“Do you know who Kandy K is?”

He shook his head.

“She was on that reality dating show where they stick everyone on a remote property and they have to fend for themselves and they all end up sleeping with one another by the third episode?”

He looked at her as though she’d sprouted antennae and had started speaking an alien language. “Uh, no.”

“Anyway, it’s D-grade TV. She was on that show and then someone leaked a sex tape of her and some football player—”

“Ah, yeah.” He snapped his fingers. “And now she hosts some late night radio talk show.”

“Yes, that’s her.”

“What the hell does she have to do with your business?”

“Well.” She sucked in a deep breath. “Kandy K is bringing out a line of infused vodkas, and all the restaurants I had lined up to launch my product are now backing out for a chance to get her stuff instead.”

“Right.” He frowned and raked a hand through his hair.

“Since she’s partnering with one of the big vodka companies the exposure is going to be huge.” Libby stared at her empty glass, willing it to refill itself. “There’s no way they’d take a chance on some one-woman band when they could have that instead. It’s so frustrating working your butt off for something and then have it completely crumble right in front of you.”

He wouldn’t know… When had Paul ever really worked for anything? He breezed through life on charm and charisma, at least that’s what his ex had said.

The girl in front of him looked up with her huge eyes. They weren’t brown, but they weren’t green, either. At this close distance he could see the flecks of gold and gray that speckled her irises, the half-moon of green that sliced through the honey-colored rings.

They were like her—intriguing, unusual, and sexy as hell.

She was a whirlwind of energy. It had certainly felt like a tornado struck him when she’d smacked into him at full speed, knocking the glasses straight off his tray and stealing the breath right out of his lungs. Not to mention he’d had to keep control over his body’s natural reactions when he’d picked her up and felt the brush of her sweet curves against him.

She wasn’t even his usual type. He was a die-hard blonde man and this girl’s hair was like the color of a copper coin. Most of the time, he found himself attracted to the life-of-the-party type, the girls who were the ones dancing even when there was no dance floor. She looked like she knew how to have fun, but there was a serious streak to her. She was sharp, intelligent.

Different.

“You have to at least tell me your name,” he said, running another curl of orange peel around the edge of her glass and dropping it into the drink. “In case this evening of denial ends up with me needing to call someone to pick you up.”

“Guess,” she said with a smirk, reaching out and taking the drink from him.

“You want me to guess your name?”

“Yeah.” Her rosy lips wrapped around the edge of the glass as she sipped. “What kind of girl do I look like?”

“One who knows how to lead a guy straight into trouble.”

He folded his arms across his chest, resisting her bait. Lips quirked into a smile, she waited for him to answer her question, her eyes locked onto his in silent challenge. For a moment the rest of the restaurant faded away; the ambient sounds dissolved into nothingness as his whole world focused in on her. For some reason the little staring contest made his blood pump harder, his competitive side stirred by the tilt in her chin.

“If you don’t guess then I won’t tell you my name,” she threatened, smiling.

“I’ll have to call you Tiger then.”

“Tiger?” She threw her head back and burst out laughing. “Why on earth would you call me Tiger?”

“We had a cat called Tiger growing up. He was ginger and his fur was exactly the same color as your hair.”

“Great, so you’re telling me that I remind you of an old cat.” She tried to sound offended, but her eyes sparkled and amusement bubbled in her voice. “That’s charming.”

“I’m calling it. Bartender one, Tiger zero.”

“My name is Libby.” She extended her hand over the bar. “Don’t call me Tiger.”

“Paul.”

A zing of electricity rocketed through him as her small palm slotted into his. Her skin was smooth and creamy, but she had a handshake as firm as any guy he’d ever met. It was the kind of handshake that warned him not to underestimate her.

“So this isn’t your bar?” she asked, releasing his hand.

“Nope.” He busied himself with wiping down the countertop. “My brother runs this place.”

One of the waiters came past and handed over an order slip. Two boutique beers and a house G&T. Boring.

“It looks like he’s doing well for himself,” Libby said, sipping her drink.

Paul bent down to the fridge below the bar and pulled out two beer bottles. He popped off the caps and set them down on a tray. “We got a write up in Gastronomy Magazine recently. They called us one of Melbourne’s up and comers.”

“Really?” Libby raised a brow and nodded her head. “That’s quite an honor. I’m surprised you could squeeze me in tonight. My grand entrance notwithstanding.”

“Week nights are still a little slow,” he replied with a smile. “But we’re packed on Fridays and over the weekends now. We had a queue right around the corner last Saturday.”

The article had been a huge win for First and reservations were up all around. They’d had to hire two new waitresses to keep up with the demand. Paul felt a surge of pride run through him, despite the fact that it wasn’t a win for him personally. But he wanted First to succeed. His brother deserved it.

“Hey, man. Don’t tell me you’ve resorted to hitting on girls who can’t run away.” Noah appeared at the bar and winked at Libby. “I left some paperwork in the back office. Have you got the key?”

“I’m perfectly comfortable here, thank you very much.” Libby said primly, sipping her drink.

“If he’s hassling you, just call out.” Noah came around the bar and dug his elbow into Paul’s ribs. “Although we never seem to get any complaints, do we? The ladies love him.”

“What the fuck?” Paul muttered under his breath, glaring at his so-called friend as he dug the keys out of his pocket.

“Relax, she knows I’m joking.” Noah grabbed the keys from Paul’s hand. “Gee, can’t take a little friendly ribbing tonight, can we? This is payback for always stealing the pretty girls in high school. That was uncool, and you know it.”

“That was years ago.” Paul turned to Noah so Libby couldn’t see his face. “Are you going to hold that against me forever?”

As Noah sauntered off, Paul turned and caught Libby watching him closely, her hazel eyes sweeping over him in unconcealed analysis. What did he care if she believed that he was a shameless womanizer? It’s not like he’d see her again.

But the very thought made his stomach turn.

“It’s amazing how one little article can make such a big difference,” she said, graciously turning the conversation back to the bar. “You know, this is exactly the kind of place that would be perfect for my cocktails.”

Topping the gin off with tonic water, Paul grabbed a slice of lime from the dish in front of him and wedged it onto the glass’s rim. He signaled to the waiter to come and collect the order.

Libby looked at him expectantly. There was something about her sincere face and those beautiful, intoxicating eyes that made him want to help her. He knew little about her business and nothing about her personally, but she stirred in him some basal desire to protect.

“You should talk to my brother.” He hunted around for the business cards that Des had recently ordered but couldn’t find them.

“That would be great.”

He grabbed a napkin and a pen. “Here’s his name and number. He’ll be in tomorrow morning.”

She plucked the napkin from his hand and finished the rest of her drink before fishing around in her bag and pulling out a lipstick and mirror. A woman with blue hair came up to the bar and placed a hand on Libby’s shoulder, her face creased with concern.