Everything But Love

Elena Morrison had served a thousand drinks to a thousand forgettable faces, but the man in the corner booth with storm-gray eyes and a tumbler of scotch he never drank would change her life forever.

She just didn't know it yet.

"Ellie! Table seven needs another round!" Ruby's voice cut through the low jazz music that filled The Velvet Room, pulling Elena's attention away from the mysterious stranger who'd been occupying booth twelve for the past hour.

"On it," Elena called back, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear as she loaded her tray with martinis. The Wednesday night crowd was thinner than usual, which meant fewer tips, which meant she'd be short on this month's payment to St. Catherine's Hospital. Again.

She pushed the thought away. Worry wouldn't change the numbers in her bank account.

The Velvet Room wasn't like the dive bars she'd worked at before. Everything here screamed expensive-from the mahogany paneling to the velvet booths to the clientele who thought nothing of dropping three hundred dollars on a bottle of wine. Elena had been lucky to land this job six months ago. The tips were better, even if the customers were more demanding.

She delivered the martinis to table seven-three men in identical navy suits discussing a merger-and made her way back to the bar. Her eyes, traitor that they were, drifted to booth twelve again.

He was still there. Still watching.

"Girl, if you don't go talk to Mr. Tall, Dark, and Brooding, I will," Ruby said, appearing at her elbow with a tray of empty glasses. Her best friend's dark eyes sparkled with mischief. "He's been staring at you all night."

"He's been staring at his phone," Elena corrected, though that wasn't entirely true. Every time she'd glanced his way, she'd caught him looking at her. Not in the leering way some men did, but with an intensity that made her skin prickle with awareness.

"His untouched scotch says otherwise. That's a two-hundred-dollar pour sitting there getting warm." Ruby leaned against the bar, studying the man with the practiced eye of someone who'd been bartending for a decade. "Custom suit. Rolex, not a knockoff. Confidence that comes from money, not arrogance. And he's alone on a Wednesday night, which means either he's hiding from someone or looking for someone."

"Amateur psychiatry isn't part of our job description."

"No, but reading people is. And that man is readable as a billboard, honey. He wants you to come over."

Elena shook her head, but she was already preparing a fresh scotch-Macallan 25, the same expensive single malt he'd ordered when he first arrived. Her hands moved on autopilot, muscle memory from countless pours, while her mind raced with reasons why she shouldn't care about the stranger in booth twelve.

She had enough complications in her life. Ollie's next treatment was in three days, and she was still two thousand dollars short. Her landlord had already given her an extension on rent. Her car was making a noise that promised an expensive repair. The last thing she needed was to get tangled up with some wealthy businessman who probably had a wife and kids in the suburbs.

But when she reached his booth, tray balanced perfectly on one hand, her rehearsed professional smile faltered.

Up close, he was devastating.

Not handsome in the conventional sense-his features were too sharp for that, too angular. But there was something magnetic about him. The way he held himself, the intelligence in those gray eyes, the slight silver threading through his dark hair at his temples. He couldn't have been older than his early thirties, but he carried himself with the weight of someone who'd seen more than his years should allow.

"Your scotch was getting warm," she said, setting down the fresh glass and removing the old one. "On the house."

"I didn't order another." His voice was deep, controlled, the kind of voice used to being obeyed.

"I know. But you've been nursing that one for over an hour, and I've never seen someone look so miserable while drinking two-hundred-dollar scotch. Seemed like a waste."

The corner of his mouth twitched. Almost a smile. "You're very observant."

"It's my job."

"Is it your job to care whether your customers are miserable?"

"No," she admitted. "That's just a personality flaw."

This time he did smile, and the transformation was startling. It softened the harsh lines of his face, made him look younger, more human. Less like a marble statue and more like a man.

"Sit," he said, gesturing to the seat across from him.

Elena glanced back at the bar. Ruby was watching with poorly concealed glee, already waving her off. The other tables were settled. She had no excuse.

She slid into the booth.

"I'm Alex," he said, extending his hand across the table.

"Ellie." His hand was warm, his grip firm but not crushing. She pulled away quickly, unsettled by the spark of electricity that shot up her arm at the contact.

"Just Ellie?"

"Just Alex?"

Another almost-smile. "Touché."

They sat in silence for a moment, the kind of silence that should have been awkward but somehow wasn't. The jazz quartet in the corner transitioned into a slower number, something bluesy and melancholic.

"So what brings you to The Velvet Room on a Wednesday night, Just Alex?" she asked, falling back on her bartender's instinct to fill space with conversation.

"Escaping."

The honesty surprised her. "From what?"

"Expectations. Obligations. A life that was decided for me before I was old enough to have an opinion about it." He lifted the fresh scotch, studied it in the low light, then set it down without drinking. "What about you? What's a woman who notices things doing serving drinks?"

"Paying bills. Supporting my family. Living a life that was decided for me by circumstances beyond my control." She matched his tone, his rhythm. Something about this man made her want to be honest, and that was dangerous.

"We're not so different, then."

"I think we're very different, Alex. You're drinking two-hundred-dollar scotch you don't want. I'm calculating whether I can afford the subway or if I need to walk home to save three dollars."

She hadn't meant to say that. The words slipped out, raw and real, and she immediately regretted them. She didn't do vulnerability, especially not with strangers.

But Alex didn't look at her with pity. He looked at her with understanding.

"Three dollars," he said quietly. "That's the difference between comfort and sacrifice."

"Every day, for some of us."

He was quiet for a long moment, those gray eyes studying her face like she was a puzzle he needed to solve. "Have dinner with me."

Elena blinked. "What?"

"Tomorrow night. Have dinner with me."

"I don't even know you."

"You know I drink scotch I don't finish. I escape my life on Wednesday nights. I think expectations are a prison." He leaned forward, and she caught the scent of his cologne-something expensive and cedar-tinged. "That's more than most people know after a first date."

"This isn't a date."

"No, but tomorrow could be."

She should say no. Every instinct screamed at her to say no. Men like him didn't ask out women like her without expecting something in return. Men like him belonged to a world she'd left behind when her parents died and reality came crashing in.

But there was something in his eyes. Something lonely. Something that recognized the loneliness in her.

"I work tomorrow night," she said.

"Thursday, then."

"I work Thursday too."

"When don't you work?"

"Monday. I have Mondays off."

"Monday dinner, then. I'll pick you up at seven."

"I haven't said yes."

"But you're going to." It wasn't arrogance in his voice. It was certainty. Like he could see something she couldn't.

Ruby appeared at the booth, breaking the spell. "Ellie, we need you at the bar. The Weston party just arrived."

Elena stood, grateful for the interruption and disappointed by it in equal measure. "I should get back to work."

"Monday," Alex said. "Seven o'clock."

She didn't answer, just turned and walked back to the bar, feeling his eyes on her the entire way.

"Well?" Ruby demanded the moment she was close enough. "Did you get his number? Please tell me you got his number."

"He wants to take me to dinner Monday."

Ruby's squeal was loud enough to turn heads. "Oh my God! See? I told you! What are you going to wear? We need to go shopping. Wait, can you afford-" She cut herself off, wincing. "Sorry."

"It's fine." Elena started mixing drinks for the Weston party, keeping her hands busy so her mind wouldn't wander back to the man in booth twelve. "I'm not going anyway."

"The hell you're not."

"Ruby, I don't have time for dating. Especially not someone like him."

"Someone like him is exactly what you need. Rich, gorgeous, interested-"

"Complicated," Elena finished. "He's complicated. I can tell."

"Honey, everyone's complicated. At least his complications come with a platinum credit card."

Elena opened her mouth to argue, then closed it. Ruby meant well, but she didn't understand. Couldn't understand. Ruby had a normal life-parents who were still alive, no one depending on her, the luxury of dating for fun instead of survival.