Hunted on Christmas: A Virgin and Billionaires Reverse Harem Romance by Ryan Ramsay

Author:Ryan Ramsay [Ramsay, Ryan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-12-17T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

Peter

“And that’s what I said, but the chick kept calling me an armadillo!”

“Interesting story there sir,” the chap responds with a light Italian accent. His trade is simple. Keep wiping down the glasses while the client drinks himself silly. It would be awkward if he just sat there listening like a fucking psychotic psychotherapist. Trust me. They exist.

“Would you like some more whisky?”

“More is always better, Smirnoff. Say,” I ask while he pours some more of the good stuff. “Smirnoff is not Italian. It’s Russian. You have an Italian accent. How is this so?”

“Good eye, sir,” he says with a quick wipe of the polished counter. “I came here to work. Good food. Good women. Life is simple in Italy, no? Not many people can see the name tag from where you sit. Good eye!” he reiterates.

“Thank you, mate. So have I told you of the time a couple of buddies of mine ran naked into the pool of this really intense Vatican cardinal—”

“Three fingers. Neat. Something stronger than the watered down piss he’s having.”

Both of our attention turns to this woman whose brash tongue seems to have really hit Smirnoff’s emotions home.

“Hey, hi. It’s not watered down at all. It is really good st—”

“Am I going to wait all night for that drink, sir? Please!”

“What I think the beautiful lady is asking Smirnoff, with some form of intense politeness, is for some of the good stuff that you hide behind that counter there for the exclusive guests.”

She immediately cools off. I can swear there’s steam rising off of her. Tact is the way, gents. It always has been.

“I…I apologize for that.” She pats at her hair and tucks a loose strand behind her ear. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“We live in stressful times,” I say gently, handing the drink from bartender to second client. “Don’t mention it. I’m sure Smirnoff here has had more than his fair share of such.”

I watch her as she downs the shot bitterly. Anyone with a rough eye condition can tell she is no seasoned drinker. She wipes at the drops at the ends of her curvy lips, cringing at the soreness.

“You must be more used to sweet drinks.”

“I don’t actually. First shot.”

“No kidding.”

“Yeah.”

Her height is perfect for the body type she possesses. Astute waist with a fine thigh line that runs quite comfortably down to the back of her knees; an endless lock of hair that is loose and befitting the neck that holds it up; a face that is beautiful with no makeup at all. She is simply stunning. Or I am drunk.

“Where did you learn to order drinks like that?” I ask, trying to ease an already tense counter. Smirnoff is already tending to other clients at the far side, leaving me to the interesting company.

“Ma Baker, I think. It was long ago and it felt right just spitting it out.” She slides her arms across the maple wood and looks at me for the first time. “I’m really sorry about that.

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