Free Cocktails in Chelsea by Nikki Moore Page B

condensation-coated fridges.
    'Careful,' a deep, mildly sarcastic voice rumbled in her ear, 'or you'll give them a show a few hours early.'
    Turning scarlet as she realised the ruddy dress had crept up at the back, she straightened, whipped her head around and opened her mouth to respond. But there wasn’t time to challenge the comment because its owner had already placed a tray of glasses on the bar and melted away. She caught a glimpse of a white shirt, tight black trousers and dark hair as she stared after him. She also clocked that he was tall. Very tall.
    Sofia gulped. He'd been out of order, there was no doubt about it, but still, what he'd said, how much had people seen? Had she actually flashed her tiny pink knickers at the whole place? Fleeing to the toilets, she spent a few minutes trying out different poses in front of the full-length mirror before coming to the conclusion that although the dress was quite short, her knickers probably hadn't had an outing. 'Thank god.' She exhaled, running both hands under the cold tap to get rid of her momentary fluster.
    Returning to the bar, she waved at the staff member who was stacking glasses on a shelf. 'A bottle of Moet please, and two glasses.' What was she doing? Why had her voice come out all cut-glass? It was like being here worked like osmosis, absorbing the traits of the people around her. Or maybe it was Christie's comment about embarrassing them. Yeah, perhaps it wouldn't hurt to be someone else for this visit. She grinned. High-society Sofia, quaffing champagne and living the good life.
    'Yes, of course.' The barman's smile was fleeting as he turned to glance at her, and the coolness in his eyes was baffling. It was the guy who’d made the comment about her dress. It was a shame he seemed off with her, because he was cute. Mega-tall and lean, thick messy black hair, light stubble and doe-like chestnut eyes under straight black brows. He looked intense and intelligent, a touch dorky… and really, really appealing.
    'Thank you.' She picked up a menu, enunciating her vowels, 'And I would like-'
    'Let me guess,' he interjected, 'a champagne cocktail.'
    'No, actually,' she lifted her chin and looked down her nose at him, his tone annoying her, 'I'll have a Sex on the Beach.' The choice was pretty apt, seeing as the beach was practically her second home.
    There was the hint of a genuine smile on the barman's face but it disappeared swiftly as another thought seemed to occur to him. He muttered something under his breath. It didn't sound complimentary.
    'Excuse me?' she demanded, putting her hands on her hips.
    Little rich girl slumming it,
Nathan thought, but offered a bland, 'Nothing,' in reply to the haughty blonde, before making a big deal of checking the various fridges. 'I'll just go out back to grab the champagne,' he called over his shoulder as he strode away.
    He’d seen the way she looked at him, the hunger in her eyes. He was sick of rude, entitled women and this bloody place. As soon as he had enough money that was it, he was out of here. Perhaps it'd be different if he was on the other side of the bar, the one buying expensive drinks and being fawned over by beautiful girls, but he wasn't, and although female customers flirted with him every night, it was obvious they only saw him as someone who served them. Someone who wasn’t worthy. Jesus, he was getting bitter. What was wrong with him?
    He marched down a corridor and into one of the storerooms, grabbing the chilled champagne from the fridge and slumping back against its door. Blowing out a breath, he rubbed his eyes with shaking fingers. He was so bloody knackered from working all these insane hours. Sometimes he could hardly think or see straight. But it'd be worth it, to show everyone he could do it on his own, that he didn't need to rely on his cousin Matt to get ahead. Matt was a great guy and a famous music producer, but there was Nathan needed his cousin’s money or connections to open