Somehow, I doubted the shirtless bookstore manager with his hands on her had noble intentions. We’d be at Wasted Words often enough, and I’d find out. Maybe he’d surprise me.
But earning my trust wasn’t easy, and once lost, it was lost forever.
I looked around the bar so I wouldn’t burn a hole in Jett’s back, then turned to wander around. The concept of the place confounded me—a bookstore with a bar? I couldn’t find the appeal. They threw parties like this often, singles nights with themes, luring people in with drink specials and the promise of making a love match. Bars had never been my scene, nor had drinking as a sport. Themed parties to meet someone? Never in a thousand years. I had no regrets about leaving the offered wig at the door, not at all caring that I was the only person in the establishment without a Fabio wig on other than Fabio himself.
But that was why Georgie had brought me—my lack of understanding. And by brought, I meant forced. She was the account executive, the organizer and liaison between the firm and our client. She got Wasted Words and insisted I had to get it too. I, on the other hand, reminded her I didn’t have to understand it to sell it. But here I was anyway because Georgie had asked me to come, and now that I saw her with Jett, I made the unilateral decision to be here with her every chance I got, even if I didn’t have to be.
As the creative director, my job was behind the scenes, where I was most comfortable. I ran our team, building out plans, presenting work, creating ad and marketing concepts. We were opening new book bars in five major cities. And since Laney Bennet was the in-house social marketer, she was now part of my team—by request of the owners.
I was even less sure about that unfortunate fact than I had been before I walked in tonight.
Georgie made her way over to me, her cheeks high with a smile.
“What are you doing way back here?” she asked, taking my drink from my hand for a sip. “Come dance with us.”
“You know I hate dancing, especially in a place like this.”
“Anyone ever told you you’re the worst kind of snob?”
I shrugged, taking my drink back. “Know thyself.”
“Well, I think thyself needs to get out there and cut loose. You’re not going to really understand this place if you don’t participate.”
“I think I’ll manage.”
“What about Laney Bennet?” she asked, ignoring me. “You could stand to get to know her better.”
A jolt shot up my spine at the thought of dancing with her. “What, with my hands on her hips?” I hedged as she backed me toward a metaphorical corner.
“They don’t have to be on her hips. Come on—let’s go find her so you don’t have to stand on the edge of the dance floor alone with your scotch and boring hair,” she joked, taking my arm.
I didn’t budge. “Georgie, I’m going to say this once—Laney Bennet is perfectly tolerable. But she’s not like us. She’s not the kind of girl I would ever ask to dance, especially not in a bar to a Lionel Richie song. Ever. Do you understand?”
Georgie had gone stiff and still, I thought in response to the edge in my voice, sharpened by her insistence. But then I realized she wasn’t looking at me. She was looking behind me.
I followed her gaze and locked eyes with Laney Bennet, who was close enough to have heard what I’d said.
We shared a long look—mine hard, hers first bright with hurt, then hot with fury.
“Well,” Laney started with mock cheer, her cheeks flushed pink. Her smile cut like a razor. “Lucky for both of us, I only dance with men who think I’m sufficient or better. I wouldn’t want you to suffer unduly, Mr. Darcy, especially not to Lionel Richie. We both deserve better than that.”
And she turned on her heel to walk away.
Georgie sighed. “Way to go, Liam.”
“Me? You were the one who wouldn’t take no for an answer. When was the last time you successfully forced me into anything?”
She gave me a look and motioned to the bar.
“I don’t have to be friends with Laney Bennet to work with her,” I noted, knowing it was so far from the point, it was on another continent.
At that, Georgie looked so disappointed, something in my chest twisted.
“No, you don’t have to be friends with her, but you could stand to keep her from hating you. I’m going to go dance. Have another drink by yourself and brood for a while. I’ll find you when it’s time to go.”
I didn’t form a response quickly enough—she was already gone, swallowed up in a sea of blond wigs.
3
But Really, Though
LANEY
“I think I hate him.”
I scowled up Amsterdam the next morning as Jett and I walked toward work.
Jett laughed. “I don’t think he’s nuts about you either. But if it’s any consolation, I’m pretty sure he hates me more.”
“Then he must be a terrible judge of character.”
Jett gave me a look that I ignored. “If some dude in a loincloth was dancing with you, I’d have to fight a deep impulse to turn his face inside out.”
“So it’s a brother thing that makes you turn into apes when you see your sister with a guy?”
He shrugged. “We know how guys think, and we don’t want anybody thinking that about our sisters.”
“Oh, so it’s safe to assume all you thought about Georgie was lewd?”
“Of course not. I mean, I won’t say I didn’t have thoughts, but they weren’t what he imagined. I can guarantee that.”
“I can’t believe the two of them are related,” I said. “She’s so easy to like, and he’s almost impossible to. How that rude, elitist ass comes from the same genetics as that sweet, smiling girl is beyond me.”
“Fuck that guy for not wanting to dance with you. And for insulting you. Maybe you’re right—he must be a shitty judge of character.”
The slight still stung, though I couldn’t guess why. No one liked to be insulted, sure, but something about that judgment from him weighed more. Maybe it was in how he had looked at me, like his favor, when bestowed, was a minor miracle, and if anyone enjoyed a challenge, it was me. Or maybe it was that command that rippled off him like radio waves, bending everyone in the vicinity to his will, impossible to resist.
Either way, it sucked.
“It doesn’t even matter,” I said. “I couldn’t care less whether or not he likes me or would dance with me. Who said I would have danced with him anyway? I mean, could you even imagine him dancing?” A laugh burst out of me as I did just that. “I bet he’d just stand there, frowning, wondering what the hell to do with his hands. At least he’s in no danger of ever getting laugh lines. But I bet with a little dirt, you could plant something in the creases between his eyebrows.”
Jett snickered.
Realizing I’d been talking about Darcy too long, I shifted the conversation back to Jett. “Georgie danced with you all night. I don’t think I saw her even talk to Liam for the rest of the party.”
“I would have kissed her too, if her brother wasn’t hovering. Can’t blame him, though.”