Page 1 of Kiss and Tell

One

No wonderthis place was going out of business.

A thin film of grime covered most of the surfaces. The soles of my shoes stuck to the floor with every step. Soft moonlight shone through small windows, helping illuminate the dimly lit room with several burned out ceiling lights. Only two lone people sat at tables, with no one at the bar aside from me. Considering the size, it was deserted.

I had my work cut out for me.

I didn’t have much to go on for this new job, only that the woman on the phone wanted me to design a brand new interior for the guy who’d bought the place, an apparently unpopular dive bar in the middle of a quickly gentrifying neighborhood. I preferred being overly prepared when it came to client work. The woman had been vague, which wasn’t reassuring.

A surge of worry washed over me.

This was my first solo assignment. It wasn’t enough to just do a good job. I had to be great. I had to excel.

I looked at my phone one more time, re-reading the email I’d received only moments before. My heart clenched painfully in my chest as I scanned the message, the thinly veiled threat reverberating in my head.

I had to work hard, win big and score that promotion.

Because if I didn’t…

I shoved my phone back into my bag and forced my fingers to uncurl, leaving crescent half-moons in my palm where my nails had dug in.

I threw my shoulders back and stood straight, pushing down my rising distress.

If I could prove myself with this job, then the rest didn’t matter.

Hewouldn’t matter.

Which was the entire reason why I was here, scoping the place out.

With a determined stride and a drink in hand, I began exploring, taking mental notes.

I followed the length of the bartending counter around a corner and down a hallway lined with doors. At the end of the corridor a sign hung for the restroom, readingout-of-order.I peeked in a few doors, finding a storage closet and a coat room. Nothing too interesting.

The restroom door swung open. I jolted back. The liquid in my glass sloshed up and out over the rim, splashing onto the grey t-shirt stretched over a broad chest that appeared in front of me.

“I’m sorry—” I blurted, looking up to apologize to the guy I’d just covered in my drink.

A hand wrapped around my wrist to steady me.

I stopped short.

Dark eyes met mine.

“Careful, now,” said a low voice.

My vocal cords stopped working.

A gorgeous guy stood in front of me. His fingers held my wrist gently, thumb on my pulse point, which was now pounding rapidly.

His dark hair was styled away from his forehead and complimented his equally dark eyes, framed by lashes long and thick enough to inspire jealousy. He scanned me up and down, a quick sweep of his eyes. They flickered with a spark of interest.

A callused thumb brushed back and forth along my skin. He was still holding my wrist. My fingers went hot, then cold, then hot again as I stared.

He took the glass from my numb, wet hand, covered in the liquid I’d spilled. Red liquid, which was soaking into his shirt, turning it damp and pink, making it stick to his firm chest.

“I’m so sorry,” I said when I managed to find my voice.

“No worries. I’ve had worse spilled on me.”