

“Yeah? What’s your go-to line?” I asked before I could stop myself. I blamed it on the vodka still burning its way down.

His mouth curved into a slow, dangerous smirk. “For a woman like you? I wouldn’t dare use a line.”

Don’t ask what he would do. Don’t ask what he would do.

“Instead,” he continued, his voice low and deliberate, “I’d strike up a conversation. Here, I’ll show you.”

“No, thanks.” I was already regretting indulging him, but he was too damn committed to this charade.

He turned slightly toward me, his expression mock-polite. “Good evening. Is this seat taken?”

“Yes. Yes, it is.”