One Night Charmer. Maisey Yates

      “I wish you would reconsider. I miss you. You could move out of the main house and come live in my little villa. You wouldn’t even have to pass Dad coming and going.”

      “Maddy...I love you. And I miss you. I’m sorry I haven’t seen you since I left. I’m not mad at you for staying, I’m really not.”

      “I’m not mad at you for leaving. I just wish I could understand. Why all this... I mean, if you’re going to be upset anyway, why not be upset...not working in a bar?”

      “I have to prove this to myself, Maddy. I have to find a way to be something other than a West. I have to do it now. And I should have done it a long time ago.”

      “I like hiding behind the name, personally,” Madison said. “I tried to step out from Dad’s shadow once. Now I have a scandal and a ruined career to my name. All before I turned eighteen. Yay me.”

      “None of that crap with David was your fault.” Just thinking about that time in Madison’s life made Sierra angry all over again. “He lied to you. People are assholes so they blamed the actions of a thirty-five-year-old man on a seventeen-year-old girl. This isn’t that. I’m twenty-five. I need to... I need to figure myself out.”

      “I’m twenty-seven and I still haven’t done that.”

      “The dressage lessons, and training and all that...that’s your world. It’s who you are. I just manage the office. I got a business degree so I could do that. I don’t know if I care about business. Not that I regret my education but... I really wanted to barrel race. To travel with the rodeo. But that wasn’t in the plan, so I didn’t. You would be leaving something that matters to you if you left the ranch. I’m not. I don’t know what matters to me anymore. I don’t know if I want to go hard-core after racing. I don’t know how I want to earn a living. I don’t even know how I would decorate my room if it were up to me and not Mom’s designer.” She let out a long, slow breath. “I think I should figure all that out, don’t you?”

      “I guess. And I’d better leave you to it. I would stay for a drink, but...Mom.”

      Sierra smiled. “You wouldn’t stay. You hate places like this. You’d rather be at a vineyard having chardonnay.”

      “Silly.” Madison winked. “I like Shiraz better.”

      “We’ll do something fancy with my first paycheck. Like wine and appetizers at Beaches. Or, if I make crappy tips tonight, diet soda and Tic Tacs at Colton’s.”

      Her sister laughed. “Right. Well, maybe we’ll land in the middle with Perrier and fish and chips? Dare to dream?”

      “Depends on how much I wiggle my hips when I clear out the tables, I suppose.”

      Madison leaned in, still careful not to touch the counter. “I’ll call you. I hope you’re keeping garlic under your pillow.”

      “Why?”

      “To ward off Natalie, the undead fiancée.”

      “Ha. No. No garlic. I hung a crucifix on my door, though. That seemed to do it.”

      “Good.”

      “If I get infected, promise you’ll kill me.”

      “I promise. Because I love you.”

      “I love you, too,” Sierra said, her heart tightening a little.

      Madison turned away, offering a small wave as she waded through the crowd at the bar and walked out the door. Sierra looked out at all the people, all the orders she had to fulfill. Well, she’d chosen this now. So she was going to wait some damn tables.

      Tonight’s shift went much faster. She didn’t have any unpleasant encounters with people she knew. In fact, most people she recognized had been nice to her, if a little concerned-looking at seeing her so out of context.

      But by the end of the night she wasn’t as ready to fall into a heap on the floor. She actually felt energized, even though it was well past time for her coach to turn into a pumpkin. She might actually get used to this.

      Maybe waiting tables was like training for a marathon. You could work up to it. Or maybe she was on some weird high that would end tomorrow when she had to roll out of bed feeling like crumpled newspaper wrapped around chewed-up gum.

      The bar was empty, most of the employees heading out. And she was lingering. Because Ace wasn’t anywhere to be seen and she didn’t want to leave before she was in his eye line. She wouldn’t let him accuse her of slacking off or leaving early or...going out to get emergency eyeliner or whatever BS he would try to pull to both compromise her job and mock her poor little rich girl status.

      She wasn’t going to give him an opening. She had performed perfectly tonight, and she was not going to give him a chance to say otherwise. He wanted her to fail. She had no idea why he seemed so invested in her failure, even as he had her here on staff. Honestly, it didn’t make sense.

      But, regardless of what she had said the other night, she actually hadn’t ever read the hipster bartender handbook. So the workings of his brain truly were a secret. And she was content to keep it that way.

      She walked by his office somewhat conspicuously, hoping that the sound of her footsteps would make him open the door. Nothing.

      She paced in front of the door again, making sure to stomp a little bit louder this time. Still nothing.

      She let out an exasperated sigh, then turned to face the door, raising her hand, getting ready to knock. As she was about to bring it down, the door swung open, and there was Ace. Looking as cranky and attractive as he always did. His dark hair was disheveled, the stubble on his jaw looking all rakish and sexy.

      She supposed he didn’t always look cranky. He didn’t scowl like this when he was dealing with women in the bar. That seemed to be reserved for her.

      She wondered if she should feel special.

      “Hi,” she said.

      “Yes?”

      “I just wanted you to know that I’m going to leave now, because everything is clean.”

      “Okay. Go. You don’t have to check in with me, no one else does.”

      “I didn’t figure you would trust that I hadn’t knocked off work early and had a couple of the other employees carry me out of here on a rickshaw.”

      He leaned against the doorjamb, rubbing his forehead with his hand. “I don’t think that. Anyway, you can go.” He turned, preparing to go back into his office.

      “Are you staying?” She had no idea why she was asking. She should be leaving as quickly as possible. Staying was like willingly putting her foot into a badger trap. “Because it’s awfully late to be doing things in the office.” Foot. Trap.

      “Oh, I’m not working. I’m just watching porn.”

      “What kind?” What kind? Really?

      He turned toward her again, treating her to a lopsided smile that was a whole lot more interesting than it had any right to be. “The kind with spreadsheets. And fabric swatches.” At her blank look, he shrugged. “Actually, it’s just some planning that I’m doing for the new brewery I’m opening.”

      “Okay, that makes a lot more sense than the porn thing.”

      His smile broadened, and she felt compelled to return it. “I guess that depends on what you’re into.”

      “Not spreadsheets. But you do you.”

      “I really hate this, actually. Especially all the decorating stuff. It all looks the same to me. There aren’t any curtains in here. Most of the decor was in place when I took over. This is kind of all new. Plus, the brewery is supposed to be a little more upscale. Meanwhile, I’m not all that upscale.”

      “You’re not?” she asked, planting