Page 48 of Wild Rush
Chapter Sixteen
Rush smiled through clenched teeth at the woman across the bar. She’d been coming on to him and every other male member of staff since she sat down. He’d cut off her liquor an hour ago and she hadn’t taken the hint that perhaps she needed to go to her room.
He hated doing it, but he’d sent a text to Cam two minutes ago.
Normally he’d handle this type of thing himself. Hell, in the past, he may have taken her up on her blatant offer of sex in those first few minutes of acquaintance. Although he’d never messed with women who had tan lines on their wedding fingers and while this woman’s was faint, it was there. Plus, it had only taken two glasses of wine for her claws to come out.
He didn’t need to be this woman’s scratching post.
“Good evening, Mrs. Delacourt.” Cam slid onto the stool beside their inebriated guest.
“Mr. Newell.” The vulture—and yes, that’s what she reminded Rush of, a bird ready to pick a guy’s bones clean—eyed his friend with the same lecherous intent she’d used on every other male within sight. “Let me buy you a drink.”
Clicking her fingers at Rush, her previous cajoling tone turned commanding.
“Get this man a shot of the best scotch you have.”
Rush raised an eyebrow at Cam.
“That’s a lovely gesture, Mrs. Delacourt, but—”
“Call me Veronica,” she interrupted while attempting to lean in and reveal her obviously surgically enhanced cleavage to Cam. Unfortunately, she’d really had too much to drink, and she toppled forward, almost landing right in his lap.
“Jesus,” Cam muttered, his hands going to her shoulders to keep her out of his crotch. “Time to get you to bed.”
“Yes.” The woman smiled up at Cam. “Take me to bed.”
Cam glanced over at Rush. “This is not happening.”
Rush grinned. “Oh, yes it is, and you, my friend, are the one who has to deal with it.”
“Chicken.”
Rush laughed. “Yep. Yellow as they come.”
Cam got to his feet and hauled Mrs. Delacourt with him, pinning her to his side to keep her upright. Rush might have cut her off an hour ago but the damage had been done. The woman was pickled.
“I’ll be back,” Cam said. “And I’ll want that scotch.”
“Yes, boss.” He saluted him.
Cam rolled his eyes, turned away and stumbled a little before finding his balance. “Make that two,” he called as he all but dragged his practically passed-out burden from the bar.
Rush scanned the room. It was a slow night. One guy sat in the corner nursing the same bourbon he’d held three hours ago. A couple made out in the other corner, the champagne they’d consumed in celebration of their engagement long gone. Then there was the group of four women out to forget all about husbands, children, housework. They were regulars and Rush knew them all by name.
By his calculation, Cam would be back in fifteen minutes, enough time for Rush to restock the refrigerators before he poured his boss that drink.
He made a quick mental note of what he needed and headed into the storeroom. He hoisted a case of Blue Moon and grabbed two bottles of champagne—to replace the ones the newly engaged had consumed—and headed back out.
He didn’t notice the woman at the end of the bar, didn’t look that way until she spoke—and everything inside him stilled.
Sucking air into lungs that had turned into vacuums, Rush placed the two bottles of champagne on the bar and lowered the case to the floor at his feet. Only then did he turn to see if perhaps he’d finally lost his mind.
“Sabreena.”
She gave him a finger wave and a wobbly smile.
“Reena?” He took a step toward her. “I…”
