READ AN EXCERPT BELOW
Doggy stylist Addison Turner has her entire fairytale life planned out, and it doesn’t involve cocktail-slinger extraordinaire Felix Vaughn. But when thieves snatch her valuable four-legged clients right from under her nose, the infuriatingly hot bartender is the only one who can help her rescue them.
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“Rex Harrison.” Addison smiled as she approached the bar. “Rosie is all ready for you. What do you think?”
To let him know she didn’t mean his pinscher’s grooming, she leaned against the bar to give him a better view of that low neckline—even Prince Charming probably needed baiting.
She toyed with Rosie’s leash, wrapping it teasingly around her finger. But Rex’s loving gaze was still glued to his pedigree pooch. Oblivious to her efforts, he bent down and gave Rosie a pet.
Addison thought she heard a soft snort from behind the bar. When she turned to the bartender, he was studiously wiping down the glass counter, but she could have sworn that was a smirk on his full lips.
“Wow,” Rex said, drawing her attention back to him. “Rosie’s fur has never looked so shiny. How did you manage that?”
Addison beamed. “That’s the yogurt and oatmeal rub.”
“Yogurt?” He glanced up and seemed to notice her for the first time.
If she’d had a tail, it would have wagged. “The yogurt strips away the dirt and adds moisture, while the oatmeal treats the skin and softens the fur. It also makes for an excellent breakfast,” she joked.
He smiled, standing up to take in the full view of her body. “I can think of better breakfasts to make.”
“You like to cook?”
“Only when it’s for someone special.” Rex swirled his drink before taking a sip, eyeing her above the rim. “Maybe I could cook for you sometime.”
That would make Addison “someone special.” “That sounds nice.”
He reached into his suit coat. “Here’s my card. Why don’t you call me sometime?”
“Maybe I will.” She took the card and traded it for Rosie’s leash.
“Thanks again,” he said. “Come on, Rosie. Shall we go for a walk?”
The pinscher’s nubby black tail wiggled in response.
Rex gave Addison a wink and turned to head across the ballroom, holding the leash aloft in true show form. Rosie trotted alongside him, already showing off for the judges attending the cocktail mixer.
Addison was watching him stroll away when a small wastebasket was thrust in front of her, obscuring her view. She flinched and turned to find the sexy bartender holding it out. His dark eyebrows quirked up as he shook the basket expectantly.
She frowned at it. “What’s that for?”
“For that card,” he said.
“For Rex’s card? Why?” She bit her lip, wondering if he wanted to give her his number instead. “He told me to call him.”
“You and about ten other women at this party tonight.” He shrugged and put the wastebasket under the bar again. “But it’s your call.”
Her face fell. “Ten?”
The bartender tilted his mop of dark curls across the ballroom where Rex was slipping another card from his pocket. He flashed it at a young brunette server.
“Oh …”
“Don’t feel bad,” the bartender said. “I’ve got eyes like an Afghan hound. I see all. I know all. Most of all when it comes to slimeballs like him.”
Addison gave the tall bartender the once-over. He had a certain tilt to his square jaw that spoke of confidence or cockiness—she wasn’t sure which. However, she was sure that, as a bartender, he’d had plenty of conversations across a bar with a pretty woman to make it the latter.
She threw him a wicked grin. “Is that right? Or does it just take one to know one?”
She’d been that woman across the bar before, had heard every cheesy pickup line there was—she’d certainly fallen for enough of them. And she was dangerously close to falling for his.
He flashed a good-humored smile. “No. It’s because I’m in an ideal position to people-watch, to observe the human species and understand what makes them tick. I’ve had years of practice.”
“I bet you have,” she teased. “And I’m sure it has nothing to do with the fact that if you ply anyone with enough alcohol, they’ll spill their guts.”
“What can I say? People open up to a bartender. I’ve seen and heard it all. Nothing surprises me anymore.”
He held her cornflower blue eyes with his own dark gaze, and she got the impression he could sell a Jägerbomb to a nun. Maybe he had. She wondered what kinds of things he’d seen and heard.