At Your Service (Silhouette Desire) (15 page)

“Mmm, hmm?”

“Fantasizing out loud about shutting him up in one of the clinic’s dog cages and poking him with a sharp stick until he begs for mercy is not plotting.” Sarah slammed the door down on the dishwasher and poked the start button with stiff, accusatory fingers. “Can you believe that bastard told me he doesn’t see why we can’t continue working together?”

“I don’t understand why you still are, frankly,” Grace said, spraying hot water on the waiting tub of dishes. “It would serve him right to be left high and dry if you never showed up again.”

“I know,” Sarah said grimly. She attacked a scorched pot that had been soaking in the sink. “But finding a good veterinary assistant isn’t as easy as you might think. And I am not going to have those animals suffer poor quality of care, just because my
ex
-boyfriend is a low-life, lying, scheming, idiot
married
schmuck!”

The laughter Grace had strapped down burst out of her.

Sarah threatened her with a spray from the hot water hose and Grace threw up her hands in self-defense, still laughing.

“Wait! It’s just because you’re so fierce.” She started to lower her hands and then thought better of giving Sarah a free shot. “I was afraid you were going to be depressed for ages when you told me. You’d already seemed to be upset about things with him in the past.”

“Yeah, well, I was upset because I thought
I
was doing something stupid by dating my boss.” Her laugh was genuine. “Now that I know he’s an even bigger idiot, I’m just pissed.”

“Good. I’ll sharpen the stick for you.”

“I think my brother’s beaten you to it.”

“I’m just happy he hasn’t been arrested yet for intention to cause bodily harm. He was ready to tear the guy’s heart out when he heard.” A shout from the front of the bar let her escape while Sarah was distracted by the pleasing thought of Tyler vivisecting her ex-boyfriend. And escape was essential, because Grace most definitely did not want to think about how angry Tyler was that his sister had been lied to.

She was already stressing enough about the idea of confessing her multitude of deceptions to Tyler and his family. She didn’t think she could take the thought of all of them comparing her to the slimeball who’d just admitted to lying to Sarah about his marital status. Pile lying about her name, occupation, financial situation, and general history on top of the fact that most of Chicago high society considered her as good as married, and she thought that Sarah’s ex might come off pretty good in comparison.

Push it out of your mind, girl. There’s still a job to be done tonight.

At the front of the house, her party of twenty had arrived and were milling about in confusion. Reeling off directions to the coatrack and the bathrooms, Grace began herding everyone to the large table she’d assembled along the wall. Ten minutes later, after serving all twenty people drinks, no two of which were the same, and scattering plates of preordered appetizers about the table, the party rhythm was flowing nicely, and Grace waved Tyler off from covering for her at another table. She headed back to the bar a minute later and called out her order.

“Glenlivet up, Stoli rocks, splash of tonic and a water back.” Streams of liquor arced between bottle and glass, tonic and water shot from the soda gun, and her order was ready. She eyed the bar setup critically. “You know, if you installed another soda gun on this side of the wait station, your servers could save you some time. Since you’re the only bartender, you shouldn’t waste time pouring sodas.”

Tyler shook his head, but waited to answer until she returned from distributing the drinks. “You’re just trying to conceal your caffeine addiction from the world, you diet cola-guzzling fiend. At least now I can keep track of how many you ask me to pour you, and nag you about it.”

“It’s mother’s milk to me, I swear.”

“It’s bad for you, I swear. Particularly when you make it a fifth food group.”

Grace grinned, stood on tiptoe, craned her arm around the napkin holder and snagged the soda gun with two fingers. She pushed a button and poured herself a diet Coke, then fumbled the gun back into the holder screwed onto the inner edge of the counter.

Tyler’s eyes narrowed with menace. “Exactly how long have you been able to pull that trick?”

“Since my first day,” she said. The arm he cocked in preparation for a throw was loaded with a dirty bar rag. “Hey! I hardly ever use it! It’s more fun listening to you scold me.”

“C’mere.” He beckoned her in closer. Wary, she leaned over the counter.

His hand snaked around the back of her neck and tugged her all the way to his mouth. His other palm cupped her cheek as Tyler covered her lips with his own in a long, luxurious kiss that set her skin on fire. He let her go, fingertips trailing along her jaw, and Grace slid her elbows off the bar and fell back onto her feet. Dazzled.

Loud noise poked at her awareness. Hearing and vision, outside of the closed circle of her and Tyler, returned in a rush of cheers and clapping hands. One of their regulars started whacking the side of his glass with a spoon, the age-old signal for the bride and groom to kiss at the reception.

“Way to go, Gracie!”

“Never thought I’d see Tyler in love!”

“Give it up, ladies! The man is most definitely off the market!”

Tyler let his gaze rest gently on Grace, looking for the inevitable blush that flamed over her face every time he made a show of affection for her in public.

Grabbing her tray and hefting it onto her shoulders, she started to swing away from the bar and back to her table, until Tyler caught her eye. Was he worried about the regulars’ gossip? Or about the fact that she’d consistently tried to hide their relationship from everyone around them? It didn’t matter anymore. She was too close to freedom, to telling the truth about everything. Why shouldn’t everyone know about the two of them now?

Lifting her free hand in the air and raising her brows, she mouthed the words,
If you can’t beat them…
at him and blew him a kiss.

“Better hang a sign ’round his neck, Gracie. Try, This Table Reserved!”

The loudest guffaw ringing out behind her seemed to come from Tyler himself. Funny man.

Two hours later, he was still smiling behind the bar, overflowing with even more good humor than usual. Grace wondered what he was up to. He seemed to be taking every opportunity to touch her in little, lover-like ways, brief caresses of her hands or face, quick kisses on her fingertips or anything else he could get his hands on. And if he winked at her any more often, he’d get a cramp in his eye.

She called out her order and enjoyed the moment of standing still while she waited. When Tyler slid the drinks onto her tray, she flushed at the sight of his fingers sliding off the glasses, wet with condensation, and immediately felt silly.

“And what are you thinking that makes you blush, love?” Even his voice was seducing her, damn it.

Grace looked up in time to see, over Tyler’s shoulder—
and what distracting shoulders
—what looked like, but clearly could not be, the Taco Bell Chihuahua arcing through the air over her party’s table. She blinked hard and squinted.

“Grace?” She knew confusion was written all over her face as she stepped away from the bar. “What is it?”

“Flying…dog?”

Before she took three steps, however, yet another object was launched over the table. This time the missile seemed to be a large ball of pink cashmere, topped with a pile of fluffy peach hair. Seconds later, all hell broke loose.

High-pitched yapping noises from beneath the table confirmed the canine presence. The pink and peach ball of fluff landed on a man in a blue suit talking on a cell phone, and started shrieking, “You killed my Poopsie! My Poopsie!” Chairs clattered to the floor as men and women jumped to their feet and rushed to the battle.

“Hold it!” Grace dove into the fray and laid hands on anything she could grab. Something clocked her in the temple; she strongly suspected the suit of fighting back with his only weapon. She came up from the floor with a wildly flailing woman in one hand and a terrorized, near-sobbing man in another. People pressed closely around her. “Back off! Everyone sit down!”

Placing herself squarely between the combatants, she kept her hands fisted in both shirtfronts. Out of the corner of her eye, she sensed Tyler standing a few feet away, glowering at everyone, a growling Chihuahua trapped in his hands.

“You—” she shook the businessman “—stop crying and tell me what happened. You shut up,” she added to the strawberry-blonde, who seemed to being having a difficult time remaining upright. She let go of the man, needing both hands to prop up the tipsy woman.

“She…she attacked me,” he stuttered, stuffing his shirt back inside his pants and then drying his eyes on his cuffs. “And that was after the rat jumped in my lap. What kind of place is this?”

“Poor—” hiccup “—Poopsie.”

“She’s hammered,” came a helpful voice from the crowd.

And everything slid into place.

She silenced the crowd with a few sharp words, sent Anita running to the kitchen and started explaining.

“We have no, let me repeat,
no,
rodent problems at Tyler’s. We do however seem to have a
small
problem with dogs tonight, no pun intended.” Tyler lifted the still yapping dog in the air and Grace saw a few smiles. Feeling like Hercule Poirot at the end of an Agatha Christie novel, she continued. “Someone—” she stared pointedly at the woman who looked about to collapse into a liquid pool “—apparently thought her little darling should enjoy the party tonight, and things seem to have gotten a little out of hand.”

“Nice going, Marlene,” someone shouted.

She exhaled deeply. The mutters surging through the small crowd appeared to be shifting focus to the dog smuggler. From the back of the house, she saw Anita approaching, an enormous tray balanced on her shoulder.

“To make up for any momentary interruption to your evening, Tyler’s would like to offer everyone a drink on the house, and Anita is here with a fabulous selection of treats from our amazing chef. I know you all enjoyed your dinners. I can promise you that you will absolutely love your desserts.” Several women turned immediately and descended on Anita, who looked frightened at their stalking approach.

“If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get our friend Marlene here some coffee. And a cab.”

So saying, Grace slung the woman’s limp arm around her shoulder and half walked, half dragged her over to the wait station and poured her into a chair.

“Nice crowd control,” came Tyler’s voice from behind her.

“Thanks. Always better to cough up some free drinks than have people talking about your ‘rat’ problem.”

“True, but this woman is beyond over-served. How’d you let that happen?”

Barely noticing that the tension, just beginning to drain from her muscles, surged right back into place, she snapped back at Tyler, “I didn’t. She ordered two whiskey rocks in three hours, and no one else bought one for her. She should be fine. What else did you have to drink tonight?” The last she barked at the intoxicted woman.

“I jus’ had a li’l.” Marlene’s tongue seemed to be getting in the way of her mouth.

“A little what, Marlene?”

“A li’l of everything,” she giggled, and then frowned. Grace thought she was trying to look stern. “
Some
people don’ know howda finish their drinks. S’a shame.” She shook her head woefully.

“What’s the commotion?” Sarah popped up next to them, drying her hands on her apron. “Sounded like World War Three out here.”

“Well, little Miss Marlene here has apparently been sucking down the dregs of every cocktail she found abandoned within reach for the last three hours,” Grace told her.

“Gross.”

“Yes it is. And the rest we can pretty much blame on her little rat dog here.”

Tyler raised the dog again, Marlene sucked in a deep breath—
preparing to roast me, no doubt
—for the rat comment, and Poopsie decided she’d had enough. She turned her head and bit the only thing in reach. Tyler. Who promptly dropped the dog and grabbed his wounded hand.

“Goddamn it!”

“Poopsie!”

“Not again,” Grace muttered as she lunged after Marlene. The woman was trying to throttle Tyler. Grace thrust a hand in the fluffy peach hair and yanked, hard. Marlene spun around swinging.

“No fighting!” Still conscious of the other patrons in the bar, Grace trapped the crazy lady’s arms at her sides and aimed her low shout directly into one bejeweled ear. “There is no fighting in my bar. Do you understand me?” she demanded.

In the back of her mind, she knew that Tyler and Sarah could both hear her instinctive claim to ownership and authority, but she couldn’t be worried about that. She knew for herself what her words meant.

The woman stopped struggling and arched her neck back to hiss spitefully.

“This isn’t your place. He’s the owner here.” Her lascivious eyes lowered in an attempt at flirtation toward Tyler. “You’re just a
waitress.
”

Shoving the woman back into the nearby chair, Grace loomed over her, power and pride and anger racing through her veins like a flood of cold fire, until her eyes burned in a mask of ice. Leaning forward, she pressed the woman back with the sheer force of her presence. She thrust one finger to within millimeters of Marlene’s red nose.

“When I am on the floor, it’s my house. And I do not tolerate brawling in my house,” she enunciated slowly and distinctly. Marlene’s eyes were fixated on the stabbing finger. “Are we clear on that? Because if not, I will become the
waitress
who will call the cops on you for drunk and disorderly.”

The woman nodded. It seemed all she was capable of.

Still hot, Grace turned and fixed Tyler in place with the same finger, his mouth open with words she would not allow to tumble from his lips. “And you…”

He shut his mouth.