“Salvadore taught me Spanish guitar, and that music is a universal language,” Lacy said primly.

“So is French-kissing, judging from the scene I witnessed in the walk-in.”

“Passion is a key requisite of flamenco, sis. I was merely seeking authenticity.”

It was a breath of fresh air to see Lacy’s smile reach her eyes. Andy couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen her sister relaxed and genuinely happy besides when she was onstage. Since before Lance died, for sure. Which was why she rarely missed Lacy’s gigs, even when she’d rather be home soaking in the tub with a glass of wine.

The fact that she couldn’t afford a cheap bottle of Beringer played in Lacy’s favor.

Lacy licked the fry salt off her finger. “So we’re decided, then? What are you going to wear tonight?”

“Don’t think you’ll catch me doing your side work these days, little sis. What does one wear to a hipster wine bar, anyway?” How sad was it that she wasn’t even thirty and she had no idea what was in? The Ellis bubble hadn’t left much time for real life.

“How about keep the pencil skirt, and wear my gray sequined tank? I have a pair of oversized lensless glasses and a fedora you could wear, too.”

If that was what was in these days, no wonder she hated going out. “How about you wear that, and I’ll find something else. I think I’m too old for hipster chic.”

*   *   *

Blake stared at his monitor, fingers steepled beneath his chin. He was well aware that the pose made him look slightly villainous, and had cultivated it to keep unwanted visitors from popping into his office and interrupting him. The ad had been taken down nearly as soon as Andrea Dawson had closed the door, overly firmly, behind herself. Yet the email account he’d set up to receive answers was still getting messages, 242 and counting. He could have delegated it to his secretary, of course, but this was a delicate matter. Best to handle it personally. Blake wanted to delete them all, but since Drea had left a message with his secretary an hour before politely declining the job, he knew it wasn’t wise.

Maybe he should forget the whole damn bride idea. Except that would be admitting defeat, and Blake Donovan never admitted defeat. When he’d hit his thirty-fifth birthday nearly a year before, he had achieved everything on his five-year plan except marriage. He firmly believed then—and still did now—that a wife was necessary for various reasons, such as hosting social engagements, appealing to clients who were more family-centered, and having an automatic plus-one at all the charity and business functions he attended. Also, the sex would be more convenient than his current method of cruising the local bars. And though he’d never say it aloud, he found returning home after a long day at work to an empty house was lonely. Silly, yes, but true.

He’d thought finding a wife would be an easy enough task. First, he went to his colleagues to set him up. But after several horrible blind dates and with his next birthday approaching quickly, he felt a professional was needed to find the woman for him. So Blake had joined Millionaire Matches online. That turned out to be another big fat failure. Perhaps Blake made a mistake by sleeping with and then dumping the CEO. Her parting words to him as she closed his account were, “You couldn’t pay someone enough money to find a bride for you in this town.” He couldn’t let that challenge go undefeated, now, could he?

Blowing air through his pursed lips, he considered.

Drea was his choice for the job, hands down. Who else had the precise background and skills to seek out and vet his future wife? By and large, the other candidates who had shown up in his office wearing too much makeup and perfume were only interested in wedding him themselves. And the few serious inquirers had résumés filled with skills such as “social media ninja.” What the hell was that supposed to mean? He wasn’t about to hire someone like that to perform the most important task he was going to assign this year.

And there was that something else about Drea. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Her brash approach was usually a turnoff in an employee. Perhaps it was that she’d turned him down—no one said no to Blake Donovan, after all. It couldn’t be that, though—he’d sensed the something even before that.

He struggled to put a name to it. Underneath her obvious dislike and disrespect for Blake and the job he was proposing, he sensed … what?

A connection, that’s what. An understanding that few people had of him.

It was both terrifying and thrilling.

He had to explore it further. Completely in a working relationship form, of course.

So how to convince her to change her mind? He was willing and able to up the starting salary. Calling her to tell her that would make him look desperate, though, and Blake Donovan would not be seen as desperate. His shoe tapped the floor rapidly. He pulled up Google and typed her name into the search field. Several hits came back from various society pages, photos of Drea in evening gowns on the arm of Max Ellis.

He noticed two things immediately. The first was that for a girl who had absolutely nothing in common with his ideal, she looked more stunning in each photo. The second was that in each picture, Drea was leaning slightly away from Ellis, while he was either leaning closer to her or gripping her waist. Blake smiled. He’d bet money he had just discovered the root of her tight-lipped silence on the subject of her former employer.

That was a relief, because in truth he was a bit disconcerted about her lack of a referral. That it was due to an unwanted attraction was something he could deal with.

Among the glamorous pictures of charity balls and banking events was one he almost overlooked. Drea in jeans, grinning widely at the camera, arm around a taller, blonder version of herself. The caption indicated that the tall girl was named Lacy Dawson, an up-and-coming singer-songwriter. Had to be her sister. Intrigued, Blake changed the name in his search field.

Lacy came back with a lot more hits than her sister. Although far from successful, she had tons of gig listings, studio bios, and even a Facebook fan page. Blake felt most musicians were fairly shiftless, but he could tell this was a girl who worked hard. That reflected well on Drea. The proud, supportive sister. The type to show up to all of Lacy’s shows.

Blake clicked on a link listing Lacy’s upcoming performances, and wrote down the address he found there. He smiled for the first time all day.

Chapter Four

“So is it mandatory that I wear a trucker hat?” Andy asked her new boss, Zeke. They were at a corner table in the brick-lined bar discussing terms of employment.

“The thing about trucker hats is that they are so out that they have become ironic all over again. So you’ll probably want to hit a thrift store and grab a couple. We love irony here at Irony and Wine. It’s sort of our thing, as you may have gathered. You have no idea how hard it is to stay up to date on facial hair trends for our male staffers.” Zeke sipped his Malbec and glanced around the still-calm early-evening bar.

Lack of confidence leading to overcompensation in beardage. Andy loved being able to comfortably work out people’s issues. She could do this.

“Your bar is obviously super successful. I can’t wait to be a part of it.” She played to the strength she perceived: his ego.

His lip quirked beneath the thick coating of ginger hair. “You know, Andy, I think you’ll be a nice fit here. Why don’t we plan the rest of the night to be a working interview. Are you comfortable sliding behind the bar and helping Brax out this evening?”

So her initial read had been correct. Thank goodness. As unmarketable as her skills may be most of the time, she relied on them to guide her through social interactions as much as business. She still had it.