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  “I was wondering if the book I ordered came in yet,” he said, leaning his hip against the counter in what he hoped was a casual gesture. Right, man. You weren't good at casual BEFORE your life fell apart.

  Chase angrily squashed down the arguing voice. He didn't want to think about that. So he was divorced. So what? Lots of people were. And it had been more than a year. He should be getting over it by now. He was, if his interest in this pretty sales clerk was any indication. But how did one start over after so many years thinking life was going to be a certain way? No, starting over was wrong. He was a different man than he had been before he found out his childhood sweetheart and best friend was actually a slut who’d been sleeping with another man behind his back.

  No more of that, man. It’s over. Candace is gone, long married to her private investigator partner and the mother of his child. And if you don’t want to end up alone with no family of your own, stop obsessing and get out there.

  “Of course your book hasn’t come in,” Baylee said, giving him a less than inviting glare. “You ordered it the day before yesterday. I promised to call you when it arrives and I will. Now if you don’t mind, I have work to do.”

  “Don’t be unfriendly, ma’am,” he urged. “I won’t hurt you. I’d like to talk.”

  “Talk?” She raised one eyebrow and furrowed the other. “I have no time to talk. I’m working.”

  “How about when you get off? I could take you out for a drink, or some dinner…” Something flashed in her eyes. If he didn’t know better he’d say it looked like desperation. Or maybe despair. Whatever it was, it was intense. “I. Don’t. Have. Time. For. Men.” Baylee enunciated clearly. “Now that we understand each other, will you please wander off, or should I call the manager?”

  “I’m going, I’m going. Jeez, don’t be so touchy. I wasn’t hurting anything,” he griped.

  Her gaze softened a fraction. “I know, sir. But I wasn’t kidding. I don’t have time for anyone. Seriously. You’re wasting your time."

  “Thanks for being honest, Baylee,” he said ruefully. “Here’s my card. If you ever find time and you want to take me up on drinks… or dinner… or talk, call me.” She gave him a sad smile and returned to stocking the bookshelf, her back to him. Stung by her dismissal, Chase quickly left the store.

  As soon as she could no longer feel his eyes on her back, Baylee turned away from the bookshelf and regarded the contents of her hand. The little card, printed on black paper with a pattern of white music notes, read Chase Milligan, General Manager. The Music Room Club and Bar. Baylee’s eyes widened. So her persistent suitor ran one of the hottest up-and-coming clubs in the Dallas night scene, did he? A club which offered fun, drinks, and music in a friendly, classy environment. Baylee, despite not having gone out to a club in… she calculated mentally… four years… had heard of it. The place had three different rooms: one for local jazz bands, one for karaoke, and one for country and western artists. As manager of such a place, he must earn a decent salary. He was also influential, deciding which acts would be allowed on the coveted stages.

  http://www.amazon.com/Simone-Beaudelaire/e/B00CIUPNWK/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1418017099&sr=1-2-ent

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  Photo credits: cover: 123rf.com/Aleksandrs Tihonovs Hurricane: 123rf.com/paffy