One Night in A Bar (3 page)

“She’ll have a beer,” Mandy said. “Whatever’s on tap. Same for me.” The bartender threw one last sneer in Karen’s direction before she meandered off to get their drinks.

“Mandy, why are we here?”

“Because,” Mandy leaned towards her, “you need to broaden your horizons. You only ever go to the same preppy bars and date the same preppy guys. Did you ever even experiment with other types of guy during college? No, of course not.” She didn’t give Karen a chance to answer. “And now you’ve discovered that even preppy guys have secret vices. I’d put money on the fact that you’re planning to retreat back into your shell and stop dating. Am I right?”

It was, in fact, so close to what Karen had been thinking that she didn’t say anything.

“Exactly,” Mandy said triumphantly. “So tonight you’re going to walk on the wild side, get drunk, and maybe flirt with a guy who is completely different from your usual type.”

The bartender plunked their drinks down, and Mandy handed her a credit card.

“Run a tab,” she told her. “My friend and I are planning to have a fun night. Oh,” she added, “we want to start with some tequila shooters.”

* * * *

Hours later, Karen climbed back onto her stool after a dance, giggling compulsively at nothing. The bar was a haven for rednecks, and she’d met the kind of men she’d only seen on TV. The best part was that they’d all come to her. She was ensconced like a queen on her bar stool. Men had been coming over to try out corny pick-up lines, offer to buy her drinks, and to ask her to dance, one after the other. Mandy and Toni, the bartender, were watching over her like indulgent mother hens.

She was having the time of her life.

“Toni, another please!” she held her glass aloft, and Toni smiled, poured tequila and pushed a lime wedge across the bar.

“Let me get that for you,” a deep, gravelly voice said, a man moving to her side.

“It’s okay, we’re running a tab,” she told him, turning to look and nearly tumbling off the stool.

“Whoa,” he caught her arm and righted her. “Careful there.” She checked that she was firmly planted on the stool and looked up at him.

“Thanks—”

Mmmm-hmmmm.

He was the epitome of her teenage fantasies, the kind of man she’d never consider dating. Tall, dark and dangerous-looking, from his black hair to the motorcycle boots on his feet. Her gaze wandered over him, taking in the battered biker jacket open over a black T-shirt that clung to a muscled chest, and dark jeans worn at the stress points. His hair brushed the collar of his jacket, wildly tousled, and his slow smile displayed white teeth behind his black moustache and goatee. She’d never kissed a guy with a beard, she mused, unless you counted morning stubble… She stopped her rambling thoughts. Who cared? He was hot, and she wanted him.

“Hi.” She put her hand on his arm. “I’m Karen.”

“Daniel,” he said.

She smiled.

“Well, Daniel, thanks for rescuing me. Can I get you a drink? You know,” she peeked at him from under her lashes, “to show my appreciation.”

He pinned her with his stare. He lifted his hand and brushed a finger over her earlobe, tracing it down the side of her neck, across the base of her throat and along her mostly bare shoulder. She shivered as he continued down her arm, pausing momentarily at her elbow before coming to a stop at the pulse in her wrist. Lifting her hand from where it rested on his arm, he turned her wrist and placed a kiss in her palm. The fine hairs of his moustache tickled her sensitive skin.

“Why don’t we dance instead?”

She heard herself murmur an assent as she slid off the stool…

* * * *

Karen hunched over the employment section of the paper. She’d exhausted pretty much all her possibilities. She was going to have to apply for data administration or waitressing jobs.

The phone rang. Without taking her eyes off an ad for what she thought might be a job at a topless bar, she reached over and picked the receiver up.

“Hello?”

“Karen Hampton?”

“This is she.” Karen caved to the inevitable and circled the ad to follow up later.

“It’s Serena here from The Masters Agency. You interviewed with us last week.”

She sat up straight. That interview. The one where she’d lost her cool. Why would they call to tell her she didn’t have the job? Wasn’t it kind of a given?

“Yes, of course. What can I help you with?” She heard some papers rustling.

“We’d like to invite you back for another interview.”

Karen fumbled with her pen.

“What? I mean, thank you, that’s wonderful.” Belatedly she realised the woman had sounded disapproving, but who cared? She’d fought to get a first interview. She sure as hell wasn’t going to turn down a second.

“When would you like me to come in?” She was prepared to drop everything and race in immediately if they wanted.

“Tomorrow at two would be convenient for Mr Masters.”

Karen nearly dropped the phone. She was being interviewed by John Masters himself? She’d assumed the meeting would be another HR interview. Meeting the boss, that had to be good. Right?

“Tomorrow at two is fine.” Karen fought to keep her voice level. “Please tell Mr Masters I’ll see him then.”

She ended the call without embarrassing herself, and stared at the phone. Had she been hallucinating? She picked up the receiver and dialled star-sixty-nine.

“The Masters Agency, how may I direct your call?”

“Uh—wrong number,” she choked out, and hung up. Not a hallucination.

She screamed, leaping up and jumping up and down in her pyjamas like a crazy woman, then she grabbed the phone and called Mandy.

* * * *

The next afternoon at three minutes before two o’clock she walked confidently through the glass doors of The Masters Agency and smiled at the receptionist.

“I have an appointment with Mr Masters,” she said. “Karen Hampton.”

The woman smiled back. “Yes, of course. He’s expecting you. Straight down the hall, last door on the left. His secretary will show you in.”

Thanking her, Karen followed her directions, the two-inch heels of her pumps sinking into the plush carpet. She was dressed to impress in her best suit—a dark grey pinstripe—with a royal blue silk blouse underneath. Her hair was up, her makeup understated. For the first time in weeks she felt in control of her life.

She knocked on the correct door and walked in. The aforementioned secretary, a pleasant-looking middle-aged woman, stood and came around her desk.

“Karen? I’m Stephanie. He’s ready to see you.” She led her over to a door behind her desk and opened it.

“John, Karen’s here.” With a smile, Stephanie ushered her in.

“Thanks, Steph.” A deep voice responded, and Stephanie shut the door.

Karen looked around for the source of the voice. A man stood beside a whiteboard in the corner. The board was covered with what looked like a list, and the man—John Masters—was drawing a line through one of the items.

“I’ll be just a second, Karen. We’ve just achieved one of this year’s goals and I want to cross it off before I forget.”

“That’s not a problem.” She was pleased that he kept track of goals, something her previous employer hadn’t bothered to do. “Congratulations.”

He capped the marker. “Thanks.” He turned around, and her jaw dropped.

John Masters was ‘sir’, the man she’d embarrassed herself in front of at her first interview.

She’d blurted out the tragedy of her life to John Masters, one of the most respected agents in the business.

Feeling her confidence slipping away, she took a deep breath, offered her hand, and forced a smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr Masters.”

“John, please,” he said, shaking her hand. “And please don’t feel awkward about last week. To be completely honest, if you hadn’t mentioned your little encounter with your boss and your boyfriend, I wouldn’t have looked a bit deeper at the rumours flying around.” He smiled. “As it is, I’m now able to judge you completely on your experience.” He gestured to a couch near the window. “Have a seat.”

Forty-five minutes later, Karen turned at John’s office door to shake his hand.

“It’s been a pleasure meeting you.” She was riding high on a wave of self-assurance.

“You’ll hear from us in the next few days,” he said, smiling.

She left the building and headed home, this time without needing to stop for ice cream.

Chapter Four

A month later, Karen walked into her office juggling a folder, a takeaway coffee and a paper bag containing a muffin. She’d sacrificed breakfast, as well as forty minutes of sleep, to be at her desk an hour earlier than usual. She was meeting an important new client that day, and wanted to clear her desk first so she could devote as much time to him as necessary.

After all, it wasn’t every day an agent got the chance to represent Crogan.

Crogan, no first name, was one of the premier artists on the planet. His sculptures sold almost before they were available. Their clean lines and imbued sensuality appealed to the masses as well as to art collectors. She had spent countless hours at his exhibits, lusting after different pieces. More than once she’d considered taking out a loan and buying one, but her practical side had always won out.

And now she not only got to meet this artistic giant, she was going to be his new representative.

“It’s a big job,” John had said when he’d first told her about her new client. “Crogan’s not easy to work with—typical artistic temperament. He’ll expect you to read his mind most of the time. He’s been known to ignore all calls and emails when he feels like it. Carrie,” he said, referring to Crogan’s previous agent, “managed to talk him into giving her a key to his place. You’ll probably have to use it on a regular basis to make sure he’s meeting exhibit quotas and the like.”

She’d smiled, nodded and assured John she was up to the task. She’d gladly move in and babysit the man full-time if necessary.

“How’re you doing?” She looked up and saw Stephanie hovering in her doorway.

“I’m good,” she replied, then gave in and grinned. “Excited,” she confessed. “And nervous, too.”

Stephanie smiled. “You’ll be fine,” she assured her. “He’s a nice man, when he’s not being all diva-ish. You just have to get the hang of managing him. And you should be excited. Half the women in the office are envying the crap out of you right now.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Attractive, is he?”

“You could say that.” Stephanie winked. “Anyway, John wanted me to tell you to be in his office at five to eleven. You’ll meet Crogan, talk about the next show, and go to lunch.”

“No problem. I’ll be there.”

* * * *

At ten-thirty Karen was finishing up a soothing email to one of her more emotional clients when her intercom buzzed. She picked up the receiver, tucked it against her shoulder and continued typing.

“Hi.”

“Karen.” Stephanie’s voice was urgent. “He’s early. Get down here. Now. He’s already in with John.”

Karen dropped the receiver and leapt to her feet. She smoothed a hand over her hair, straightened her jacket, grabbed her leather-bound notebook and headed for the door. She was down the hall and in Steph’s office in seconds, and Steph waved immediately at John’s door. Karen paused, took a deep breath, pasted on a smile and turned the knob.

“…really think you’ll get along. Ah, here she is,” John’s voice had her turning towards the window. She could see the outlines of the men backlit by the bright light from outside. Keeping her smile in place, she crossed the room, hand extended.

“It’s so nice to meet you, I’m a big fan of your work,” she said to the profile of the taller outline. As she got closer, she could tell that he was facing away from her. She dropped her hand and waited for him to turn.

“A fan? How flattering.” His tone was acidic, but it was his voice that froze her in place. A shiver tingled down her spine. She knew that voice, had heard it rasping her name as she’d shuddered and come in a dark alley.

This man couldn’t be him. Her one-hour stand couldn’t be world-renowned artist Crogan. The very idea was ridiculous.

“And true,” she responded, casting a nervous glance at John as she stopped beside him. He smiled reassuringly.

“Let me introduce the two of you properly,” John said. “Karen Hampton, meet Daniel Crogan.”

The man, her famous new client, finally turned. She took in the neatly trimmed silky goatee, the dark, dark eyes and the sullen mouth. Her heart sank. It was him. Maybe he wouldn’t recognise her. After all, men like him probably had sex with strangers in alleys all the time…

He smiled, a sardonic quirk of his lips, and she knew he remembered.

“Karen,” he said smoothly, the gravel and whisky voice making her tingle even through her panic. Automatically she extended her hand, felt the same zing of lightning as before when he took it.

“John tells me you’re going to be my new babysitter,” he went on, and she pulled herself together. It seemed like she might be lucky—really, really lucky—and he planned to keep their prior meeting to himself.

“Yes. Although I’m sure you don’t need much actual sitting.”

He lingered over her hand. “Don’t be too sure.”

She glanced at John, who was watching them with narrowed eyes, and laughed nervously, withdrawing her hand.

John took that as a cue. “Let’s sit and get business out of the way,” he said easily, and gestured towards the couch. “Coffee?”

Both Karen and Daniel—Crogan—declined, and she made sure that she seated herself in an armchair, tugging her skirt over her knees and wishing she’d worn pants instead. Glancing up, she noticed Da—Crogan—looking at her legs. Immediately she stopped tugging and planted her notebook on the edge of her lap. He smirked in response.

“So,” John cleared his throat, looking back and forth between their faces. A frown creased his forehead. He was clearly aware of the undercurrents in the room and not happy about them. “Daniel, Karen’s familiar with the details for the upcoming exhibit, but why don’t you walk us through the items you’re planning to present?”