by Ava Harrison
“Strange. You didn’t get it?” I lie, fidgeting.
Carter narrows his eyes. “What’s wrong with you? You’re acting strange.”
“What? Me?” I say, sounding even worse and wanting to hide under the bar in total humiliation. Not a damn thing warrants my acting like a teenage girl hiding out from her crush.
“Bailey,” Carter drawls, smirking from ear to ear. “Why did you not go to room two?”
I throw my head back and groan. “Drew was walking toward me.”
He laughs. “You’re serious? Get your ass in that room and take their orders. Lauren will kill you if you mess up her tip.”
He’s right. I promised, and I have my own tables to check on. I spin around, prepared to get back to work and fulfill my promise when I run smack into a firm wall.
“I’m sorry,” I say, shaking off the dizzy feeling one gets from running into a solid surface.
“In a hurry?” A smooth, masculine voice pulls my eyes upward until a chilling, onyx gaze assaults my senses. Drew smirks down at me, and I melt and die in equal parts.
“Um, I . . . gotta go,” I blurt out, walking around him and fleeing the scene.
Oh my god, you’re an idiot.
On the entire way to room two, I replay that awkward exchange and the absolute embarrassment I felt at acting like a scared kitten. He was laughing at me. Either from the way I acted yesterday, or maybe he realizes I was avoiding him. Neither thought is comforting. He’s not laughing about yesterday. I don’t know Drew, but something tells me he’s not cruel. He’d been genuinely concerned about me. He couldn’t have faked that. Nope, he knows I’m avoiding him.
Walking in, I almost miss the same asshole from before. Reese, I think I heard Carter say was his name. My back straightens as I prepare for his rudeness, but it never comes. Instead, when he notices me, he smiles wide and motions me to the table.
“You again,” he says, cheerfully. No evidence of disdain at all. “What’s your name?” His gaze lingers far too long for my liking. My cheeks heat, and I feel my body folding in on itself.
“Um, Bailey?” It comes out as a question because this change in attitude gives me whiplash.
“Ah, Bailey. Glad to see you’re back,” he says, finally looking away. “Can you grab us two bottles of Goose?”
I let out the breath I was holding. “Sure. Anything else?” I ask as I key in Reese’s order.
“Nope, but hurry back. I’d like to get to know you.” He grins, but something about the way he gapes at me has my back going ramrod straight. It’s not entirely predatory, but it’s unnerving as hell.
“I’m only helping out Lauren for a minute. She’ll be back soon,” I say, walking toward the exit. “I’ll make sure you get your Goose right away.”
“Bailey,” Reese calls out, and he motions me back toward him. “I want you to have this.”
He holds out his hand, and as I move closer to see what it is, he pulls his arm back, hoping I’ll come closer. I know this game far too well, and I’m not biting. “What? I won’t bite. Well . . . not unless you want me to.” He grins, and the other men at the table chuckle and hoot.
His finger moves slightly, and I see a one-hundred-dollar bill in his palm. I don’t play games, but for that kind of tip for taking one order? I’ll gladly take the bait. I move forward like he wants until my legs hit his knees. “Sit,” he commands, pointing toward his leg. I cross my arms over my chest and pop a hip. “I’m not sure my boss would like that,” I say as an excuse.
“Drew doesn’t care as long as the drinks are flowing, and his customers are happy. You want to make me happy, right, chwaer?”
“What does that even mean?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing.”
I roll my eyes. Tip or not, this guy is something else. I’m prepared to walk away and lose out on the money when he starts laughing.
“I like it. She’s not easily won over, guys. I have to work harder,” he titters, but something in the way his voice shakes tells me this is all just one giant show. He’s acting out for his clown friends. Why?
“Please don’t,” I say, sounding more bored than anything. “It’s all good. I’ll get your Goose, and Lauren will be back to keep you happy,” I air quote and turn to the sound of the guys hooting and hollering at my brush-off.
I come around the corner and jump, hand coming to my heart. Drew’s standing there, eyes narrowed and lost in thought.
“Sorry, you scared me,” I say, but he doesn’t answer. “Drew? Is everything okay?”
He clears his throat as his eyes meet mine.
“Yes. Fine,” he says. “You handled that well,” the husky, rich voice praising me belongs to Drew Lawson, but something seems off about him.
I shrug. “Unfortunately, I have too much experience with guys like him.”
His lips form a line, and his one brow quirks. “Is that so?”
I nod. “Sadly, yes. I have to get his bottles,” I say, motioning toward the bar.
He lifts his chin in acknowledgment. “Nice work in there.”
“Thank you,” I reply and haul ass toward the bar, trying hard not to trip, shuffle my feet, or otherwise look like an imbecile. The entire way there, aside from attempting not to embarrass myself, I think about Drew and how off he just was. The man is mercurial, if nothing else.
“Here’s the Goose.” Carter hands me the bottles.
The expensive alcohol isn’t just left lying atop the bar. The bartender has to personally pass it to us. It makes sense with the sheer number of people milling about. Not that any of them couldn’t afford the liquor, but according to Carter, money doesn’t equal honesty. He’s right.
“How’s Reese acting tonight?” he asks.
“He’s better. Still a douche, but not a complete asshat tonight.”
Carter snorts. “Reese will always be a douche. Nothing will change that.”
I smile at him. “Gotta go. My tables will be needing me too.”
When I make it back to room two, Lauren is waiting at the entrance. “Thanks, Bailey. I appreciate it.” She grabs the Goose and turns to walk away.
As much as I don’t want to deal with the group inside, I need the money, and I need to push through it. I missed out on the tip Reese was offering up. I grit my teeth and head to my own tables. I can make that much on each of them if I make sure they’re all okay. So that’s what I do, and it works. For the rest of the night, I run my ass off for four high-top tables. They aren’t the VIP rooms, and I won’t make the kind of money the VIP girls will, but I didn’t do too shabby either. Each table tipped me over three hundred dollars.
I take a load of glasses to the back room and shift through my apron looking for my tip purse. It’s gone. Panic claws at my chest and works its way up my throat, bringing bile with it.
Sweat beads at my temples and my hands begin to shake.
This can’t be happening.
“Drop something?” That smooth, delicious voice washes over me, momentarily setting my nerves right.
I turn hesitantly, not wanting him to see the way my mouth quivers from the exertion of staving off tears. He lifts his hand out, and that’s when I see my tip purse. My entire body relaxes, shoulders slouching as I breathe easier.
He doesn’t move any closer, so I step forward and reach for the purse. My hand grazes his, and electricity courses its way up my arm. A traitorous sigh escapes my lips, and his brow quirks in amusement.
My cheeks heat, and I rip the purse from his grip, then take three giant steps back.
“I believe a thank you is in order,” he teases, and I frown.
“Thank you,” I say a tad too snippily for having just been saved by this gorgeous man.
“I’m sorry, it has been a long night. I am grateful you found this. Truly. Thank you.”
He nods. “You’re welcome.”
I offer a small smile and grab a rag to get back to my table.
“Bailey,” he calls out, and I turn my head over
my shoulders to look at him.
“I’ll take care of Reese. He won’t talk like that to you again.”
With that, he exits the room, leaving me reeling at the intensity of his promise.
7
Drew
“God, that was a long night.”
I glance sideways at Carter. He’s our complainer. I usually ignore him, but tonight fucking blew, and I’m not in the mood for his bitching.
“I know thousands of people who would love to look at attractive people all night and leave with over five grand in their pocket.” I don’t mince words. He makes bank here, and I have a stack of résumés a mile high in my office belonging to people who would kill for his position.
“But you’d miss me.”
“Wrong, but I do know several people who would. So, for now, you stay,” I say, only half-serious.
“What’s up with Reese and the crew these days?” Carter asks with a hint of annoyance.
“How the hell should I know? Piss them off again?” Carter doesn’t like to take Reese’s shit and often puts him and his friends in their place, but I know that’s not it. Reese is still probably pissed because I set him straight earlier in the night.
I caught Reese eyeing Bailey as she walked past his room. Then add to that his come-ons and inappropriate suggestions, and I wanted to throw his ass out again. This is becoming a pattern I need to stop. He’s so drunk, he flip-flops back and forth from staring at her like maybe he’s seen her before and wanting to undress her.
Once again, I was forced to watch his table, and yet again, I called him on it. He was his typical egotistical self. He threw out a few veiled threats, and here we are again at an impasse.
His douchebag friends thought they’d get some side action. Typically, this wouldn’t bother me, but knowing what I know about Bailey, that shit ain’t going to fly. My conversation earlier tonight with Reese basically went like this: The new girls aren’t to be fucked with, Reese. Touch them, talk to them, or even glance in their direction, and you’re out.
I lost five great servers last month because of his shit. I’ve talked to the girl once, maybe twice, but knowing what I know, she doesn’t need Reese’s baggage, and she needs this job.
Her eyes are haunted. She has demons. Can’t he see that? Doesn’t he see what I see?
I’m not going to let Bailey be his next casualty.
“No, I really haven’t seen them. They were rude to my new trainee, Bailey, when you were gone, though, and tonight, I could tell they were at it again.”
I raise my brows. “Does that really surprise you?”
“No. They’re a bunch of dirt bags, and have you seen that girl? She’s the hottest server you have.” He hoots. “Then there’s the whole—”
“Yeah, I’ve seen her,” I cut Carter off. I don’t want to talk about something else. “What’s her story?” I ask, trying to sound aloof. I know all about her already, but he doesn’t know that. I’m intrigued, and maybe he knows something a Google search didn’t find.
He looks at me for a beat too long. I can tell he has something to say, and it pisses me off that he’s hesitating to share it with me. You know exactly what he’s thinking.
“What? Out with it, Carter.”
“Listen, Drew, you’re my boss, and you’re a cool guy, but don’t mess with this one. I know you can have any girl in this club, but I can assure you, Bailey is not your type.”
“What exactly would you know about my type, Carter?”
“You forget that not long ago, before you owned this place, you were just another partier hanging with us low-life wannabes, hitting the powder.” I scowl to show that he’s riding a thin line with this conversation, but he continues. “I know the girls you go for, and I know who you steer clear of, and I’m telling you, Bailey is one you’ll want to avoid. You should avoid her, considering.”
“And if I don’t?”
“She isn’t a money-chasing whore like Monica, and she isn’t the confident A-list girls you play around with on the weekends at your galas. She’s not Alexa, man.”
I jerk back as though he hit me. His words clearly hit his mark and aren’t wrong. I’m not sure what has me more pissed—the fact that he’s right or the fact that he’s brought up Alexa. But either way, it has my hands balling into fists at my side. “What the fuck do you know about Alexa?”
“I knew her. You keep forgetting that at one time you weren’t my boss, Drew. She was my friend. She was hooking me up with all the agents until that night.”
I see red. “Don’t ever speak of that night again. Do you fucking hear me? Never,” I seethe.
“I’m only saying she was my friend too. I miss her every day, and you tend to forget that part. I’ve gotten to know Bailey, and though she’s damaged, she’s a good girl. She doesn’t need anyone messing with her or confusing her for someone she’s not.”
“I don’t remember asking you for your opinion on the matter. If you want to keep your job, you’d best remember who pays your damn bills,” I snap, feeling off-kilter for more reasons than just his words.
Carter throws his hands up in the air in defeat. “Okay, okay, I’m done. You make your own bed.”
I contemplate his words. He hasn’t told me anything I didn’t already know, but I want to know the rest of her secrets. I want to know the girl behind that face.
He obviously knows them, and I want to ask, but given his reaction to everything, it’s not a good idea. It’s clear that they’ve become friends in the short time she’s been working here. I’ve missed a lot this past week, but I definitely want to catch up where she’s concerned.
“I need to have her ready to run bottle service by next weekend. Send her to my office tomorrow when she gets here. I’m going to manage her training.” He looks at me warily but doesn’t argue. Smart move.
I lock the door behind Carter and make my way to my office. I have a few things to finish up before I can call it a night. I sit in my chair looking over the books, but I can’t think straight.
Tonight just keeps playing on a loop in my head. There is just something about her, more than the obvious fact she’s gorgeous.
I feel the need to protect her. The sins of my past demand it.
This isn’t the time to ponder Bailey Jameson. Cal sent over the proposal—as promised—to purchase the property, and I need to concentrate on that rather than on the beauty with demons.
The club is running the smoothest it has in some time, so now is the time to expand.
I have Carter to thank for that. He’s the best general manager I’ve ever had. He keeps the girls and customers in line during my absence, and he’s, by far, the most sought-after bartender in the city.
Maybe I should take his advice and leave well enough alone where Bailey is concerned. As long as she’s not currently using and bringing that shit into my bar, we’re all good. No more info needed.
8
Bailey
I wake the next day to a banging on the door. What the fuck is that? And what the hell time is it?
I peek my head out from under the covers and look over at my clock illuminating the pitch-black room. Blackout shades have been the best investment in this crappy walk-up apartment.
The banging continues. I stifle a groan, knowing only one person in the world would be knocking on my door at nine in the morning on a Saturday. On any morning, to be honest.
Harper.
Throwing the blanket across the bed, I jump up and pad down the hall. My feet angrily hit the wood floors with each step I take toward the door. I peer through the peephole before swinging it open.
Never can be too safe, especially with where I’m living. It isn’t that my apartment is in an unsafe area per se, but the safety precautions are definitely lacking in the building. Case in point, unwanted visitors being able to enter the building without me knowing. I tentatively pull the door back, not ready to meet the bubbly eyes of Harper.
No bubbles to be found, just straight an
ger. Shit.
Letting out a long sigh, I open the door wider and allow her in.
“What the hell, Bailey? An eviction notice?” she screeches.
“Did you at least bring coffee?” I grumble.
“Don’t deflect. Tell me what’s going on right now.”
“There was an error with my direct deposit. I have to see the landlord to get it all straightened out. It’s not a big deal.”
That’s one truth to all my lies. I do have the money thanks to Silver. I can’t tell her that, but she can at least see that I’m not lying, evidenced by her features softening.
“Come in,” I huff.
“Can you at least put a shirt on?” she replies.
I look down, and sure enough, the girls are out in full force. Shit. Must have forgotten to put a top on again in my exhaustion. Leaving her standing in the foyer, I run back into my bedroom and grab an oversized sweatshirt from the floor. Placing it to my nose, I inhale and decide it’s clean. If Harper knew I just smelled a shirt off the floor, she would force me to dump my apartment in Alphabet City and move in with her and Cal in their posh apartment uptown.
Not going to happen.
This might not be the most desirable location, and most might not love that it’s in a five-floor walk-up, but it’s mine. My place is also a one bedroom, which is practically unheard of at this price in this neighborhood.
I saunter back out to Harper. “Better?” I place my hand on my hip defiantly.
“Much,” she replies, making herself comfortable on the couch she bought me. She wasn’t much of a fan of the Craigslist special I’d found in my price range. The day before I was set to have it delivered, I got a surprise delivery from Jennifer Convertibles. A Harper-approved loveseat and chair. Typical. I canceled my previous order and she was happy. She was always more of a mom to me than a sister. Growing up after Dad died, it was often just the two of us.
“Well, now that you made yourself at home, without bringing me coffee, I might add, what can I do for you?”