At Your Service. Amy Cousins Jo

she hadn’t stuck around to ask him if he would be able to find fill-in staff for tonight’s shift, and if so, how many people he might be able to dig up.

      Worst case scenario, she imagined, would have her greeting people at the door, seating them, taking orders, serving drinks and food, clearing tables and washing dishes in the kitchen. As long as he didn’t expect her to cook, they might actually stumble their way through the evening intact.

      Just in case, though, she selected clothes that looked quietly chic, yet were sturdy enough to stand being splashed by or soaked in various liquids and solids. Black, straight-cut pants that wouldn’t show spills. A white blouse made from a fabric absolutely not found in nature, but that miraculously refused to stain—even red wine rinsed out of it with a splash of club soda. The shoes she dragged out from the bottom of the closet were black lace-ups that looked contemporary, with a short stacked heel, and had the most expensive arch support inserts on the market hidden in them.

      She hadn’t thought to bring any aprons with her from the restaurant on the day she’d fled her family and their demands. She hadn’t thought much at all that day, Grace admitted to herself. She’d simply left work, packed a bag at her condo and decided to disappear.

      And disappear she had, for the past two weeks, using the time to sit in diners and coffee bars and trying to think of a solution to her problems. But now she was running out of cash, and she knew that withdrawing money from her bank account or using checks or credit cards would leave an easily followed trail.

      She’d thought it would be easy enough for her to get a job, at least a low-paying one. And here Grace laughed at herself. She’d conveniently blinded herself to the reality of life, which was that without ID or personal references, the average person on the street wasn’t going to trust her with a dime, much less a job or an apartment.

      Tyler certainly isn’t likely to allow me to stick around for long as a mystery lady, she thought.

      The stress of the day swept over her in a slowly crashing wave and she felt herself on the edge of tears for the second time that day.

      I need a nap. Just an hour nap, and then I can figure out a way to make him keep me on. He wouldn’t be the first restaurant owner to pay staff under the table.

      She stretched out across the top sheet on her bed and snagged her travel alarm clock off of the nightstand. Just an hour, she thought hazily, and then I’ll figure it all out. She pressed the buttons and flipped the switch that would wake her up at one o’clock in the afternoon.

      Her eyes were already closed as she fumbled the alarm back onto the nightstand. And as her brain slowly shut down, she was left with a single image floating in the last, dreamy layers of thought. The image of Tyler, the widening pools of his dark, almost-midnight eyes staring at her over her own hand as he moved his lips over her skin.

      She dreamed, as she drifted off, and in her dreams Tyler’s mouth slid from her hand to glide up her arm. His lips grazed across her shoulder and trailed slowly up to her mouth, leaving starflower kisses glowing faintly against her skin as she dreamed of them in the night. And when he left her, in her dream, the skin of her body was flushed and glowing with the light of the stars, absolutely everywhere.

      Three hours later, when she pushed open the restaurant door and stepped inside to coolness, only to stop short at the sight of Tyler, she knew she was in trouble. The incredibly sensual dreams of her afternoon nap were one thing—and a pleasure she figured she was allowed to indulge in, since it was only a dream. But here she was, damn near drooling at the sight of him, and the man had his back to her while he spoke on the phone, for crying out loud.

      “You’re staring at the back of his head, Grace. No big deal,” she muttered to herself.

      But there was something in the way he ran his fingers through his hair that made her want to take over the job herself. Run her own fingers through the thick, dark hair that was overly due for a cut, and smooth it back to order for him.

      “Thanks a million, angel. You’re redeeming my faith in women. See you in an hour.”

      She heard him chuckle and say goodbye to the woman on the other end of the phone line, and repressed the urge to find out who the woman was and to scratch her eyes out. Sheesh, her hormones must be on overdrive.

      Think bossman, not boyfriend, she repeated to herself silently.

      “Your reference checked out fine. Great, even. Although you should tell that guy to cut out the fake French accent.”

      She didn’t think he’d noticed her come in. His back to the door still, redialing the phone, Tyler reached behind him and placed some papers and a pen on the bar.

      “Just fill these out, you can skip the references part, and we’ll get you set up.”

      For five minutes he chatted up what sounded like yet another woman on the phone, his voice coaxing seductively, promising anything. Meanwhile, Grace filled out her fake name, and hotel address, and then stared blankly at the lines requesting her driver’s license and social security numbers. She hadn’t figured out a way to wriggle out of this part yet.

      When Tyler hung up the phone and finally turned toward her, she flinched involuntarily and started digging through her purse, looking for inspiration.

      “Not done yet?” he asked, looking at the half-completed form.

      “Um, no,” she mumbled as she shoved her wallet to the bottom of her purse. Then she put on her most innocent, worried look and tilted the purse so that he could look in to see the tangle of makeup and scrap paper. “I think I left my wallet back in my room.”

      With any luck, her new boss would just think she was a little flighty, and not a little con artist.

      Her luck held.

      “Bring it tomorrow,” he said shortly. Punching a button on the register, he popped the cash drawer open and tugged out two twenties. He handed them across the bar to Grace. “Somehow, we didn’t get any limes or lemons with our produce delivery this morning. Not a good thing for a bar. I want you to get as many of each as you can.”

      The request was made as casually as if she’d worked for him for years, but Grace still felt as though she was being tested. She wondered what odds he was putting on her returning with the fruit and banished her irritation at being under suspicion. Hopefully, the idea that she’d run off with his cash was the long shot in his mind.

      “I don’t really know the neighborhood. I’m sorry.”

      “For what?”

      She’d apologized automatically, somehow feeling the need to atone for the theft she knew he imagined.

      “There’s a store two blocks north on Linden,” he continued. “Make it fast. We’ve got a lot of work to do still.”

      She slid off the stool and flew out the front door of the bar. Feeling as though she’d just received a Get-Out-of-Jail-Free card in a Monopoly game, she was halfway to the store before she realized that she hadn’t really escaped anything. She would still have to figure out how she could get around showing him an ID.

      Tyler might not worry about filling out her paperwork for a day or two, but Grace knew that wouldn’t last. Sooner or later he’d remember that he had yet to see any form of identification from her. She would count on making herself invaluable to the man before that point.

      Even if she only had tonight, she’d do it. She’d make Tyler think he couldn’t live without her.

      Strange lady, Tyler thought as he continued making the necessary calls to come up with at least a skeleton staff for the night. She’d practically begged him for this job, but she’d rushed out the door on his errand as though she’d just been let out of prison.

      The ever-present nervousness in her vivid blue eyes contrasted sharply with the delicate grace of her features. She looked as if she constantly expected him to snap at her. And she had definitely been aware of his spontaneous honesty test.