Page 6 of Mad for Madison

“What are you up to?” Bradley asked, turning back with a mug of mulled wine, steam rising with the scent of cloves and spices.

“Just…clearing my head, I guess,” I said.

Bradley slid the mug toward me, his lips curling into a smile. “Well, as my Gran always says, ‘A clear head is just a cup away from a good decision—or a bad one you’ll at least enjoy.’”

My eyes widened. “That’s pretty damn accurate.” I brought my face close to the mug and inhaled deeply, unable to suppress a satisfiedmmmthat was dragged out of me by the scents.

“What is it that you need to clear from your head?” Bradley asked, leaning against the counter with both elbows. He wore a black T-shirt that fitted him as if Mama Viv had ordered it to be custom-made—it wouldn’t have surprised me if that was the case. His biceps swelled when he bent his arms, and I tore my gaze away from the sight.

“What else does your gran say?” I deflected silkily.

“She says, ‘Mulling over things is for wine, not for people. If it’s on your mind, let it out before it sours.’”

“You think you’re so clever,” I mock-accused. Bradley shrugged innocently, but a naughty smile spilled across his face. I rolled my eyes and inhaled deeply. “I warn you, it’s a long story.”

“Do I look busy?” Bradley asked.

I looked around. The two girls were finishing their cocktails and touching their things, probably preparing to leave. Sighing, I said, “There’s a party happening on Saturday. It’s a charity gala with plenty of people I know attending. I support the cause, of course—it’s very noble. It’s just that among the people coming,there are some I don’t exactly want to see. I’ve been avoiding this person for a year now, and you wouldn’t know this, but it’s kinda hard to avoid people in my circles. I’ve been doing a great job not running into this particular guy, but I’m running out of excuses, and I’m contractually obligated to attend anyway. So that’s what’s mulling.”

“That’s a long story?” Bradley joked.

I had cut out all the crucial context in order to avoid seeing whatever Bradley’s reaction would be if he discovered all of it. “I don’t do long speeches,” I said with a shrug.

He nodded seriously, thinking about my problem. “Why are you avoiding this person?”

“Because he’s mean,” I said. “And doesn’t know when to stop.” I shuddered and looked away.

“And this party, what’s it about?” he asked.

I regretted telling him anything. It was an open invitation for his questions. And yet, part of me wanted to get it off my chest. I couldn’t have spoken with Ricardo or, God forbid, Jett about it. I couldn’t tell anyone from the industry because it was such a small village. I sighed. “Look, I don’t know if I should be bothering you with this.”

“Don’t you know that bartenders are the original therapists?” Bradley asked.

I glanced at my mulled wine and couldn’t stop myself from laughing. Had it been a plain whiskey, we would have made a cliché scene from a noir film. “Can you keep a secret?” I asked, a tingle of fearful excitement passing through me.

Bradley nodded.

“The thing is, nobody knows this about me, and I…” And that’s when the fearfulness won over the excitement. I stammered and came to an underwhelming halt.

Bradley waited patiently, but he also leaned in conspiratorially close to me. And when no more words camefrom my lips, he asked me in the barest whisper, “Is it about, um, the work you do?”

My eyes widened. “How did you…?”

“Oh, I…” The blush creeping into his face was priceless. I would have appreciated it so much more if I weren’t blushing a little too. “I know.”

“You know?” I asked, my mouth dry.

“Sure I do,” Bradley said, looking away. He acted busy, picking up a cloth and wiping the clean counter just next to me. “Erm, not that I was, you know…I just stumbled on it.” He cleared his throat. “It’s good work.”

Seeing him flustered like this did the opposite thing to me of what I had expected. I had somehow thought that my carefully built confidence would shatter at the first encounter with someone awkwardly admitting they’d seen me do some seriously naughty things. Instead, his shyness empowered me. “You think so?”

Bradley huffed a chuckle and glanced at me. He nodded, shrugging simultaneously, and bit his lip. “Not that I’m watching your…you know.”

“But you’ve seen some,” I said, my heart lifting joyfully at the chance to tease him.

He laughed and dropped the cloth, deciding to face me. There was a spark of mischief in his eyes when his gaze met mine. “I have. And believe me, it wasn’t on purpose. It’s not like I was searching for you.”

I could have asked him what he was searching for, but I had a shred of mercy. “And it’s good stuff?”

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