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JAY

I didn’t mean to go to Lola’s tonight, but I had to pick up some papers that my brother needs. For a couple of months, I’ve avoided going in whenever April’s working. She’s too much of a temptation. Even tonight, I vowed to just come in the back and grab the papers before anyone noticed I was here.

And yet, here I am.

Watching her like some stalker because a guy was hitting on her at the bar.

The usual Tuesday night regulars are thinning out and the party of skiers seems ready to leave. They’re a merry bunch, but it looks like one of them is the designated driver. The guy tries to herd them out the door, with mixed results.

April's behind the bar, moving with that fluid grace that first caught my attention six months ago when she interviewed for the position. Her blonde hair is pulled back in a neat braid, and she's laughing at something Iris just said, her entire face lighting up in a way that makes my chest tight and my cock hard. Even this far away, her delectable curves are a temptation and my hands fist with the need to touch them.

I close my eyes for a moment and take a deep breath. It doesn't help that she's exactly the kind of bartender Lola's needs, professional, quick-witted, great with customers. The regulars love her. The staff respects her, and she's never once called in sick or been late for a shift. In short, she's perfect.

Too perfect.

The sound of glasses breaking in the kitchen pulls me back to reality. I head over to investigate, grateful for the distraction. Marcus, our new dishwasher, is standing amid a scatter of broken wine glasses, looking mortified.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. King," he starts, but I wave it off.

I’ve given up on getting him to call me Jay, like the rest of the staff. “Don’t worry. Breakage happens. Get the broom, clean it up carefully, and then let's make sure you adjust how you stack them." I help him clean up, showing him how to better organize the glassware.

It's easier to focus on these tangible problems, the simple physics of properly stored glasses and efficient kitchen workflow. For a few moments, I’m distracted from my carnal thoughts about the hot blonde behind the bar. She’s my employee and off limits for more reasons than that, but someone needs to tell my dick that.

When I return to the main floor, April's handling a rush at the bar with typical efficiency. I should head out, but instead I watch how she makes each drink with precise movements. How she remembers every regular's preferred pour. How she makes each customer feel like they have her full attention while simultaneously keeping track of multiple orders.

"Jay?" She startles me as she shouts across the room. "The beer distributor left a message about the IPA delivery. Want me to handle it?"

"No, I've got it," I say, perhaps too quickly. "You've got your hands full out here." I retreat to my office, but leave the door open behind me. The beer distributor's message is a welcome distraction, numbers, logistics, the straightforward puzzle of inventory management.

I need to focus on all of that, but my thoughts are filled with April and I can’t look away from her. I glance out into the main area again and see her showing Iris how to make some complicated cocktail, her hands moving with confidence as she explains each step. They're both laughing again, and my dick gets harder.

I shake my head. If my brother and closest friend, Nick, found out that I’m turned on by only a woman’s laugh, he’d fall over laughing himself.

I force myself to look at the paperwork on my desk. Now that I’m here and apparently can’t tear myself away, I might as well get some work done. The liquor license needs renewal next month. The health inspection is coming up. The walk-in cooler's temperature has been fluctuating. These are the things I need to think about, the responsibilities that come with running this place.

I inherited Lola’s from my grandmother. She built it up from scratch and worked here all her life. She was obsessed with Barry Manilow. His song Copacabana was her favorite. Nick owns half the place, but prefers to be a silent partner and focus on our other business. The one that nobody knows about. We both served in the army’s Special Forces and after we finished our active duty, we returned home to Fir Hollows. But Uncle Sam still uses us for special missions, so we started a security company to keep that cash flow separate from the bar.

A knock on my door makes me look up. It's April again, and I sit straighter in my chair, maintaining the professional distance I've carefully cultivated.

"The couple at table seven wants to speak with the manager," she says. "They're complaining about their martinis being too strong."

I stand, grateful for a legitimate reason to step away from my thoughts. "I'll take care of it." I wait for her to walk away before I follow. Being close to her is a torture I don’t think I can handle tonight. Everything feels extra raw. Mostly because of the arrangement Charlotte and I will have soon.

For reasons only known to her, my grandmother put a condition in the will that I have to be married by the time I’m thirty, and intending to have children within two years. If I don’t, Lola’s goes to the highest bidder in a sealed auction where nobody knows what the others bid. The lawyers only now told us about this, and I’m a month away from my thirtieth birthday.

Charlotte is an old childhood friend who’s doing me a solid. She has her own reasons for wanting to be wed. We’ll get married on Friday afternoon, but there will be no baby-making. Neither of us have those feelings for each other. This is the first step in avoiding the disaster of losing Lola’s. Hopefully, we’ll find a solution to the whole fucked up situation in the next two years. If that has to be an IVF baby, that works for me. I’ve always wanted kids and I’m not losing Lola’s. It’s all I have left of my grandmother. As bonkers as she apparently was, she raised me and Nick. That lucky bastard is spared from this lunatic situation by being younger than me by only five minutes.

But I have other problems to deal with tonight. Like unhappy customers at table seven, so I head their way.

The couple is exactly what I expected, the type who complain to get free drinks. I handle it with practiced ease, the familiar dance of customer service that's become second nature over the years. April watches from the bar, and when I catch her eye, she gives me a knowing look that says she's dealt with plenty of customers like this before.

That's another thing I admire about her, her ability to read people, to handle difficult situations with grace. It would be so easy to mistake our professional rapport for something more, to imagine that her competence and friendliness mean something they don't.

Sometimes I think I see a spark of attraction in her blue eyes, and as much as I’ve wanted to act on it, I’ve been able to resist temptation. But something is pushing me over the edge tonight. The idea of her with someone else physically hurts me. Hence me going into full creepy stalker mode when I see a guy hitting on her. But April dating might be closer to reality than I want it to be.

Back in my office, I focus again on the schedule for the rest of the week. April's requested Friday afternoon and all of Saturday off. I know she’s not asking for it to go to my wedding. None of the staff knows about that. We’re keeping it a quiet ceremony with only my brother and one of Charlotte’s friends as witnesses.

Iris and Liam have already agreed to work the double-shifts to cover for April being gone. And it’s her first time asking for a weekend since she started. There’s no reason for me to not approve the request.

And yet, there’s a twist in my stomach when I wonder if she has a date. It's none of my business. But I can’t let it go. Why does she need the night off? I have to know.

On the main floor, Iris and April are saying goodbye to the last stragglers and closing up the bar.

I walk up to the door and poke my head out. “April, can I see you before you leave?”

She throws me a surprised look, but nods. “Sure thing. We’re just about finished. The kitchen has already left.”

Iris shouts goodbye from the front door and April locks it behind her before she heads over to my office. “What’s up?” She leans up against the door frame, her hands in her back pockets. The posture pushes her chest tight against the white t-shirt with Lola’s logo that she’s wearing. I fight against staring at her, but lose.

I have to clear my throat before I can talk. “I’m reviewing the schedule. You’ve asked for the weekend off?”

She blinks a few times and takes a step into the room. “Is that a problem?” She moves her hands from her back pockets and pushes a strand of hair behind her ear while biting her lip. My cock is about to bust through my zipper. “I thought Liam and Iris said they could cover. Is that no longer the case?”

I feel like an asshole for making her worry, but the devil inside has to know if she’s dating someone. It’s none of my business and if she is, there’s nothing I can do about it. Once Charlotte and I say “I do,” I’m locked in until we dissolve our agreement. It might be a contract marriage for us, but to anyone else, it has to look real. We’ve agreed to not sleep with anyone else for as long as we’re married. My hand is going to get a hell of a workout.

I force a smile on my face. “Yeah, no they’re still okay with working double-shifts. I’m just wondering if there’s anything going on. You haven’t asked for a weekend off. Do you need help with anything?” I get up from behind the desk and stand in front of her. Taking her hand, I squeeze it. “I’m here if you need me.”

She inhales quickly, and her hand jerks, but she returns my squeeze. “Thanks.” Her voice has turned husky. “But I’m good. It’s actually me helping someone. That’s why I need the time.” Our hands are doing a weird dance, the fingers wrapping around each other. Mesmerized, I’m watching them entwining.

April stares at them too. Her blue eyes meet mine and heat flares in them.

“Who are you helping?” I rasp out. If she says her boyfriend, I promise I will stop whatever this thing is that’s happening between us right now. Okay, I promise I will try to stop this thing.

“My neighbors are moving to a retirement community in Florida. They need help clearing out their mountain cabin.” She stares at my lips, licking her own.

I groan as my jeans grow even tighter. “April,” I groan.

“Yes?” she whispers, still staring at my lips.

“This will escalate quickly if you don’t stop thinking what you’re thinking right now.”

“What am I thinking?” She finally moves her gaze from my lips to my eyes. Which is even worse, because in them I see the same heat that I feel.

I pull her closer. “You’re thinking you want me to fuck you right here, right now.”

She bits her lip again. “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m thinking.” Her head tilts to the side. “So will you?”