from the tablecloth.
“So he…pulled down the chandelier?” Josie asked.
“No!” Olivia sagged against Roseanne’s arm, but she couldn’t help smiling when Rhys bit back a laugh. The whole thing sounded ridiculous. It was ridiculous. Except for the part where she was pretty sure Stuart meant to take the hotel away from her.
“Someone start from the beginning, yeah? Because I still don’t know who that sodding bloke was,” Rhys said.
Josie turned confused eyes on him. “Who are you?”
“Rhys Spencer,” he said, offering her a hand. “Friend of Olivia’s.”
Both Roseanne and Josie raised their eyebrows at this in a silent plea for explanation.
“I met Rhys this morning,” Olivia said, glancing up at him as her cheeks heated. Again. God, why wasn’t there a cure for blushing? “Outside.”
Then she stopped, mouth still open. She didn’t even know the rest of the story, and certainly not why or how he’d appeared in the restaurant out of nowhere.
“I’m a new friend,” Rhys said smoothly, and winked at her.
More raised eyebrows. It was an epidemic.
And also a little insulting, Olivia realized as she sat up and shrugged off Roseanne’s arm. As if she couldn’t have a friend who was gorgeous and sexy and had the most delicious British accent she’d ever heard.
Just because she’d never even met a man like Rhys before didn’t mean anything. Much.
“Very new,” she added pointlessly, and was rewarded with another wink. So new she didn’t know anything about him, but Roseanne and Josie didn’t need that little detail.
“Wait a minute,” Josie said, holding up both hands. “You’re on that TV show, the cooking one. You’re the British chef all the fan sites are rooting for.”
Rhys gave Olivia a sheepish smile as her mouth fell open in surprise. He was on TV? Now?
“Yeah, I’m that British chef,” he admitted. “Show’s on a break until we film the finale a month from now.”
“I thought you looked familiar,” Roseanne said, clearly sizing him up with even more appreciation now, but Josie was unimpressed.
“Reality TV aside,” she said, “what happened in here? It looks like the place got raided.”
“Josef and Rick were arguing about a chocolate cake that got ruined, and then there was a crash, and then Helen rushed into the kitchen to say the chandelier had fallen down, and then Stuart showed up, right on time as usual, and then Stuart got a cake in the face,” Olivia said with a weary sigh. “I think that about covers it.”
“Not quite, love,” Rhys put in. “There was that nasty bit about the hotel at the end.”
Roseanne bristled, and sat up straight. “What does that mean?”
“I’m not sure, to tell you the truth,” Olivia admitted. Suddenly crowded by the questions, she got up and paced a few feet away.
Which only attracted more attention from the noneating diners. Except for Yelena, who was chatting up Willie from her usual table in the corner, turban bobbing.
“Maybe we should take this discussion elsewhere,” Josie suggested when she followed Olivia’s gaze to the interested patrons watching from their tables. “I’m thinking the bar might be appropriate.”
“Brilliant,” Rhys said, and got up to slide his arm around Olivia’s shoulders. Just the weight of it made her tingle with awareness. “Lead the way.”
The bar was deserted, which wasn’t unusual for a Monday afternoon. Still, it was a little too deserted, she thought as she pulled a stool away from the polished length of mahogany and sat down. Where was Tommy?
“No barkeep?” Rhys said, leaning over the counter to scope out the selection of bottles. “And no Grey Goose? I think the occasion calls for some quality spirits, love.”
“I don’t usually drink before dinner,” Olivia protested, wondering if she should tell Rhys to come out from behind the counter before Tommy appeared and waved his offended dignity around. Rhys had flipped open the bar’s hatch door and walked right in as if he belonged there, and was even now taking glasses down from the racks.
“Who is this guy?” Josie whispered fiercely in her ear as she pulled up another stool. “I mean, aside from some random reality TV person?”
“I don’t care,” Roseanne said before Olivia could answer. “I sure like to listen to him. Imagine if I brought him to the next Renaissance Faire with me. God, can you picture him in leggings?”
“Shhh!” Olivia warned her when Rhys looked up, a bottle of Stoli in one hand and a bottle of Jim Beam in the other.
“Pick your poison, ladies,” he said with a grin.
“I actually need a drink,” Josie said in amazement. “Has the whole world gone whacko today?”
Olivia shrugged. “Pretty much.”
“Tell them what the sodding fool said to you,” Rhys suggested as he poured a shot of bourbon and passed it to Roseanne.
“Yes, please do,” Josie said, reaching across the bar for the bowl of pretzels. “The suspense is giving me a headache.”
Olivia stared into the tumbler of vodka Rhys had poured for her. She’d never had liquor straight up, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to start now. But when she thought about Stuart’s voice as he hissed, “The hotel will be mine,” she decided to give it a shot.
“Oh my God, it burns,” she choked out a minute later. “I think my eyes are actually watering.”
“Make her something foofy, will you,” Josie said. “She’s not exactly a shot drinker on a good day.”
“One Flirtini, coming right up.”
“Are you a renegade bartender, too?” Josie demanded. “And will someone please tell us what Stuart said?”
“He said the hotel will be his.” An echo of her earlier panic vibrated in the back of her head, like a headache threatening to take hold. “Exactly like that. He sputtered and criticized, just like he always does, but this time he said—”
“The hotel will be his,” Josie repeated. Her eyes flashed fire when she glanced up from her drink to look at Olivia. “Who does he think he is, Darth Vader?”
“Oh, honey.” Roseanne bit her bottom lip and fingered the end of her long, gray braid. “I’ve been afraid of this.”
Olivia gaped at her. “What do you mean? He’s always hated this place.”
“Doesn’t mean he doesn’t know what it’s worth.” Roseanne’s voice was softer now, and she reached out to pat Olivia’s hand. “You’re going to have to be very careful,
