Ready or Not (6 page)

“Mal, you remember Hope,” Hunter said.

“Of course. I’m so glad you made it to our little party.” Her eyes connected with those ridiculous light-blue ones, and she resisted an eye roll at her own visceral reaction to them. What in the world was wrong with her? She needed to get herself and her unleashed libido under control and direct it somewhere more appropriate.

Hope stepped forward with a box in hand. “I didn’t quite know what kind of party this was, but I brought you something small as a gesture of thanks for having me.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you. You didn’t have to do that.”

Hope gestured at the box. “It’s my favorite rum from this little distillery in the Caribbean. I’m not sure if you’ve been, but—”

“To the Caribbean?” Mallory said. “I’ve definitely been to the Caribbean.”

“Oh, that’s great,” Hope said, and Mallory realized how pretentious the comment must have sounded. Why did she get pretentious when her guard was up? So reminiscent of her mother it was scary. In response, Hunter shot her a “behave” look, which Mallory brushed off. Not her best moment, and apparently she wasn’t the only one who’d noticed. Attempting to rebound, she held up the box. “I’ll give this to Marcus, see if he can’t set us up with some samples for the group.”

“That would be awesome,” she heard Hope say distantly, but she was already on her way into the house.

“Is that Hope from Showplace out there?” Brooklyn asked as she passed Mallory in the kitchen.

“Believe it or not, it is. Hunter invited her.”

“That’s awesome.”

“Yay,” Mallory responded halfheartedly and raised both hands in weak celebration.

Brooklyn passed her a look. “Be nice, Mal. She’s always been nice to you. More than that even. How many free drinks has she sent your way now?”

Brooklyn had a point and Mallory chastised herself mentally. It had been a knee-jerk reaction, her less-than-polite conversation with the bartender.
Hope
, she amended mentally. She should call her by her name.
Hope
, which was actually kind of a nice name. “You’re right. Of course, you’re right. I guess I’m just in stress mode with everyone here. I want tonight to be nice for all of us, you know?”

“It already is, Mal. You did a great job, and your dress is amazing. You’re kinda smokin’ tonight. I mean, I know I’d totally do you. I say that in the most platonic way possible, of course.”

Mallory laughed. “Wow. Thanks, Brooks.”

Brooklyn placed her hands on Mallory’s shoulders and directed her back to the party. “Now go enjoy yourself. That’s an order.”

Mallory headed back to her guests, intent on doing just that. She chatted with Jennifer McMartin, their Hamptons neighbor from down the street, whom she’d spent summers making sandcastles with, and her newlywed husband, Jeff, the real-estate mogul from the Upper East Side. Then there was Gordon, their favorite downstairs neighbor from Soho, and his boyfriend TJ, sporting Prada shoes that looked like they’d just been plucked off the new spring line.

But as Mallory chatted, something had her preoccupied, pulled from the conversation. She was noticeably aware of Hope’s location on the deck at any given moment, and that information seemed to demand her attention, damn it, almost as if someone were ringing a rather distracting bell. Giving in to her curiosity, she stole a look to her left, where she knew she’d find Hope. She stood at the railing with the beach behind her, smiling as she chatted with Hunter and Sam.

Not that Mallory cared what the conversation was about.

At all.

She took another sip from her wineglass and focused on Gordon’s explanation of why daisies were this year’s failed white leggings. She nodded implicitly, as if she couldn’t agree more with the nonsensical analogy.
Exactly, Gordon, damn those daisies.
In the background, that annoying bell sounded in alarming intensity, and her gaze shifted left again for just a brief moment. One glance never hurt anyone…

Hope surveyed the gathering, enjoying the ambience of the party, the vibe, and definitely the view. The waves rolled in just a few dozen yards away, and the sun was all but gone beyond the water. She was having a good time, which was kind of surprising, as she hadn’t been convinced she’d enjoy herself when she’d first accepted the invitation to what sounded like a stuffy little neighborhood.

However, the beautiful night, the gorgeous scenery, and getting to know Hunter’s friends had made the adventure to the Hamptons a worthy one. Plus, there was Mallory in the white dress, which, let’s be honest, had caused her mouth to go dry when Mallory had first approached. True, their initial interaction hadn’t been fantastic, and Mallory had been a little brusque with her, but maybe she’d steal a few minutes and try for a second conversation. Mallory had probably just been busy.

“So where’d you learn to tend bar?” the blond friend, Brooklyn, asked. “Because I’ve never seen anyone more in command of that place than when you showed up back there. It’s fun to watch you work.”

“It’s impressive. She’s right,” Sam added.

Hunter nodded. “And it gets her more attention than anyone in the place. Half those girls show up for the hot bar back. Speaking of which, excuse me for a moment. I’ll be right back.”

Hope shook her head. “Not true. But to answer your question,” she said, addressing Brooklyn. “I started small, learning everything I could as I went. My first job was behind the bar at this little dive in Queens before I moved to a dive downtown, and then a bit of a nicer place uptown. I put in my time and learned all the tricks before steadily working my way up.”

“And then you were hired at Showplace?” Mallory asked, joining their group. “Is that what happens next in the story?”

And there was the white dress again with sexy curves peeking out, her skin flawless and with the addition of a tan. Hope bit back the thought and realized she’d lost the question. “I’m sorry?”

“You were hired at Showplace after that?” Mallory said.

“Right. No. No, sorry. Not exactly—”

But Hope didn’t have time to finish her answer, as a waiter emerged from the house with a tray of shots and the bottle of rum she’d given Mallory. Hunter stood on the top step, looking down on the deck of partygoers and called for everyone’s attention. “Ladies and gentlemen, gentlemen and ladies and whoever the hell else you are, we are lucky enough to have a true connoisseur of spirits with us tonight. My friend, Hope, is a kick-ass bartender from Soho, and she’s brought us a special sample from a gem of a distillery in the Caribbean. So grab a shot of rum as it goes by and let’s toast to a fantastic night and maybe get a little drunk together.”

And just like that, the guests broke into applause, and a few glances were tossed her way, which made Hope a little self-conscious. She wasn’t one for the spotlight, so she smiled and nodded, feeling the blush touch her cheeks until she lowered her head in escape. “You so didn’t have to do that,” she said to Hunter, who rejoined them, distributing shots to their group.

“Yes, I did. You’re awesome and so is your rum. I know because I tried some inside.” She bounced her eyebrows and slid her arm around Samantha.

As the others downed the rum, which wasn’t exactly cheap, Mallory sipped from her glass as if it were some kind of unfortunate insecticide. “It’s very good,” she said to Hope in a less than convincing tone. What was with this girl anyway? She didn’t cut loose very easily. That much was clear.

“You could just toss it back, you know,” Hope said. “For the full experience.”

Mallory raised her gaze. “Yeah, I’m not really a ‘toss it back’ kinda girl.”

“A shame,” Hope said and downed her own shot. “You must miss out on a lot.”

“Not really,” Mallory fired back. “There’s more than one way to have fun.”

“Yeah? How do you like to have a good time?” Mallory was pretentious, that much she was learning, but she was also kind of fun to mess with because of it. Her friends on the other hand were watching the exchange as if it were a difficult tennis match.

“I’m kind of a private person, if you don’t mind.”

Hope set her empty shot glass on a passing waiter’s tray and held up both hands. “I don’t mind at all.”

Samantha, who looked a little traumatized, jumped in to save the day. “So when did you discover this little distillery? I happen to love this stuff.”

“Last year,” Hope told her. “I’d heard rumors about the place and wanted to find out for myself, so I took a little business excursion.”

“I didn’t know bartenders took business trips,” Mallory said, a perfect smile in place. She was still sipping the rum.

“And now you do,” Hope informed her, actually really enjoying the give and take now.

Mallory, however, didn’t seem to be, as her eyes darkened at the retort. “So then you, what? Come back to work and convince your boss to order a case for the bar? You must be pretty persuasive.”

Hope raised an eyebrow at Mallory, who was clearly on some kind of power trip for reasons she couldn’t identify. “My boss?”

“Yeah,” Mallory said, pressing on. “He or she must trust their bartenders implicitly to give them ordering power is all. It’s a compliment.”

Hunter shrugged. “Well, Hope’s excellent at her job. A rock star, and I’m sure that goes a long way.”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Mallory said, nodding. “But she’s still a bartender, and as such, one wouldn’t expect her to come with that kind of pull.”

“Um…actually, I’m not,” Hope answered, nonchalant. This was kinda fun.

Mallory quirked her head. “I’m sorry. You’re not what?”

“Just a bartender. I mean, I’m that too. I love to tend bar, but I’m also a business owner.”

“Owner of what?” Mallory asked.

“Showplace.”

Right on cue, four jaws dropped. “Wait,” Brooklyn said, making a rewind gesture with her hands. Hope enjoyed the rewind gesture. “You
own
Showplace? What happened to that bald guy with the big stomach who used to grumble at everyone? Now that you mention it, I haven’t seen him in a while.”

“Ralph?” Hope asked. “He was causing the place to bleed money and sold it to me a year and a half ago.”

“Back when you started working behind the bar and the place got crazy popular out of nowhere?” Hunter stared at her. “And you’re just now telling me this?”

“I didn’t think it was a secret,” Hope told her in all honesty.

The best part was that Mallory’s beautiful face was now carefully blank. It seemed she was out of ammunition, which was beyond pleasurable for Hope. She accepted the win but decided not to celebrate. Not really her style. “If you’ll excuse me I think I’m going to check out the water. I’m on kind of a high right now.”

Mallory watched Hope descend the steps to the sand below with a prickle of regret moving up her spine. She’d behaved badly…again…and she wanted to somehow fix it, because this wasn’t her. At least, it wasn’t who she wanted to be.

It was dark out now, but the light from the deck illuminated the surrounding shoreline, and with Hope’s blond hair, it wasn’t hard to track her progress as she walked along its edge. “Excuse me a moment,” Mallory said to her friends, who exchanged interested glances. “And stop that. No looking at each other.”

“Like at all?” Brooklyn called after her. “Because that could get weird.”

“You’ll figure it out,” she called back.

When she stepped down onto the beach, she slipped out of her shoes and inhaled sharply at the cold sand against the bottoms of her feet. Unfortunately, when the sun disappeared, it had taken much of the warmth of the day with it. She walked gingerly down to the shoreline and headed north to where she saw Hope, who was staring out at the darkened water.

“I have no idea why I’m rude to you,” she said to Hope’s back.

Hope tossed a glance over her shoulder, but she was smiling and that was something. “Yet, you can’t seem to help yourself.”

Mallory shook her head. “I don’t know what it is.”

“Try. I’m honestly curious.”

“I think it’s your cavalier carriage and that smile you have when you make the drinks that switches when you smile at me and then—” She paused because Hope was staring at her with amusement and that sent her defenses flaring. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I think, in your roundabout way, you just said you’re hot for me.”

“Pshhh. Um, no.” Mallory looked away as if it was the most ludicrous statement she’d heard in recent history. “That is absolutely not true. In fact,” she said, downing the rest of the shot of rum she still carried, “I find you annoying. And I find the smile annoying. That’s two annoying things about you already.” She covered her mouth in a mixture of shock and regret at the words that had just fled from her mouth without permission.

Hope shook her head slowly. “There you go again.”

“I’m so sorry. I don’t know where that comes from. I was brought up with manners, I promise. I’m generally much nicer. But with you, things just fly out of my mouth like it has a mind of its own.”

Hope held up her hands, palms out. “It’s okay. Listen, you don’t have to like me. In fact, it’s pretty obvious to me that you don’t. No rule that everyone has to get along. Plus, I’m not sure I like you either.”

Mallory stared at her. “I’m sorry?”

Hope turned to her and raised a shoulder. “I said, I’m not sure I like you. You’re kind of a snob.”

“I am not a snob,” Mallory said, outraged at the characterization and yet strangely fixating on Hope’s very full bottom lip. A strange combination of feelings. Must have been the rum.

“Well, you are a snob. Objectively,” Hope said. “You wrote me off because I tend bar and somehow acted like that made me lesser. It was kind of offensive. We can’t all be from Park Avenue.” But Hope didn’t look offended. That was the thing. Mallory couldn’t help but catch how she did look, however. Her light-blond hair was down, and the wind caught it every few seconds and gave it a sexy little tousle. It was dark on the beach, but every so often the moonlight would illuminate those big blue eyes, the ones that were expressive and yet closed off at the same time. Was that possible? She wasn’t sure. What Hope looked was hot, which was contrary to what Mallory wanted to conclude. So she pushed the thought aside and focused on making amends for her behavior in order to get back to her guests where she should be. It would be rude of her to disappear for too long.