The Wedding Bargain Read online

  Not that Jess had given any indication she wanted in. She hadn’t come across as a gold digger, but then neither had most of the others. Jess seemed down-to-earth and completely unpretentious, and she had made her thoughts on wine tasting abundantly clear. She thought it was pompous. Then there’d been the quip about him being one of Jonathan’s criminal cases. Somewhat to his surprise, he had found it refreshing, and it still made him smile. She might have been more restrained if she’d known who he was, but there was also a good chance she wouldn’t.

  The sun had finally put in an appearance, and before he drove away he put on the sunglasses and debated whether or not to put the top down. Better to leave it up, he decided. He’d have to park on the street and he wasn’t all that familiar with the neighborhood. A few minutes later he pulled into a parking spot behind a red scooter and knew he’d made the right decision. Jess’s bar was on the street level of a two-story building that had seen better days. It was in better shape than the place he’d just seen and although the location was sketchier, there was some new development down the block.

  This should be interesting. In spite of her elegant appearance on Saturday night, she had not been comfortable in the strapless gown or the high-heeled shoes—especially not the dress—but he still had trouble picturing her running a blue-collar establishment, and that’s clearly what this was.

  He opened the door and stepped inside the dimly lit space, realizing he’d forgotten to leave his sunglasses in the car. He shoved them up onto his head and waited for his eyes to adjust. The place smelled of beer and disinfectant with a hint of deep-fryer fat that was past its prime. Gradually he became aware that all eyes—those of two older men perched on stools that flanked one corner of the bar and the young brunette behind the bar—were on him.

  Or…was that Jess?

  It was. The lighting was deceptive and the brunette was actually a redhead. He approached the bar, taking in the unexpected transformation of the ill-at-ease woman in the strapless blue gown into this casual ponytailed barkeep in a man’s blue-and-white-pinstriped dress shirt worn jacket-style over a gray T-shirt. He had been oddly attracted to the initial version, but he was out-and-out intrigued by this one.

  “This is a surprise,” she said.

  He’d be willing to wager that he was more surprised than she was. Without taking her eyes off him, she finished pulling a glass of beer and slid it across the counter to one of the only two customers in the place.

  Michael nodded a greeting to the two men and took a stool, leaving an empty one between them, and turned his attention back to Jess. “I was in the neighborhood.”

  “Were you?” Her tone implied that she didn’t believe him. “What brings you down here?”

  You, he was tempted to say, but that wasn’t entirely true and she’d never believe it anyway. “Real estate,” he said instead.

  “I see. Buying or selling?”

  “Buying.”

  She was back to looking skeptical again. At the wedding she had mentioned that the mechanics who had been her grandfather’s old friends still frequented the place. Her two customers had to be them.

  “What can I get you?” she asked.

  He thought about asking for a glass of wine just to see what she’d give him, but he was pretty sure that would tick her off. Instead, he did a quick survey of what she had on tap. A small but impressive selection. “I’ll have a Guinness.”

  She reached for a glass and while she filled it, he studied her face. At the wedding she’d worn her hair loose and her makeup had been flawless. Today he doubted she was wearing any, except maybe some mascara. With her coloring, the long, sweeping eyelashes seemed too dark to be natural. She looked young, probably much younger than she actually was, and the faded, slim-fitting jeans and black-and-white high-topped sneakers made her seem even more youthful.

  She set the glass on a cardboard coaster in front of him. “What kind of real estate are you looking for?”

  “A location for a new wine bar.”

  “So you really do know something about wine.” Her grin took the edge off the dig.

  “I do.”

  “I sure don’t need any more competition, but a wine bar sounds like the kind of place the neighborhood newbies will go for.”

  Unlike the two men seated at the bar. They were a couple of old-timers in every sense of the word. Michael took a quick look around the interior. “I don’t know. If you fix up this place, you’d attract a diff—” The two men had stopped talking and had tuned in to his conversation with Jess. “You’d bring in more business.”

  She gave him a long, thoughtful look. “I’m working on it.”

  If she had a plan, she apparently wasn’t going to share it with him. “Have you considered selling?” he asked instead.

  She’d started to clean the counter with a damp cloth, but she paused in midswipe. He noticed that the pink nail polish she’d worn at the wedding was gone. “If that’s why you came in here, you should have saved yourself the trouble. The Whiskey Sour is not for sale.”

  It had been an innocent enough question, but she was genuinely offended by it. “No problem. I just looked at a place on Folsom Street. It needs work, but it’s the best I’ve seen so far.” With the exception of this place. He wanted a building that had the feel of an old warehouse, in keeping with the neighborhood, and Jess’s bar had everything on his list—interior brick walls, exposed overhead ducts and wiring, and original plank floors that had, over the decades, been buffed into a natural patina. Didn’t she realize she was sitting on a gold mine? Then again, her business was none of his.

  “Do you live around here?” Her voice sounded distant all of a sudden, and he could tell she was still suspicious about his motivation for being here. Damn. That’s not what he’d intended.

  “I have an apartment on Nob Hill. What about you?” he asked, although he already knew the answer.

  “Not far from here.” She backed away and leaned on the counter behind the bar, arms folded, ankles crossed.

  This was not going well.

  He took the sunglasses off his head, folded them and set them on the bar. “So I was wondering, would you like to go out for dinner sometime?” She looked as surprised as he felt. He’d thought a lot about asking her out since he’d danced with her on Saturday night, but he usually had more finesse than this.

  “Oh. Um…I work here most nights so…no. But thanks.”

  The skinny man sitting closest to him shifted slightly on his stool. “She doesn’t work on Thursdays,” he said.

  “Larry! No help from the peanut gallery.”

  Both men were smiling broadly and nudging one another with their elbows. “When was the last time you went out on a date?” the heavyset man asked.

  Jess’s face turned a revealing shade of red. “Bill, that goes for you, too. You guys are as bad as Granddad used to be.”

  The man named Larry wasn’t finished. “She has another bartender who’s here every Thursday,” he said to Michael. “So tomorrow night would be good.”

  Michael laughed. He felt a bit like a teenager asking a girl’s father for permission to take her out. “Thursdays. Good to know. Unfortunately, I have plans tomorrow. A family dinner,” he added quickly so she didn’t think it was a date. “It’s my brother’s birthday. Next Thursday would be good, though.” He hoped he was free that night, but if there was something on his calendar, it would be easy enough to change.

  Jess stepped forward, planted both hands flat on the bartop and leaned toward him. “Hello? I said no.”

  Ah, but did she mean it? He put his own hand down so it was almost touching hers. “I’d be interested to hear your thoughts on running a bar in this part of the city. It would just be a business dinner.”

  “A free business dinner,” Larry said.

  Bill, who’d been slowly nursing his beer, set his glass down. “Never look a gift horse in the mouth.”

  Jess rolled her eyes and glared at them.

  Mic
hael was sure she was having second thoughts.

  “Do you have a pen?” he asked.

  She plucked one from a jar beside the cash register and handed it to him.

  “Thanks.” He took a fresh coaster from a stack on the bar, flipped it over and wrote his number on the back. “This is my cell phone. I’ll pick you up here at six next Thursday, but if something comes up you can call me.” He could give her a business card but decided against it. Too much information. For a second he had even debated whether or not to write his last name on the coaster, but he left it at Michael. Until he got to know her, the less she knew about him, the better.

  He slid the coaster across the bar. She didn’t pick it up, but he knew she’d keep it, and although she still hadn’t said yes, she had stopped saying no.

  He swiveled a little to the right on the wobbly seat of the bar stool. “You gentlemen must be regulars,” he said to Larry and Bill.

  As he had surmised, both were mechanics who worked nearby. They’d been dropping in for a beer every day after work for years, had been longtime friends of Jess’s grandfather and had more or less watched her grow up, which accounted for their avuncular affection. They talked about cars and he told them about the old Morgan he and his brother were restoring while he drank his Guinness and subtly—at least he hoped he was being subtle—watched the woman behind the bar.

  Likewise, Jess kept herself busy, but he could tell she didn’t miss a beat. She perked up when their talk drifted to the old sports car he was restoring. He thought she might even join their conversation, but she didn’t. Larry said he knew of a reliable supplier for rebuilt auto parts. Michael pocketed the man’s card and said he’d be sure to give him a call when he needed something.

  Twenty minutes later, after he finished his beer, he pulled out his wallet and opened it. Before he withdrew a bill, he finally made eye contact with Jess. “Walk me out?” he asked.

  He half expected her to tell him to get lost, but she skirted the bar and joined him. He tossed a bill onto the counter and walked with her to the door. He wanted to touch her, but he knew she wouldn’t want that, not with Larry and Bill watching.

  “I enjoyed meeting your friends at the wedding,” he said instead. “You and Rory and the other bridesmaids seem pretty tight.”

  “We are. They’re like my family. Now that my granddad’s gone, they’re really the only family I have.”

  Interesting. He couldn’t imagine life without a close-knit family—a biological one—and was tempted to ask about her parents. No, that could wait. She gave the impression she would open up only when she was ready and not a moment sooner.

  “Having friends who have your back is always a good thing.” He pushed the door open and she followed him outside. “So I’ll see you next Thursday.”

  She drew the front of her shirt closed and folded her arms over it. “No offence, but why do you want to go out with me? The woman you met at the wedding the other night isn’t the real me. This—” she uncrossed her arms and made a sweeping gesture “—this is the real me.”

  “Relax. It’s business, and it’s just dinner. I’m interested to hear what you think of my plan for the new wine bar.” Which wasn’t the case at all. Once he made up his mind about something—and he already knew what he wanted in this neighborhood—he wasn’t interested in what anyone else had to say about it. He had good instincts about these things and so far following them had paid off.

  “So long as we’re clear about one thing. Dinner is strictly business, and the Whiskey Sour is not for sale.”

  Or so she thought. Everything and everybody had a price. He could be very persuasive, and he was accustomed to getting what he wanted. And right now he wanted the Whiskey Sour. “Understood. I’d like to hear what you have planned for this place, too.” He had the impression that she didn’t actually have a plan, though, and that was going to work to his advantage. “See you next week.”

  “Sure. But really—” She was back to looking like a deer in the headlights.

  “No buts.” He opened his car door, and there was no missing the upward arch of her eyebrows. “See you next week.”

  Chapter Three

  Jess stood by the door, watching Michael slide behind the wheel of his Boxster and drive away. Wow. That was some car. Jet-black with tan upholstery. Wine bars must be more lucrative than seedy little taverns. All she could afford was a secondhand Vespa.

  After he disappeared around the corner, she went back inside. Larry and Bill were just finishing their second round, which meant they’d be leaving soon. Both were sporting ear-to-ear grins. “Do not start with me,” she warned them.

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” Larry said. He leaned sideways and slid the money Michael had left toward her.

  Twenty bucks for a $5.95 glass of beer. Was he always this generous or did he feel sorry for her?

  “Big tipper,” he said.

  Jess rang in the sale, grabbed the bill off the counter and stuffed it into the cash drawer.

  Larry reached for a coaster—the one with Michael’s phone number—and slid that toward her. “Better put this away for safekeeping, too.”

  “I said don’t start.”

  Bill laughed, a big booming laugh in keeping with his size. “He forgot his sunglasses, too. Maybe you ought to call that number and let him know.”

  Sure enough, Michael’s glasses sat on the bar next to his empty glass. Had he left them behind on purpose? Maybe an excuse to come back or, as Bill was suggesting, a way to get her to call him. No, that didn’t seem like his style. He sure hadn’t needed a reason to show up this afternoon. It was obvious that he’d come here looking for a piece of SoMa real estate, and he could damn well think again. She loved this place. It was the only thing in her life that had any real significance, and she no intention of selling.

  To her annoyance, though, she had thought about Michael a lot since Saturday night. She had even debated whether or not to ask Rory for the scoop on him when she got back from her honeymoon. Or she could ask Nic to find out what kind of legal work Jonathan did for him. But what would be the point? Sure, she was curious, but she hadn’t actually expected to see him again. Besides, if either of them told him that she was fishing for information, he might get the wrong idea.

  She picked up the sunglasses and pulled the lost-and-found box from under the counter. The box contained two gloves that didn’t match, a cigarette lighter with an ornate letter P engraved on it, a tube of red lipstick, a couple of stray keys, several unpaired earrings and a tacky little gold vinyl change purse that contained eighty-seven cents. A bunch of crap no one would ever claim but that she couldn’t bring herself to throw out. The gold logo on the arm of Michael’s glasses indicated that they were neither cheap nor trashy. She slid the box back into place and set the sunglasses on the counter at the back of the bar. No way would she use them as an excuse to call him. If he didn’t come back for them, and she had a pretty good hunch he wouldn’t, she could give them to him when he picked her up next week.

  Larry drained his glass and set it on the bar. “I’d best be getting home to the missus. She’ll have dinner on the table pretty soon.”

  “Or you could take the missus out for dinner,” Bill said. “I hear the ladies like that sort of thing.”

  Bill had been a confirmed bachelor for as long as she’d known him, which was pretty much forever. She also knew neither of them would let this go unless she played along with them, so she leaned on the counter and struck the phoniest dreamy-eyed schoolgirl pose she could muster. “Us gals are totally into being wined and dined.” She tipped her head to one side and batted her lashes. “Totally.”

  They laughed and she joined in while they paid for their drinks. She was not the wine-me, dine-me type at all, and her friends knew it.

  “Wish I could afford to give you a big tip,” Larry said.

  “I don’t expect tips from you guys,” she said. “I just appreciate your business.” She appreciated their loyalty even more
.

  Both glanced surreptitiously at the room full of empty tables.

  “No worries. Things will pick up a little later,” she said. “They always do.”

  They knew as well as she did that was often not the case, but they were too polite to say it. She had tried all kinds of things to bring in new patrons—everything from putting leaflets on the windshields of parked cars in the area to a speed-dating night. The leaflets had ended up littering the sidewalk and the speed-dating thing had been an unmitigated disaster. The place needed a serious facelift and she could swing that only if her application for a bank loan was approved. The guy at the bank had done some serious eyebrows hikes when he’d assessed her financial situation, then said he’d get back to her in a few weeks. All she could do now was wait and see.

  Bill pushed the door open and slid a ball cap onto his head. “’Night, Jess.”

  Larry waved. “You take care, girl.”

  “For sure. Good night, guys. I guess I’ll see you Friday.” She usually dropped in on Thursday even though it was her night off, but Paige was moving into a new apartment and Jess had promised to help her pack.

  After they left she picked up the coaster that had Michael’s number on it, and it dawned on her that she didn’t even know his last name. She put the coaster under the tray in the cash drawer and reached for his sunglasses. The next thing she knew, she had them on. She looked at herself in the mirror behind the rows of bottles.

  “What the hell are you doing?” She whipped them off again. “Mooning around over some guy who’ll probably turn out to be a total jerk.”

  When it came to men, she had lousy luck, and she blamed that on her mother. Roxanne Bennett was a slut, no two ways about it. She had a habit of hooking up with losers who didn’t give a damn about her or her daughter, and Jess’s father had been one of them. There’d been countless nights when Jess heard her mother stumble in after the bars closed, laughing and shushing some loudmouthed guy, telling him not to wake up her kid. And the morning after, how many times had a strange man caught her off guard in the kitchen and scared the crap out of her while she was making peanut butter sandwiches—one for breakfast and another for lunch—and hoping to sneak out to school before her mother and the creep du jour woke up?