About That Night Read Online Free PDF

reasons. The number one being self-preservation.
    “Trust me,” Ivy said. “Your butt is safe. And the reason I don’t want to deliver them myself is because it’s my break time.”
    “Fine. I’ll switch you table 15 for table 8.”
    “Done.” Ivy skirted the bar and snagged a flute of champagne from a tray before pushing through the door to a small hallway. She walked past the kitchen on her right, then, farther down, a small break room on the left and kept going until she reached the metal exterior door.
    She pushed it open and stepped out into the night. The cold stung her cheeks, stole her breath. Still, she kept going, her high heels echoing on the pavement as she crossed the dimly lit parking lot to her ancient car. She climbed behind the wheel, shut the door and stared blindly through the windshield.
    What was that? What the hell was that?
    The cowboy had flustered her. Unnerved her. Worse than that, he’d known it.
    She’d given him power. Control. Had pretty much handed them over to him on a platter along with her good sense and a portion of her pride.
    She took a gulp of champagne. Bubbles exploded inside her mouth, the taste light and expensive, but it did nothing to wash away the bitterness rising in her throat.
    Men never flustered her. Why should they? They were simple souls with simple needs. Basic needs. When they saw her, they saw opportunity. What she could do for them. What she had to give them. How she could make them feel.
    Why shouldn’t she turn that around—twist their desire for her, their attraction to her—to her advantage? A warm smile, a light, friendly touch to an arm, some harmless flirting could all increase her night’s tips.
    And she was always— always —the one ruling the game.
    Until one tall, green-eyed cowboy had to come along and mess things up.
    She finished the champagne. Wished she’d helped herself to two glasses.
    Or at least had had the foresight to grab her coat.
    The cowboy’s fault, as well. He’d scrambled her thoughts. Her attraction to him had thrown her for a loop, but that was over now. No man got the better of Ivy Rutherford.
    The passenger door was yanked opened and she squeaked in surprise, her breath hanging in the air a few inches before her face like a tiny cloud.
    “What are you doing out here?” Ivy asked seventeen-year-old Gracie Weaver as the teenager flopped onto the seat and shut the door. “And where’s your coat?”
    Ivy shook her head. Great. She sounded like a mom. Not Ivy’s mother, of course. One of those sitcom moms who always had time for their kids, cared about whether they were warm enough.
    One of those moms who loved their daughters instead of blaming them for ruining their lives.
    “Brian said he saw you leave,” Gracie said, her teeth already chattering. “I figured you’d be here.”
    “That still doesn’t explain why you’re here.”
    “One of the guests wants to speak with you. Said it was important.”
    Ivy’s fingers tightened on the glass so hard, she was afraid it’d shatter into a million pieces. Slowly, carefully she set it on the console next to her sunglasses and an empty to-go coffee cup.
    “Oh?” Her voice sounded strangled, so she cleared her throat. “Which guest?” she asked, though she already knew.
    Oh, yeah, she knew.
    “The guy in the cowboy hat.”
    “Tall? With blond hair and green eyes?”
    “Yes and yes. Plus, he’s the only guy in the building—probably in the whole town—wearing a cowboy hat. Not sure how else to narrow it down for you.” Gracie frowned and rubbed her hands together, then blew on them. “Do you think it’s acceptable to wear a cowboy hat indoors? Because my grandma would have a fit if Dad wore his baseball cap inside the house.”
    “Let’s focus on the topic at hand, shall we?” If Ivy didn’t keep Gracie on track, the kid could veer so far off topic, they’d never find their way back. “I’m sure whatever the cowboy wishes to discuss, he can do so