Luck of Love, Page 2

  Quickly stepping back from the bar, she picks up a towel and says, “Is there anything else I can get you?” I notice the amount of distance she’s put between us.

  I can tell that she wants to leave. Sticking my hand out to introduce myself, I say with a smile, “Derrick.” She doesn’t budge. Rooted to her spot, she looks at my hand and then back to me. Her posture indicates she has no intention on shaking my hand. I pull my hand back and cautiously ask, “And you are?”

  “Blake.”

  The edge in her tone has dissipated and I swear I heard some form of a drawl in there. Something about a woman with a southern twang is sexy as hell. “Nice to meet you.”

  I notice the slight tensing of her shoulders as she answers, “Yeah, same here.”

  Turning away, she walks off before I can say anything else. Okay, that was weird.

  Bobbing my head in time with the music, I watch Blake. Every now and then, a smile plays across her face. She doesn’t really seem to interact with the other customers. I lift my now half-empty glass catching her attention. Walking over, she dries off her hands with a towel before throwing it back under the bar. “Another Miller Lite?” she asks.

  “Yeah, thanks.” I hand the glass back to her after draining the remaining contents.

  Pouring me another drink, an older man walks up beside her and nudges her in the shoulder. Leaning in, he speaks only to her. Peeking at me through the corners of his eyes, I see Blake look over her shoulder in my direction. Shaking her head frantically, she turns back to him saying something. Watching her pat him on the shoulder in a friendly gesture, she walks back to me.

  She sets my beer on the bar so quickly that I don’t even have the chance to take it from her. “Is everything all right?”

  With a slight nod she answers, “Yeah, why?”

  My eyebrows rise at her nonchalance, “I caught him looking over here and then you turned around, looked at me and shook your head.”

  “Nosy much?” Raising her eyebrows, she’s daring me to deny that I was watching them.

  “No. It would be nice to know why you were talking about me though.”

  Sighing she says, “He asked if I got your drink order right.”

  “Sorry.” My reply is short.

  Her shoulders stiffen with tension as she says, “It’s fine. Did you need anything else?”

  Ignoring her question, watching the band, I nod in their direction and say, “They’re good. Do they play here often?”

  I watch the tension slowly leave her shoulders as they begin to sag with relief. I bet she’s used to drunks hitting on her. Shaking her head she says, “Not really, but when they do, a large crowd always follows.” A smile tugs at my lips as I realize this is the most she’s said to me all night. Hell, I haven’t really seen her talk to anybody.

  Keeping the conversation light I add, “Well, I bet you’ll make a killing in tips tonight. This place is packed.”

  I can tell that she wants this conversation to end. She’s looking in every other direction but mine. Nodding she asks, “Did you need anything else?”

  “Naw, I’m good right now.”

  Turning on the balls of her feet, I watch her walk away.

  As the night drags on, I pull out my wallet, grabbing my credit card to pay my tab. The older man notices and walks over to me. Drying off his hands with a towel, he slings it over his shoulder holding out a hand to me. Reaching over and shaking it he says, “The name’s Frankie.”

  “Ahh, the owner. I’m Derrick.”

  Handing him my credit card, he takes it. As he runs it through the credit card machine, he looks over and asks, “Why do keep looking at her?

  Even though I know whom he’s talking about, I’m surprised by his forwardness and ask, “Who?”

  Arching a brow, he hands me my receipt to sign and says, “You know who, my other bartender.”

  I hand him back the signed receipt and hopping off the stool I say, “She’s really quiet. She’s not real friendly either.” Looking past him to where Blake now stands pouring a drink out of a mixer. Her movements come off robotic. Following my gaze, he looks over his shoulder while I say, “She almost seems sad.”

  As I stand staring at her, her eyes meet mine but in an instant, she has spun around filling another drink order. Looking at Frankie, he shakes his head with a solemn look and says, “I don’t know what to tell ya. She’s brilliant at what she does, and we get along just fine.”

  Nodding, I tell Frankie to make sure Blake gets the tip I left on the receipt and to have a great night. Pushing away from the bar, I look over at Blake one last time before I leave.

  I lean my head back against the seat in my car. I wish I were drunk right now, because I can’t get those fucking gorgeous green eyes out of my mind. Starting the car, I pull out of the parking lot and drive back to the hotel. I don’t know what the fuck my problem is. Yeah she was beautiful. I know many beautiful women. There was just something about her. Laughing aloud at myself, I sound like such a pussy right now.

  Pulling into the parking lot of the hotel, I shut off my car and make my way inside. Stepping into the elevator and pushing the button to the penthouse suite, I shake my head amused at my own actions. I can’t believe I stalked her with my eyes, following her every movement. I let myself into my room and head straight for the bar. With only one goal in mind right now, I start slamming back shots. Yep, I’m getting drunk tonight.

  Bundled up in my comforter all nice and cozy, I roll over slamming my hand down on the snooze button. Ten more minutes, that’s all I need. Finally drifting back to sleep, the alarm sounds again as I hear Dean’s door slam. He must be getting back from the gym. Reaching over and turning off my alarm, I sit up stretching my arms above my head and yawning. Monday came too soon. Irritation still rises in me when I think back to Saturday night. When Frankie gave me my tips, he’d given me four hundred dollars. When I counted the money, I told him that he’d made a mistake and miscounted. There was no way I made four hundred dollars. Shaking his head with a smug grin on his face he said, “Nope, that nice man that you hardly spoke to, Derrick, left you a two hundred dollar tip. He said and I quote ‘to make sure that you get the tip'.”

  Still surprised about the whole tip ordeal, I rub the sleep from my eyes, throw back my covers, slide my legs over the edge of the bed and stand. Half asleep, I follow the aroma of coffee into the kitchen.

  Reaching into the cupboard, I pull down a coffee mug. I love Dean. He knows that I’m not a morning person. Since he wakes up at the ass crack of dawn to go to the gym, he always starts my coffee for me then makes sure to set the creamer and sugar next to the coffee maker. Pouring my coffee, I mix the contents making sure it turns a light shade of brown. A smile spreads across my face as I prepare for my first sip. Leaning back against the counter, coffee in hand, I wonder why I agreed to attend this damn seminar. I don’t even have class on Mondays. Oh, that’s right—for Dean.

  A couple of months back, the head of the business department sent out an e-mail letting everyone know that they were holding a two-day seminar focusing on the importance of advertising and marketing. Dean thought it would be a good idea if we both attended.

  Lost in my internal complaining, I see Dean entering the kitchen.

  “Blake, what are you doing?” I know he’s probably irritated that I’m not ready yet. Actually, I’m not even close to being ready.

  Smiling at him I say, “What does it look like I’m doing?” Holding up my coffee to him, I take another sip.

  Letting out an exasperated sigh, shaking his head he reaches over me grabbing a mug for himself. Scooting me out of the way, he says, “Don’t you think you should be getting ready? We need to leave within the hour.”

  Rolling my eyes at him, I reply, “I know when we need to leave. I’m going to start getting ready after I finish my coffee.”

  “Look...I’ll get your travel-” he says. I put my hand up to cut him off before he even has a chance to finish that thought.<
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  “No. I’m going to finish this cup of coffee then I’ll get ready. Besides, it won’t take me that long.”

  “Yeah right,” he scoffs.

  “What? It’ll take me like thirty minutes max.”

  “More like an hour,” he counters.

  Chuckling, I playfully punch him in the arm as I drain the rest of my coffee. Sitting my mug in the sink, I walk back hopping into the shower.

  Forty-five minutes later, I stand in front of my full-length mirror giving myself a once over. I have the au natural look working for me today. With my hair left down in its natural waves, eyeliner, a light coat of mascara and a nude shade of lip-gloss, I look good. With the weather being unpredictable, I put on a brown turtleneck sweater, my favorite pair of skinny jeans and my brown suede cowboy boots. I really don’t feel like wearing a jacket today, and the turtleneck will keep the chill away in the auditorium.

  Walking into the living room, Dean looks up at me from his magazine, as he sits casually on the couch. “It’s about time. Are you finally ready?” He says as he closes the magazine and tosses it onto the cushion beside him.

  With my jaw hanging agape, I place my hands on my hips, offended. “What do you mean ‘about time'? You said we needed to leave within the hour. We still have ten minutes to spare. Thank you very much.”

  Standing from the couch, he picks up my travel mug full of coffee from the end table. Taking it from him he murmurs, “Sorry.”

  Sighing, I say, “It’s fine. Let’s go and get this shit over with.”

  Grabbing my purse from the floor, I dig for my keys. Stepping out into the brisk morning air, I begin to rethink the whole not-bringing-a-jacket idea. Getting in, I put the key in the ignition, turn it over and my baby comes to life with the softest purr.

  The drive passes by quickly as Dean and I talk about what all we think the seminar will cover, and whom we think the guest speaker is going to be. That’s actually been a hot topic around campus lately. The head of the department decided to keep the name of the guest speaker anonymous.

  Pulling into the student lot and parking my car, Dean and I reach into the backseat retrieving our backpacks as we get out. Locking up, we set off towards the auditorium.

  Walking into the auditorium, we see it’s already packed full of people. Spotting two empty seats in the middle, Dean tugs on my hand, pulling me behind him. With stadium-style seating, this place can hold five hundred people easy. In the center of the stage rests a podium. There are two chairs on each side and a drop down screen in the back. Sitting in front of the stage is a table holding a projector. At least there’s going to be slides at some point.

  The place is buzzing with conversation when the lights dim. All talking comes to a low whisper when the President of the University takes the stage. Standing behind the podium, with his arms resting on the sides, and his hands gripping the edges, he clears his throat.

  “Thank you all for coming out today. As you all know, this is a two-day seminar for the Business department. The seminar is mainly going to focus on the do’s and don’ts, the pros and cons, and the importance of advertising and marketing. This seminar will be highly beneficial for those who are focusing on a degree in either of these fields. Either way this seminar is going to be loaded with very useful information.

  “Now I know you all are wondering whom our guest speaker is. We have been keeping it secret, but I think you’ll thoroughly enjoy him. At thirty-two years old, he is one of the most sought after CEOs in the country. Everyone please put your hands together in helping me welcome Mr. Derrick James, CEO of Atlantic Knight’s Resort.”

  Looking around clapping my hands, I see almost everyone is wide eyed and filled with excitement. The girls next to me are bouncing around like dogs begging for a treat. Not understanding what all the fuss is about, I lean over towards Dean and quietly ask, “Who is Derrick James?”

  Just as I ask my question, I hear Dean mutter, “No fucking way.” Looking back at the stage, my jaw drops and I’m rendered speechless. Dean leans towards me and whispers, “Wasn’t he in the bar the other night?” Nodding is all I can do to show I heard his question.

  Waving to the audience as he makes his way to the podium, he’s in what looks to be a very expensive custom tailored black suit. Wearing a white shirt, he has a perfectly folded handkerchief that matches his red tie placed in his front breast pocket. Oh, what I wouldn’t give to run my fingers through his slick back, styled hair. Now I can see why the girls next to me were acting all giddy.

  Standing in front of the podium, he scans the room waiting for the cheering to quiet down. As he begins to speak, he makes sure to give equal amounts of attention to each section of the auditorium.

  “Thank you all for attending what I’m sure is going to be a very educating experience.” Glancing back over at the President he says, “And thank you Mr. Davidson for having me.” Looking back out over the crowd, he scans the room until his eyes connect with mine. Not missing a beat he continues, “I’m honored to be here today. I hope that, with all of my education and my own personal experiences, I can pass on to all of you some particularly useful information.” As he continues with his speech my eyes stay glued to his. As much as I want to look away from him, I can’t. It’s very sexy watching him stand on that stage demanding the crowd's attention. His words are lost on me as he continues to speak. Startled, I jump as I feel Dean nudge me with his leg. Looking over at him wide eyed, I see the bounce in his shoulders as he silently laughs at me.

  Leaning into him, I whisper, “What are you laughing at?”

  Shaking his head, he says, “I never thought I’d see the day that you would look like every other girl in this room.”

  Irritation rises in me because I know he’s right, but I don’t intend to let him know that. I ask, “What are you talking about?”

  He wipes at the corner of my mouth with his finger. Holding his finger up for inspection in the dim light, he shrugs and says, “I thought you had some drool on your face.”

  “Whatever,” I say as I cross my arms over my chest. Looking back up at Derrick, I notice that his eyes haven’t left mine. Since there’s really no way to get out of having to look at him, I pull out my notebook and decide to take notes.

  When I finally hear the President’s voice come back over the speaker, I have a stiff back from sitting, a cramped hand from writing and a sore neck from not looking up. Putting down my pen and closing my notebook, I stretch my back and neck as I massage the cramp out of my hand. No longer paying attention to what Mr. Davidson is saying, I look over to Dean with pleading eyes and ask, “Can we go now?”

  Turning in his seat, he looks at me like my question was ludicrous, “What? No. They’re having a meet and greet back stage in twenty minutes. I want to meet him.”

  Annoyed and slightly irritated, I sigh, “Meet who?”

  Shaking his head at me, he chuckles to himself and replies, “You truly weren’t paying attention, were you? Derrick James. I want to do the meet and greet.”

  Shaking my head frantically back and forth I answer, “No. I don’t want to.”

  Dean places his hand on top of mine and stops me from packing my things. I hear a hint of exasperation when he says, “Come on, Blake. Please. This is important to me. I would do it for you.”

  With his bottom lip jutting out in a pout and a sad look in his eyes, I feel myself starting to cave in and grumble, “Fine, but you can’t use that excuse for the rest of the week.”

  “Thanks,” he replies.

  Nodding my head, I stand and follow him to the back of the auditorium. The line is not too long as we stand and wait. With only two people left in line in front of us, an announcement is made that the meet and greet has ended. Relief courses through me, while I thank God that I don’t have to meet him again. I was not terribly friendly the first time we met.

  Twirling around to leave, I’m stopped dead in my tracks as I hear Dean say, “Mr. James, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Knowing
that I should just keep on walking, but also knowing that I can’t leave, I turn back around only to come face to face with Derrick James.

  Composing myself, I tug on my shirt trying to pull out any wrinkles. I see Dean and Derrick’s hands locked in a firm handshake when Derrick turns to me. Releasing Dean’s hand, Derrick sticks his hand out to shake mine. Lost on what I should do, I look up to Dean, silently seeking his direction. I know I should take his hand, that’s the polite thing to do, but I don’t want to. I can still remember from the other night at the bar how strong his hands were. Hell, I’ve been trying to forget them for the past day and a half now.

  With his teeth gritted, jaw tense and his eyes narrowed into slits, Dean silently pleads for me to take his hand. Taking a deep breath, I stick my hand out, letting Derrick’s envelope mine. Oh my God, his hand is large, warm and smooth. I wonder how they would feel other places. Trying to hold myself together and keep my breathing even, I avert my eyes to anywhere and everywhere but him. Finally, I shake his hand and say, “Mr. James.”

  I can feel his grip tighten against my hand as he says, “Blake.” Completely caught off guard that he remembers my name, I snap my eyes to him, and I lose myself. The depths of his eyes suck me in as I stare at him.

  Looking into her emerald green eyes, she can’t tear away her gaze any more than I can mine. Holding her hand in mine, I never thought that I’d get to feel her soft delicate skin against mine again. Honestly, I never thought I would see her again. When I left the bar the other night, I’d considered it a chance encounter meeting her. Now here I stand, with her hand in mine, staring at her. I kept my eyes fixed on her while I was speaking to the audience earlier. For a few moments, she had her eyes on me too. When she looked away, I never saw her look back up.