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to know who he was. I may not have known all the important names in Philadelphia society or all of the American celebrities who thought their names meant something, but I knew clothes and his were top of the line. A man dressed as he was dressed did not frequent places like Frankie's. He was, as my sister would have said with her acquired American lingo, “slumming it.”
    That didn't mean I didn't find him attractive. He was gorgeous. A strong jaw and features that were a touch too masculine for him to be pretty, but not so much so that he could be called rugged. His hair had the messy look that was currently popular and his eyes were warm as they watched me. And it wasn't merely a friendly warmth.
    It didn't matter how hot he was though. There were plenty of men who had flirted with me who were almost, if not equally, as attractive. None of them, however, had gotten anywhere. I was always polite, but never encouraged them. Some didn't take it well, wanting me to respond more positively to their advances. But for the most part, the worst I received were a variety of insults.
    Then there were a few who refused to give up. I had a feeling Blayne would be one of those. As long as he kept his hands to himself, I didn't mind. Growing up in an orphanage had taught me to have a thick skin and the ability to ignore most things. I risked another look and warmth coiled in my stomach. If I were completely honest, I couldn't say I completely disliked the idea of him continuing to flirt with me.
    I resisted a scowl as I approached a new customer. It didn't matter if I liked him flirting with me. I didn't have the time or the desire for a romantic relationship, even if there was a possibility of having one.
    I took the customer's order and turned around to get the drinks.
    I wasn't even sure what I was thinking. I knew men like Blayne. They didn't hit on me for a relationship or a date. He wanted to know what time I got off because he wanted sex. That was all. While Katka might have been that type of person, I wasn't. I had no problem surviving without sex or a relationship. I did better on my own. In fact, I preferred it that way.
    Things began to slow as I walked back over to Blayne. We had two sets of regulars. The ones who were leaving now and the ones who would come in shortly to get their quick drinks before heading home. Since it was a Sunday night, not many people would linger.
    “You know,” Blayne said as he peered up at me. “You're beautiful enough to be a model.”
    Like I hadn't heard that one before. I filled his glass and started to turn away even though I didn't have anyone else calling for my attention. I caught my breath when he grabbed my arm.
    “Please just tell me your name.”
    I looked down at those dark gray eyes and tried to deny the way my skin tingled where his hand was on me. What harm could it do?
    “Livie,” I said. “My name is Livie.”
    He beamed at me, a real smile, not the smarmy one he'd tried giving me before. I was almost reluctant to pull away, but I knew I had to. I didn't want him getting the wrong idea.
    “So, Liv, how's your night going?”
    I usually hated it when people tried to shorten my name, but the way it sounded coming from him, I found I didn't mind quite so much.
    “Fine,” I said as I removed my arm from underneath his hand.
    “Aren't you going to ask me how mine is?”
    His words were starting to slur slightly.
    “I'll tell you how my night went.” He drained the last of his drink. “First, after a weekend where I apparently did some stupid shit, my dad tells me he's going to cut me off if I don't straighten up.”
    I couldn't say I thought that was entirely a bad thing. People who had to work for their money often appreciated it more.
    “And part of his version of straightening up means I have to get married in six months.”
    I hadn't seen that one coming. Not exactly an American idea. “Your father is going to force you to marry?” The surprise caused me to ask a