But not in front of the customers.

She plastered on another smile as she made her way around the bar and scooted toward the back hall. It looked as though everyone was content for the next thirty seconds, so this was her chance to make a run for it.

The chime on the front door rang.

Son of a bitch. If one more friggin’ customer came through that friggin’ door before she’d had a chance to pee, somebody was going to get a corkscrew up his—

She hurried around the corner to check the door and barreled right into a tall, hard body.

Nick.

He caught her in his arms. “Whoa. Looks like somebody missed me,” he said in a teasing tone.

Jordan pleaded with her eyes. “Please help me.”

His expression turned serious. “Anything. Name it.”

“Oh, thank you.” Jordan put her hands on Nick’s hips and turned him around to face the rest of the store. “Stand here. Make sure that nobody steals anything or sneaks a glass of wine.” She took a step down the hallway before glancing back. “And don’t touch anything.” She hurried to the bathroom before her eyeballs turned yellow and floated out of her skull.

When she returned, she found Nick still at his post.

He pointed to the door. “Is it okay that these two guys came in with a wheelbarrow and took off with a couple crates of wine? They only took the pink stuff, so I figured no one would kick up much of a fuss.”

“Ha, ha.” Jordan scooted around him and slid behind the bar. “Thanks for keeping an eye out. What are you doing here, anyway?” She checked herself, aware there were others around. “I mean, this is such a pleasant surprise. Sweetie.”

Nick shrugged. “I worked late this evening and was about to drive home when I was overcome with the sudden urge to see my girlfriend.”

Code for being followed, Jordan guessed. “I’m closing in twenty minutes. We could grab something to eat after that.”

Nick checked his watch. “You haven’t eaten dinner yet? It’ll be after nine thirty before you get out of here.”

She threw him a charming smile. “Nine twenty if I have help cleaning up the store from my sweetheart of a boyfriend.” She saw a customer approach the bar on the opposite end and left Nick grumbling to himself. A few minutes later, when she came up for air, she noticed that he was gone. She looked around the store, not seeing him anywhere, but didn’t have time to focus on that until after the last customer had left the store.

Jordan shut the door and locked it with a flourish. She’d survived.

No offense to all her wonderful customers, whose business she appreciated so much, but she thought they’d never get the hell out. She drew the shades on the front windows and looked around the store.

Crap, it was a disaster.

She heard a knock on the door. She walked over, ready to tell whoever it was that the store was closed for the day. Instead, she saw Nick through the glass. She unlocked the door and let him in.

He was still grumbling. “You’re already too skinny,” he said gruffly. “If my mother saw you, she would handcuff you to the kitchen table and make you eat lasagna for a week.” He held up two bags from Portillo’s. “I didn’t know if billionaire heiresses preferred hot dogs, burgers, or Italian beef—I’ll skip the obvious joke there—so I got one of each.”

Jordan went weak in the knees at the sight of the red and white striped bags. Chicago dining at its finest. “Please tell me you have cheese fries in there,” she whispered.

“Yep.”

She nearly ripped the bags out of his hands. “You are a god.”

They chose a table nestled between the wine racks. As Nick unpacked the food, Jordan grabbed an open bottle of zinfandel and poured herself a glass.

“You?” she asked.

He raised an eyebrow. “Wine with cheese fries? No thanks.”

“Wine with everything. Because wine means the responsible part of the day is over.” After finishing her pour with a flourish, Jordan checked out her options and decided that billionaire heiresses liked burgers best with their cheese fries. She sighed happily as she took a seat, getting off her feet for the first time in hours. She took a bite of her burger and actually moaned.

Nick gestured with his Italian beef sandwich. “That tops your reaction to the wine we had at Eckhart’s party. The Château Seville or whatever.”

“Sevonne. And nothing beats burgers like this. When I was a kid, we used to get Portillo’s almost every Saturday night.” She took another bite and closed her eyes. “God, I haven’t had this in years.”

When she opened her eyes, she saw Nick watching her intently. “What?”

“It’s just . . . when you eat and drink, you make these faces that are—” He stopped himself and exhaled. “Never mind. What were we talking about?”

Jordan pointed to her burger. “Food. Wine.”

He nodded. “Right. So wine means the responsible part of the day is over, huh? That’s catchy. You should put that on a bumper sticker and slap it on the Maserati.”

She smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Nick took a sip of his soft drink. “What got you interested in wine, anyway?”

Jordan dipped a French fry into the cheese sauce. “My mom. She was really into wine. When I was in high school, my dad had a skybox at the United Center, and during the summer, he and Kyle would go to Bulls games on weekday nights. He offered to take me, too, but sports”—she made a face—“not really my thing.”