Tessa

Walking through the lobby, I take a deep breath as I approach the restaurant. The hostess is dressed in all black, making me second-guess my pink attire.

“Good evening. I’d like a table for dinner, if one’s available,” I say in a smooth, I-have-it-all-figured-out way. No need to expose my anxiety for being by myself in a city where I don’t know a soul.

“Sure thing, miss,” she says with a slight hiss. It stings a bit, but I brush it off. “Will your family be joining you?”

Ouch. That one hurt.

“No. Just me,” I say, defeated by her words and feeling like a fifteen-year-old runaway.

After rolling her eyes at me, the bitchy hostess grabs a menu from under her stand, then leads me to a small square table.

“Your server will be with you shortly,” she says, looking down her nose at me before turning away. Good riddance.

After settling into my seat, I glance around the restaurant. It has a definite Old World-meets-hipster vibe with its worn, polished tables and brick walls. Muted lights are strung high overhead, giving the space a dark ambiance. I picked Hammond Hotel because it was rated high on the trendy scale, and it definitely lives up to it.

I peruse the wine list, which consists of several pages, and concentrate on the reds served by the glass. I don’t see a pinot noir or merlot anywhere, so I move to the sparkling wines, finally finding one that’s familiar: my beloved prosecco. It’s my version of champagne on a budget. A thirty-something man in a long-sleeved white shirt and black pants stops at my table.

“Good evening. My name is Jeffrey and I’ll be your server.” I give him a welcoming smile, which he returns. “Would you care for something to drink tonight?”

“Yes. May I please have a prosecco?” I respond, closing the catalog list of wines.

“Certainly,” he answers, bending closer to me. “But I’ll need to see your I.D.”

At least he whispers the last part. Though, I should’ve expected it after the comments from the hostess. Seriously, it’s surprising she gave me the wine list at all.

I pull my wallet from my purse and hand Jeffrey my Alabama driver’s license. He scans it over, then appraises me, and finally smiles. Whew.

“I knew you were Southern, Contessa Holly,” he says, giving me my license back. I don’t miss the mischievous and flirty spark in his eye either. “And you have a beautiful first name. Fitting for a beautiful young woman.”

“Thanks.” I turn my eyes down toward my lap, feeling a flush spread across my face. I wonder if all men here are this forward.

“Do you go by Contessa?” he continues, though I wish he would go fetch my drink already.

“Just Tessa,” I say, looking up at him once again.

Maybe in my thirties I’ll try the older sounding version. I’ve always felt I needed to be more accomplished to wear my first name properly. Perhaps after I make senior executive, or get married and have a couple of kids. Though, at my pace, I’ll be lucky to snag a first date.

“Tessa suits you. Be right back with a prosecco for the pretty lady in pink.” He taps the table and gives me a not so subtle smirk before walking toward the bar.

I open the dinner menu and browse over the choices. My eyes go wide at the prices. All the entrees are over twenty-five dollars, even the usually less expensive pasta and chicken dishes.

The fact that I’m not in Alabama anymore hits me hard, and I realize a sobering truth: I need to land a job where I make some serious bank to survive here. I finally decide on one of the least expensive things: lentil soup. It should be filling and might include some bread, if I’m lucky.

As I wait for the server to return, an older man dressed in a rich dark suit enters the restaurant by himself, catching my attention. A suited man always turns my eye. It’s my version of male lingerie.

His shoulders are broad and his stance is commanding. All eyes watch him stride through the restaurant like he owns the place. His thick, wavy hair is ink black with a glossy shine any woman would die for—myself included.

Forget the simple act of wearing clothes. His suit moves like it’s upholstered to his form. Lucky suit. His pace slows as he approaches the bar, which happens to be close to my table. Lucky me.

His thick biceps flex as he pulls out a barstool and takes a seat. Dammit. Now his back is all I can see—not that I’m complaining. He has a really nice backside.

“Sorry for your wait, miss. Here’s your drink.” Jeffery seems out of breath as he places a champagne glass full of bubbling liquid in front of me.

“Thank you,” I say before taking a sip.

As the cool liquid hits my tongue and quickly disappears, the handsome businessman twists on his barstool. He scans the room, stopping when his eyes land on me, meeting mine dead on.

Whoa …

His piercing dark eyes regard me without expression. I freeze in place, my glass still touching my lips, finding it difficult to breathe. Good lord, he’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen, aside from movies or magazines, and even then, I can’t think of a guy hotter than him.

I turn in my chair and look behind me, fully expecting to find someone else standing there, like a beautiful woman worthy of his handsomeness. But the space is empty. I face forward again, my eyes reconnecting with this gorgeous stranger, overwhelmed he’s giving me his full attention.

He shakes his head, and I notice a small rise at the corner of his full lips. The next thing I know, he gives me a dazzling smile, and a strange rush washes over me.

I think I just swooned and had my Jake Ryan “yeah, you” moment. Except the hot guy isn’t a high school senior leaning against a sports car; he’s a thirty-something suited sex god sitting at a bar in freaking New York City.

Glancing down at my dress, I grimace. The ruffle top reminds me of Molly Ringwald’s bridesmaid dress in Sixteen Candles. Maybe it’s time to upgrade my pretty-in-pink look.

I give him a weak smile in return, and consider this a monumental feat since I can’t remember my own name. He brings a glass of amber liquid to his lips. His eyes never leave mine as he takes a sip, showing off his practiced seduction skills.

He licks his lips, and that devastating smile aimed right at me returns. My nipples react, trying to cut through the cotton of my thin dress. They’ve never met a man like this, or really any man, because he’s nothing like the boys from college. He’s a lethal and way-too-old-for-me man. Maybe …

“Excuse me, miss. Have you decided on what to order?”

Jeffrey stands in front of me with a pen in his hand, blocking the eye candy who was eyeing me, thus destroying my swoony high.

“Oh yeah, order,” I sputter as Jeffery waits for an answer.

“Yes, I’m assuming you’re here for dinner, or maybe you’re waiting on someone to join you?” His eyebrows rise in question.

“I’m sorry,” I manage while sitting up in my chair. “May I please have the lentil soup?”

“And for your main course?” Jeffrey asks.

“Just the soup.” Ugh. I need to find a place where I can eat a meal for less than fifty dollars.

“Another prosecco?” he asks, but I surely don’t need more with my current brain buzz. Besides, I need to hit the sidewalks tomorrow morning in search of a job, not a hangover cure.

“No thanks. Just water.”

With a quick nod, Jeffery slides my dinner menu under his arm and walks toward the back of the crowded restaurant.

Unable to resist the gorgeous man magnet, I turn back to find him still sitting sideways on the barstool turned toward me. He’s focused on his phone, his long, capable fingers dwarfing it. Maggie has this crazy theory. She believes a man’s penis is roughly double the size of his thumb, which would make this man extremely blessed below the belt.

His killer jawline has more stubble than a five o’clock shadow, but he doesn’t have a full beard. It would be a crime against Mother Nature and the humans in his presence to fully cover a jaw like his.

After a few minutes, he sets his phone down on the bar. With a slight smile, he picks up his drink and raises it in a toast … to me. I can’t believe he’s still looking my way. What universe am I in?

I raise my glass to match his and take a sip, but nothing meets my lips. I pull my glass away and eye it. Empty. He laughs at my situation, and I join him. He holds up a finger, asking me to wait, and swivels forward on his seat, signaling the bartender over to him.

During his conversation, he points to me, and the bartender nods before turning away. Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome gives me a big thumbs-up, so I guess he’s buying me a drink? I can’t believe this is happening. I owe Maggie for insisting I leave my room tonight. I never thought I’d make it past her first suggestion. Well, I haven’t actually spoken to him, but buying me a drink is like saying hello in adult dating talk.

I mouth, “Thank you,” and twirl a loose strand of hair around my finger—a nervous habit I’ve had since before I can remember, and one that makes me look childish. I tuck my hands under the table to control my errant fingers.

He grins at me with a quick nod, but there’s something sweet in the way he looks at me. It calms me even though my heart is racing. When he pushes back from the bar and stands up with his drink in his hands, his clothes seem to magically fall in place around him. He doesn’t need to even straighten his tie.

My breath catches as he moves toward me, and my heart rate hits aerobic levels. Could he actually be coming over to my table?

The idea both excites and freaks me out. Everything about him shouts worldly and refined, while I sit here in my Forever 21 dress looking like I just graduated from college … which I did.

Before he can take two full steps my way, a woman moves in front of him. Dammit. She’s dressed in high-end couture with a tight black pencil skirt and a white silk blouse tucked in at the waist. Her dark hair is twisted into a high bun on top of her head. I can’t see her face, but I watch her kiss him on the cheek, and sadly, he does the same to her.

They exchange a few words, and he glances over her shoulder to look at me. Our eyes lock, and he smiles while tilting his head, almost like he’s trying to apologize. For what, I’m not sure. The woman turns her head, following his gaze to meet mine.

And of course, she’s drop dead gorgeous, and closer to his age and level of sophistication. Perfect makeup, perfect hair, perfect clothes—the perfect polished look I’ll never have this side of a Tim Gunn makeover and total submersion at Sephora.

With a knowing look in her eyes, the woman inspects me with that instinctual female once-over, then says something to him. He nods at her—or is it at me?

In complete shock, I can’t seem to close my mouth. Here he is with a woman he’s more than air kissed, and he’s still flirting with me. What a player. A drop-dead gorgeous one, but a player is a player all the same.

The handsome jerk gives me a quick wink, then places his hand on the small of his date’s back before guiding her out of the restaurant, making me question the short interaction I had with him.

I watch the cozy pair until they disappear into the lobby. It’s a good thing his date arrived before he made it to my table. I’d rather know the truth from afar than have it blow up right in my face.

I take a deep breath and try to exhale all the crazy feelings this guy stirred up inside me. No man has ever gotten me this hot and bothered– or angry before. After two more breaths, I feel less revved up and notice Jeffrey heading toward me with a tray in his hands.

“Your lentil soup, my lady,” he says, placing the steamy bowl down in front of me. “A basket of bread. I threw in a few extra pieces,” he whispers.

“Thanks,” I say, ready to dig in.

“And another prosecco from an admirer at the bar.” He turns to where the man with the wandering eyes was sitting. “Well, looks like he’s left. Odd.”

“Yeah, very. Since he left with his date.”

“Do you know who he was?” Jeffrey leans down closer to me, like he’s telling me something he shouldn’t.

“He buys me a drink before leaving with his date. I’d say he’s a cheater.” I cross my hands over my chest with a huff. Just thinking about the gall of this stranger has me getting worked up all over again.

“No kidding?” Jeffery sets the tray down. “I’ve known him a few years. Actually, he owns this hotel … well, his family does, and they’re amazing to the employees here.”

“Wait, he owns this hotel?”

“Yes, the Hammond family does. You know, the same ones who own Hammond Press?”

“What’s his name?” I ask, because I’ve been trying to get this publisher to respond to my five hundred emails with my résumé attached. I think I’ve applied for every job they’ve posted online, even ones requiring ten years’ experience. I want a job there badly.

“Barclay Hammond,” Jeffrey says.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. I thought he was like seventy.”

“Barclay Hammond Senior is, but the guy at the bar is his son, Barclay Junior.”

“Wow.” I’ve been reduced to one word, which is pretty sad considering I graduated with honors in English.

“Listen, I need to get back to my six-top.” He picks up the tray and tilts his head to the right. “They keep looking my way and frowning.”

“Sorry. Sorry,” I say, shooing him away with my hands.

“Oh, by the way, he paid for your dinner.”

“Really?”

“You must have made quite the impression on him,” he adds, a sparkle in his eyes.

Even though this small bowl of soup and drink are double what it costs at home, it feels wrong accepting Barclay Hammond’s payment knowing he’s a typical Manhattan playboy.

I wish he’d come back so I can tell him what I think of him, then throw my prosecco in his handsome face and watch the drops dribble over his Armani tie. But it would be a shame to let my favorite drink go to waste.