Who was she kidding? The women would eat him up. Morgan wouldn’t blame them. Whoever this guy was, he was damned tasty.
Still, something gave her pause.
“You’re a friend of Johnny’s?” She didn’t bother hiding her skepticism. Johnny might have been a decent bartender, but he was still a kid. One look and Morgan could tell that this guy was in a whole other league.
He tilted his head and flashed her a sly smile. Morgan felt her heart kick up a few beats.
Morgan thought she’d become used to this kind of practiced charm after nearly a year of running a nightclub. But this guy was good. Real good. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t buying what he was selling. She still appreciated the effort.
“Maybe friend isn’t the right word,” the guy clarified. “We used to work together. He called me this morning to tell me you had an opening.”
“That’s one way to put it.” Morgan laughed. “Though, I’m not sure how far throwing Johnny’s name around is going to get you. He’s not on my most popular people list right now.”
“Doesn’t surprise me,” he said. “You’re not the first place he’s ditched out on.”
“And here I thought we were special.” Morgan let go of the bat and put out her hand. “Morgan Kincaid.”
“Tyler Daniels.” He shook her hand gently, letting his palm linger a second too long. “Everybody calls me Ty.”
Yep, he sure was a smooth bastard. He could play the part, but that was only half the job.
“Well, first things first, I guess I should see how you make a drink, Mr. Daniels.”
“I guess you should.”
Morgan traded places with him, giving him a long look as she hopped up on a barstool. Something about this guy seemed to be too good to be true.
“Does Johnny usually call you to mop up his messes?”
“Not exactly,” Ty said, sliding off his jacket and laying it across the bar. He unbuttoned his sleeves, and took a second to orient himself, as he rolled them up to his elbows. “But an opportunity is an opportunity. A guy could make a killing in tips in a place like this.”
“If he knows what he’s doing,” Morgan added.
Ty propped his arms on the bar and leaned forward. “Oh, I promise you. I know exactly what I’m doing.”
He flashed that wicked half-smile again and Morgan felt a hint of blush start to warm her cheeks. Lord, did this guy ever turn it off?
“Yeah, yeah. The ladies are going to eat you up.” Morgan pulled out her phone. “I’m more concerned with your drink mixing skills.”
“That’s what I meant.” The devilish gleam in his eye sparkled even brighter. “What were you talking about?”
Morgan tried to ignore the taunt by getting straight to business. “You have sixty seconds to make me a Manhattan, a Mojito and a Dirty Martini.”
She started the timer.
Morgan looked up to find that Ty hadn’t moved. He just stood there, looking at her as if she was the only woman in the room.
Which she was…but that wasn’t the point.
“The clock’s ticking,” she said, before her cheeks started burning any brighter.
“So it is.”
“You’re very confident.”
“I’m very good.” He finally pushed back from the bar and got started, his hands working in fluid, precise movements. He scooped ice into the shaker, poured liquor from bottles, and grabbed glasses, without taking his eyes off hers for more than a fraction of a second.
“You’re going to have to be if you want to work here. I can’t overstate how busy we can get on weekend nights. Our clientele aren’t known for their patience.”
He finished the Manhattan, topping it with a cherry before placing the glass on a coaster in front of her.
“So, Miss Kincaid, I take it you’re the owner,” he said as he muddled the mint leaves in the bottom of the Collins glass.
“Co-owner. My brother is my partner,” Morgan said before tasting the Manhattan. It wasn’t her favorite cocktail, but, she had to admit, Ty’s was pretty tasty. “You’re lucky I’m the one in charge of staffing. I’m not sure how far that flirting smile would get you with him.”
“I don’t believe in luck. My skills speak for themselves.” He added the Mojito to the line. “The flirting is just a bonus.”
Morgan looked down at the timer. He had twenty seconds left.
“You have a pretty high opinion of yourself.” Morgan picked up the Mojito and took a sip. The sweet mint and sour lime mingled delightfully on her tongue. “And it doesn’t appear to be completely unwarranted.”
“It’s only cocky if you can’t deliver.”
“True. Where did you learn your moves?”
“Here and there.” He shrugged his shoulders.
“And where did you work with Johnny?”
“Same place.”
Ty staked two olives and slid them into the martini glass. He pushed the drink forward, letting his hand brush against Morgan’s. He didn’t pull away.
Morgan narrowed her eyes, but couldn’t fight the smile that was tugging at her lips. What the hell was it about this guy? He had her grinning like a boy-crazy teenager.
She composed herself long enough to sample his last concoction.