“Okay.” She smiled charmingly. “But I will’ve been standing behind this bar for six hours straight. I can’t promise I will be the best company.”

“Then I take that as a yes? But did you tell me the time? Or am I still waiting for that answer?” She found herself absorbed in his eyes.

“Yo! Hey, sweetheart, how about you give us some service down here?” Claire’s attention suddenly was pulled away from the hold of those amazing eyes. The asshole down the bar needed more Jack and Coke. She started to walk away. Anthony reached for her hand, which was resting on the bar, only inches from his. His touch was warm and made her skin tingle. He didn’t ask again, but his expression did.

“At ten, I get off at ten.” She removed her hand from under his, shook her head, and walked down the bar, smiling to herself. She needed to find out what the asshole wanted.

The deep red vinyl seat of the semicircular booth situated on the edge of the dance floor tried unsuccessfully to imitate fine upholstery. Music filled the air, too loud and too fast. In Anthony’s mind, it was the perfect inducement for them to sit close in order to hear each other. He also had a bottle of the Red Wing’s finest cabernet sauvignon. Looking at his watch for the hundredth time, he read the hands as they said 10:30 p.m. It was then that he saw Claire walking across the empty dance floor toward his booth.

This was definitely a night for out-of-character behaviors. Not only did Anthony Rawlings usually not fraternize with regional associates, he also never waited for anyone. Under any other circumstances, he would have been up and gone by 10:05. His friends, associates, and employees all knew his obsession with punctuality. But tonight was different. As Claire eased herself into the booth, she smiled a fatigued grin and apologized for the delay. There was a problem with the cash register, but all is well now.

He gently touched her hand. Momentarily, he became transfixed by the contrast—his large and hers small. “I was beginning to wonder if you were standing me up.” His grin hinted toward levity. “But since I could see you across the room, I hoped I might still have a chance at friendly conversation.” Claire’s exhale and upturned lips told him she was relieved. Was it because he was still waiting or merely that her shift was complete? “Perhaps we could have a glass of wine, and you could enjoy sitting instead of standing.”

“I believe that would be very nice.” Anthony poured the wine and noticed Claire’s expression relax. The transformation occurring before him was from bartender into the real Claire Nichols. He watched as she took the glass, placed her lips on the rim, closed her eyes, and relished the thick red liquid on her tongue. Anthony fought the urge to think too much about her actions.

“So what’s a classy girl like you doing waiting on stooges like us?” Anthony’s rich voice refocused Claire’s attention. Her eyes twinkled with emerald lights as she turned to face him.

“Why, Anthony, I do believe that self-deprecating statement was a compliment to me in a way.” Her tone held that Southern accent that was far from her native Indiana cadence. He only arched his eyebrows, waiting patiently for an answer. Claire shook her head and fell into his charm. “I’m an out-of-work meteorologist. My news station was bought about a year ago. In their infinite wisdom, they decided I was no longer needed, so this,” she said as she glided her free hand open above the table “is my new glamorous life. Don’t knock it. It pays my student loans as well as multiple other bills.”

His laughter was deep and nonjudgmental. “Wouldn’t you rather be doing the weather thing than this?”

“Of course, but honestly, this isn’t so bad. I have some great friends here. There is always something going on, and I meet nice people like you.” Claire took another sip of the wine and leaned a little closer. “So that’s my story in a nutshell. Sir, it is your turn. You said you are here on business. What kind of business do you do?’

“I am actually involved in many businesses. I came to Atlanta for an acquisition, and some associates convinced me to come here to your esteemed establishment to try the world-famous fried green tomatoes.”

“Oh, they did. Did you?”

Anthony nodded. “Yes, I did.”

Claire’s snicker caused her to look down into her glass. “Did you like them?”

He likewise looked into his glass. “No, I don’t believe I am destined for Georgian cuisine.” Claire’s laugh made him look up. “Why are you laughing?”

“Because I think they are awful! Every time someone orders them, I want to whisper, ‘No, don’t do it.’ It is just that they are so . . .”

“Slimy?” They both said together and laughed. The conversation progressed effortlessly. She asked about his acquisition. Would his trip be successful? Anthony was honestly surprised at her depth and knowledge. It was a shame that her news station had not kept her on. She deserved so much better than tending bar. Of course, that was what he told her. They discussed her career opportunities. Since Anthony was involved in multiple endeavors, he offered the possibility of assistance with more profitable employment. Claire thanked him for his offer, but doubted his ability or desire to truly assist her.

“You know, your destiny could be as simple as an offer and a signature away.” He channeled every deal he ever made, which would be more than he could count or recall. Placing a napkin on the table, he drew her attention to the center design. “Just imagine if instead of the swirly lettering saying ‘Red Wing’ it was blocked and read ‘Weather Channel.’”

The bottle of cabernet sauvignon was almost empty. Claire closed her eyes and did as Anthony said, she imagined. Exhaling audibly, she said, “That would be wonderful. It would be the offer a meteorologist dreams about.”

Closing in on the deal, he said, “Well, Claire, if this napkin were that contract”—

he reached for a pen in his breast pocket and wrote at the top of the napkin “Job Contract”—“would you be willing to sign? Would you really give this all up for a job offer?”

She didn’t blink. “In a heartbeat!” Removing the pen from Anthony’s hand, she signed “Claire Nichols” next to the bar’s insignia.

About midnight, Claire thanked Anthony for the lovely company and explained that she was very tired from her long day and needed to get home. “I will be in town for a few more days. Perhaps I could call you for dinner? It isn’t proper to offer a lady alcohol and no food.”

“Thank you. I’m honored, but I believe I will chuck this up to my brush with an amazing gentleman and go on with my glamorous existence. I fear that the Weather Channel will not be contacting me anytime soon.”

Although her refusal surprised him, he didn’t let it show. In the long run, it wouldn’t matter, but he would play into her chastity. “I truly understand, dangerous man from out of town tries to learn your secrets and offers to help you with your aspirations. You are wise to keep your distance.” Although his grin had sinister written all over it, he assumed she would detect the facade.

“A girl can’t be too careful. Truly, I am honored, and I don’t think you seem that dangerous.” She began to scoot out of the booth, but he caught her hand. Their eyes met, and he bowed his head to kiss the back of her hand.

“It was wonderful to meet you, Claire Nichols.” With a smile, she retrieved her hand and slowly slid from the booth. The next minute, he was alone. He took the pen, signed his name, and wrote the date on the same napkin. He carefully folded it and placed it in the pocket of his suit jacket. Then he pulled out his phone and texted his driver: “PICK ME UP NOW.” He always used full words. Text language was a joke. Closing his eyes, he thought, Yes, my acquisition is going quite well. Thank you for asking.