Free Knock Off by Rhonda Pollero Page A

counter, I saw the light on my home phone flashing. Tempted, but no time. I’d have to grab messages later.
    It was almost six when I hit the entrance ramp for I-95.
    I was heading back into town, so traffic on the southbound lanes was light. I made the trip in under fifteen minutes, a personal best.
    The line for valet parking was six-cars long, so I doubled back and found a spot about a block west of City Place. I’d been so rushed to get out the door that I’d left my pashmina at home. Now I felt every brush of the cool night air as it danced along my bared shoulders.
    The Blue Martini is on the second floor, so I climbed the stairs at a brisk pace, hearing the click of my heels against the marble steps. The sound of music blended with the din of conversation as I reached the entrance. As always, it was crowded.
    Liam was easy to spot. He was leaning sideways against the bar. I allowed myself a few seconds to admire his profile before I breezed past the bouncers. I weaved through the crowd completely aware of the fact that I was garner-ing my fair share of admiring glances. Nothing boosts confidence like a new dress.
    When I got closer, I noticed two things about Liam.
    First, he was wearing a great-fitting pair of black slacks paired with a tight, torso-hugging black shirt. He looked perfect. Well, as perfect as any hot guy looks with a busty blonde hanging on his arm. By the way, she was the second “thing.”
    It was a battle to keep my expression bland, especially when I got a decent look at his date. She was pretty in a showy way. She had on a glittery, gold halter top that left her perfectly toned back bare. Her skirt was white, short, and belted low on her hips. If she had an ounce of fat, I certainly couldn’t see it, and, believe me, I was looking.
    Her tan was fake but perfectly applied, as was her makeup.
    She’s prettier than I am. Definitely better built. Liam had never actually flirted with me, and now I knew why.
    God, compared to her, I was a real troll. My cheeks heated, but I blamed it on the crush of bodies. Liam turned then and saw me approaching. His smile slipped fractionally, and I knew that he thought I’d taken his call as an invitation.
    Which made me look like a desperate troll. Not good, especially when, for whatever reason, his nasty, lowlife, Barbie-dating opinion mattered.
    Claiming a time-management issue is just a
    polite way of saying I’m late and I’m always late.
    Five
    I’m fine. I can do this. But just in case I couldn’t drum up the calm, casual demeanor I needed, I shifted the handle of my purse into my right hand. It was a handshake-avoidance trick I’d learned from the master—my mother.
    Three more steps and I’d be within perfume-sniffing distance of Liam and Drinking Beer from a Long Neck Bottle Barbie.
    Liam flashed me a slightly crooked smile. His teeth seemed bright white set against his deeply tanned skin. To my surprise, Beer Barbie was just as friendly. I gave her some mental props. If the situation was reversed and I thought some other woman was poaching Patrick, I’d have tossed her a chillingly polite smile while quietly planning her death.
    Liam provided the introductions. “Finley Tanner, this is Ashley.”
    She smiled and thrust out her hand. Since I didn’t have any alternative, I slid the handle of my bag up on my wrist. “Nice to meet you.”
    Liam grabbed a manila envelope off the bar and handed it to me. “Looks Like Marcus’s car is clean,” he said, leaning in so that he didn’t have to yell over the cacophony of a group of men gathered at the far end of the bar. A large television screen, volume off, was showing a baseball game, and based on their comments, it wasn’t going very well for the Marlins.
    Beer Barbie wriggled herself closer to Liam, her warm smile never faltering. Getting up on tiptoes, she whispered something to him, then hooked her arm possessively around his waist.
    Whatever it was, Liam didn’t react. At least not that