THE MAN I SLEPT WITH IS MY BOSS

 A year ago, I would have laughed if someone told me I would be miles away from home, sitting alone in a bar, drinking martinis and watching strangers make out but here I was.

I’m twenty-six years old, living in a city where nobody knew me, with a new apartment, a new job and no intention of ever falling in love. 

I downed what was left of my martini as I watched the couples grind each other on the dance floor. 

Ewww. 

It’s almost scary how couples that look so in love from a distance could be the complete opposite when you get close.

I knew this because exactly a year ago, I was in that situation. 

  I tore my eyes away from the dance floor and focused my attention on the bartender who was now making my second drink of the night, a martini.

  “Here you go,” he smiled and placed the drink in front of me.

  I wrapped my hands around the stem and had a sip, it was perfect.

 “What is a beautiful girl like you doing here all by yourself?”

I closed my eyes and prayed briefly for the stranger to vanish.

I turned slightly to face the man with a mischievous smile plastered on his face. His tie hung loosely around his neck and some of the buttons on his shirt were undone. He looked like a mess.

   “I’m waiting for someone,” I replied curtly before sipping my drink, hoping he’d take the hint.

 He didn’t. 

He slid onto the stool next to me. 

Judging by the way he leaned closer, it was obvious that neither my lie nor my disinterest was going to stop him.

  “How dare someone keep a beautiful lady like you waiting? He’s stupid as fuck for that,”

I forced a tight smile and pretended to text someone on my phone. 

Maybe if I ignored him, he’d leave.

   “What’s your name, gorgeous?”

I was getting irritated. His rancid breath made my stomach churn.

“I don’t give my name to strangers,”

  “Ouuuu,” he laughed. “You’re a mean one but the good thing is that I like mean girls. I like fierce girls.”

He smiled and pulled closer, his face a few inches from mine.

A chill ran down my spine. 

What was supposed to be a nice evening for me was fast becoming a nightmare.

   “I’m not interested in you,” I said firmly.

He leaned closer. 

“Is it money you want? I have a lot of money, baby girl.”

Of all the things he could have said, that was the one that disgusted me the most.

Unexpectedly, he grabbed my wrist. 

My body stiffened.

 “Let go of me,”

 “Why?”

His grip tightened.

Before I could react, someone grabbed his shoulder and pulled him away from me.

“She said she’s not interested. Leave her alone.”

The deep voice came from behind me.

 “And who the fuck are you?” 

The drunk man growled and shoved him.

Everything happened so quickly. A fist connected with his jaw.

The drunk man stumbled backward, falling against the floor.

Almost immediately, security came in and dragged him out of the bar.

I looked up to see who had just saved me.

He was tall, with broad shoulders and a black button-down shirt rolled up his elbows. His dark hair was a mess, a gorgeous kind of messy.

And he had tattoos. A lot of them.

He looked far more dangerous than the drunk man. 

He looked like the kind of man mothers warned their daughters about. 

I swallowed hard, still disturbed by what had just happened and the handsomeness of my savior. 

   “Are you okay?” He asked.

 “I’m fine,” I nodded even though my heart was racing.

  “You looked uncomfortable,”

 “I thought I was handling it,”

“By pretending you were texting someone?” 

He raised his brow. 

I sighed.

  “Your usual, Mr Derek?” The bartender asked.

He nodded.

His name suited him.

He gave me a small smile. “Let me buy you a drink,”

  “No, thank you,”

   “Why?,”

“You don’t have to buy me a drink for saving me,” 

  “I just want to and I’m really sorry that coward tried to ruin your evening,”

  I stared at him for a moment. 

  “Fine. Just one drink,”

His lips curved into a smile.

“Whiskey for me,” He glanced at me. “And another martini for her,”

He slid onto the stool beside me. This time, I wasn’t disgusted. I was just a little excited that he offered to buy me a drink and have a conversation with me.

I haven't made a single friend since I moved here.

   Up close, he was even more attractive. His expensive watch glinted at the lights and he smelled really good. 

 “You don’t have to be nice to me, you know,” I said.

  “I’m not being nice,”

 “You just saved me from a drunk man and offered to buy me a drink. You’re probably doing this because you think I’m pitiful,”

“I’m was just being kind and I'm offering good company,”

  I almost laughed, forgetting all that had happened. A kind man? Men were rarely kind without wanting something in return. The last man that was ‘kind’ to me was the same person who made me pack my bags and move miles away from the town I grew up in.

   “I just met you,”

  “And your first impression of me is?”

Dangerous. Most likely a playboy.

    “Persistent and, of course, a superhero,” I said.

He laughed a little and I almost found myself laughing with him.

  “I’m very flattered.”

The bartender placed his whiskey in front of him and my second martini beside me. 

Derek passed me the food menu.

  “Just so we are clear, I didn’t agree to this,” I pointed at the menu.

  “You didn’t walk away either,” he replied cheekily.

He had an air of confidence.

   “Do you do this often?” I asked. “Rescue women from drunk men?”

   “Only when the drunk idiots can’t take no for an answer,”

I picked up the martini reluctantly.

 “Only one drink,” I warned with a smile.

A slow smile spread across his face.

“Relax, I’m not proposing marriage,”

His joke hit me harder than it should have and my smile faltered. 

  “I’m sorry,” he apologized quickly. “Bad joke.”

I heaved a sigh of relief, thankful he didn’t press further.