Page 4 of Art of Love
I needed to slow down. Not burn out after my second drink, or vomit.
The drink bubbled in my stomach, and I winced, holding my chest. My intuitive bartender pushed a glass of water over to me, and I drank that quickly.
“Thank you.”
He tipped his head with a curt nod and moved away to take an order.
I closed my eyes and held my head in my hands.
I’d have a few more drinks to get me out of this funk, then go home and sleep it off. My meeting with John was at two tomorrow.
I’d have the whole morning to whip myself into shape.
I hadn’t seen him in a little over three years, and I was grateful for the chance and opportunity he was giving me. John didn’t give second chances or even chances. If you got the job with him, it was because there was no denying that your talent impressed him in an irrefutable way.
When Lana got into UCLA, I contacted John on the off chance that he would give me achance. I was so worn out and kind of on my last hope, praying for a break.
He gave it to me. That was the one amazing thing that happened over the last few years. Being part of his company the first time was a dream, but getting another chance to seize that dream felt like more of an honor because it told me he thought I was good.
I wanted to be in top form tomorrow with the shit gone from my mind. Bernice couldn’t do anything about getting my money back right now, and I definitely couldn’t.
So, this was me trying.
I opened my eyes and swore I must have drifted into a dream because my gaze landed on Brad Pitt walking into the bar.
Brad Pitt as inLegends of the FallBrad Pitt, with the shoulder-length sleek blond hair parted on the side and tucked behind his ear and the beard. Jesus, the beard that was neatly trimmed and full-on sexy.
My eyes widened, and I blinked several times taking in the full vision of him.
Muscles pressed against the thin white cotton shirt he wore with the sleeves rolled up his thick forearms. I could see the hint of a Celtic swirl snaking up his right arm, disappearing under the fabric and reappearing at the base of his neck.
He was tall, tall and powerful looking, and just gorgeous.
Deliciously gorgeous.
Delicious?God, I was already losing my mind. And I was still staring.
He clocked on to me, zoomed in with a keen stare, but I looked away quickly, pretty certain that I was in no state to attract any form of attention today.
Not that I thought I’d attract his attention anyway.
Brad Pitt?No, couldn’t have been. Sure, we were in L.A., but Brad Pitt hadn’t looked like that in years.Legends of the Fallwas a 1994 film I watched with Mom over a hundred times right from the ages of seven to eleven. Enough to know the film word for word and develop an unhealthy obsession with the actor and watch every single film he starred in. I also knew enough to know that guy, although a pretty darn good dead ringer for Brad, was not him, because the last time Brad Pitt probably sported that look with the long hair was when he didTroyback in 2004.
This was 2016. Many years had passed since, and while I still thought he was the best-looking guy in the world, this guy here in the Fish Tale bar was a real blast from the past.
At least he made me forget my worries for all of two minutes.
“Can I have another one, please, and a bottle of red wine?” I asked my bartender friend as he walked by.
“Sure thing.” He looked concerned now but nodded and went to get my drink.
He came back with the original cocktail glass, which held the martini and a bottle of red wine. I downed the martini straight away and got that buzz in my brain I was searching for. It made my skin sparkle like someone threw fairy dust on me.
I was about to open the bottle of wine when someone came up beside me. Too close. I turned to look at the person and scowl, but as I looked up, all thoughts of scowling vanished from my mind.
Mr. Brad Pitt look-alike beamed down at me with sharp blue, blue eyes that reminded me of the sky in that in-between phase before nightfall. It was a dark blue like that, and against his blond hair his eyes were striking and almost otherworldly.
“My lady, going to drink that by yourself?” he asked in a rich English accent that stole my breath away, and all I could do was stare. I think that maybe I was drooling too, but I wasn’t sure. There was a good chance I was, to my embarrassment, but my brain had turned to soup and wasn’t able to function enough to care.
