Page 19 of Recklessly Rogue

He doesn’t say anything to that. Instead, he pulls his phone out, taps in a number and lifts it to his ear.

I lean onto the bar, propping my chin on my hand to watch. I can’t help it. He’s interesting. And amusing. In an I-want-to-strangle-you-and-fuck-you-so-bad-I-almost-can’t-stand-it way.

“Is this Dan?” he asks a moment later.

I frown. Dan? That’s the name of the bar owner. My boss.

“This is Henry Dean. I’m a friend of Ruby’s. She needs to leave early tonight and I was wondering how much you think you’d typically bring in the rest of the night?”

He pauses, obviously listening to whatever Dan is saying.

I roll my eyes. Seriously, I don’t think Henry Dean or Cian O’Grady—or any of the other royals, as far as I can tell—have ever learned the meaning of the word audacity.

But they live it. Out loud.

“Okay, I’m going to double that amount,” Henry says a moment later. “If you give me your account information, I’ll wire it right now. Then we’re going to close the bar down, and I’m going to take Ruby home.”

He pauses again, then holds his hand out to me. I lift a brow.

Instead of using his words, he leans in, plucks out the pen I have tucked behind my ear, and writes a number on a napkin.

Oh my God, Dan just gave a total stranger his bank account number over the phone. I’m going to have to have a talk with my boss, the sixty-eight-year-old man who has lived in the same town all his life and lets people run tabs for months at a time. He named the bar Big Dick’s when he and his best friend, Kevin, started it. Not because of their names or because of any body parts, but because they both were well-known, well, jerks.

Dan has mellowed, though, in the three years since Kevin died. Not completely, but definitely some.

Still, just handing his banking info out?Come on, Dan.

“Thanks, Dan. Sending that in the next five minutes. I’ll text you when it’s gone through,” Henry says.

Is it the accent? I wonder, watching this transpire right before my eyes. The British accent does make him sound… I don’t know. Sexy as fuck, to me, but that’s probably not what’s working on Dan. Maybe posh? Serious? Sophisticated?

The accent is sometimes more obvious than at other times. He can turn it up or down depending on the situation and his mood. I noted that when we first got to know each other. He explained that he often adopts an American accent, as does Cian, and as a bodyguard trying to blend into the background, over the past decade-plus, he’s dropped a lot of British words and slang from his vocabulary. Both he and Cian have Americanized their speech.

Once in a while a word or term will sneak in.Bloodyis common when he’s worked up. French fries are chips. And he cannotcall pants pants. They’re trousers. He also sometimes calls panties ‘knickers’ but it always makes me giggle for some reason. It’s a funny-sounding word, what can I say?

Henry disconnects the call but then starts swiping over his phone screen. Presumably, transferring some stupid amount of money—though it’s a Tuesday night in Emerald, Ohio, and it’s already near eleven p.m. It’s not like Dan brings in half a million dollars a night and certainly not in the three hours left before we close up—to Dan’s account.

“You just always do whatever you want, don’t you?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

“I do,” Henry confirms without looking up.

He hits a final button, then pivots on his stool. “Last call, guys!” he tells the mostly empty room. “And this final round is on the house since we’re closing up early.”

Everyone perks up at that, but I frown. “We?”

“I’m going to buy the bar tomorrow,” he says, turning back to face me.

I straighten. “What?”

“That’s just easier than calling Dan and paying him every time I need you to be available. If I’m your boss, I can decide when, and if, you work.”

I stare at him. He doesn’t say that in a sexy, flirty way. If he’d made that into a hotwhen I’m your bosskind of way, I might have smiled and gone along with it.

As it is, I plant a hand on my hip. “You’re insane.”

“Actually no. I have a full physical and mental exam every year. Perfectly fit in every way.”

That calm tone of voice and the way he watches me with an impossible-to-read expression makes me feel very much like slapping him. Which would not be the most composed, in-control thing to do.

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