by Alexx Andria
HIS GIN AND JUICE
The Cocktail Girls
Alexx Andria
HIS GIN AND JUICE
By Alexx Andria
© 2018 Alexx Andria. All rights reserved.
No part of this NOVELLA may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher. All characters are fictitious and any resemblance to an actual person is purely coincidental.
Cover design by PopKitty Designs
The following NOVELLA is approximately 15,000 words and an original work of fiction.
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A Note From Alexx
Dearest Reader,
Wow, what an incredible honor to be included in The Cocktail Girls line-up! When I was asked to be a part of this amazing series, I jumped at the chance. Not only did I get the opportunity to write a fun story but I was blessed with new friendships with some amazing fellow authors and that’s just a win on all levels!
I hope you enjoy this sweet and sexy story about two people who absolutely need each other and find love in the most unexpected way.
If you haven’t already, please check out the other stories in the line up. There’s a list of The Cocktail Girls series, along with my backlist, for your reading pleasure!
Looking to connect with me? You can find me at the following social media platforms:
Facebook: facebook.com/alexx.andria.796
Insta: author_alexxandria
Twitter: @alexxandria2772
Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/AuthorAlexxAndria
Email: [email protected]
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Epilogue
Gin & Juice Recipe
The Cocktail Girls Series
Also by Alexx Andria
About the Author
Chapter One
If there was one thing Kennedy Shae couldn't stand, it was a pushy guy — and tonight the bar seemed full of them.
The Little Black Dress, a swanky, upscale bar for those with money to burn and an eye for pretty things, was the go-to place for anyone in Vegas with discerning tastes but being rich didn't insulate anyone from being an asshole.
Quite the opposite, actually.
Normally, she could avoid the worst of the offenders but tonight wasn't her night.
"Those titties are something else, honey," the man said, eyeing her breasts as if they were put on display just for him. Kennedy smothered the urge to bare her teeth and throw his drink in his face, settling for a cool, dismissive glance instead.
"Your Sex On The Beach," she said, placing the overly sweet and girly drink on the small cocktail table. Her daddy always said, 'Never trust a man who can't stomach a shot of whiskey. They ain't real men." And she hadn't found this to be false, yet.
"Mmmmm, mmmm," he crooned, still eyeing her breasts like they were his dinner. "Makes you want to grab 'em and just bury your damn face in those fat pillows."
Her patience thinning, she forced a smile. "Is there anything else I can get you?" Maximo Donatello, the LBD manager had already warned her about getting lippy with the patrons but this guy was already stomping on her last nerve. Seeing as she needed this job, she forced herself to ignore her impulse to throat-punch the man.
But the man was as dense as his words were slurred. "How about your number, beautiful?"
"Not likely," Kennedy returned with a saccharine tone that reeked of sarcasm but he was too far gone to notice.
"You know, you're not quite as pretty as the other girls but I like a girl with meat on her bones. A little more cushion for the pushin', if you know what I mean," he said, grabbing for her ass. She sidestepped his clumsy touch but her heart leapt into her throat. She didn't like being grabbed at by strange men. He grinned broadly as he gestured, none too discreetly to the bulge in his tailored trousers. "Do you know who I am? I'm the man who can make all your dreams come true if you play nice. I'm what you might call...locked and loaded. I make more money in a day than you see in a year."
Kennedy calmed her frantic heart to cast him a disparaging glance, her lips curling with open contempt. "Not even if you were the last man on earth and the human race depended on it. Touch me again and I'll have you thrown out."
His gaze hardened along with his voice. "Do you know who I am, girl?"
"A drunk with a nasty case of bad manners?" she supplied without pause. "Or a self-entitled dickwad who thinks his money can buy whatever he wants? Hmm...take your pick, neither option makes me want to get naked with you." Gross, the very idea made her want to lose her hastily eaten dinner.
She turned around only to hear him snarl, "You little bitch," and she whirled to find a big hand clamped on his shoulder and a man Kennedy didn't recognize keeping the prick firmly in his seat. "What the..?" The man tried to swivel around to bluster at whoever was holding him down but he couldn't budge.
"Apologize," he said, his voice smooth and deep like the fathomless blue-green depths of the rock quarry back home in Tennessee. "Before I decide to stop being nice and pull your tongue from your head."
Kennedy knew most of the regulars but she didn't recognize him. Tall, broad-shouldered with lean hips and a dark beard threaded with gray, he vibrated with energy that caused her pulse to quicken in a different yet entirely more dangerous way. She lifted her chin and met his gaze without betraying the quiver in her gut, saying, "I have this handled. You can go back to your table." When he simply stared, she tacked on, "Thanks" before signaling for Isaac, the bouncer, to escort the drunk patron out of the bar.
The man chuckled and ignored Kennedy's request, simply hauling the man to his feet and shoving him toward Isaac. "This man has had enough," he said.
"Of course, Mr. James," Isaac said, roughly dragging the man out of the bar and tossing him out without another word. The fact that Isaac knew the man but Kennedy didn't gave her pause but she didn't have time to ask questions. He was already returning to his table where a woman wearing a tight red dress waited. Kennedy knew the type — a working girl, high-class, of course — and she was paid to be his date.
So much for chivalry.
Even though Kennedy believed bars like The Little Black Dress perpetuated the stereotype of women being nothing more than arm candy, it paid well and the management took care of the girls so it wasn't as if they were ever in any danger from the patrons.
Unlike some places on The Strip where the cocktail waitresses were basically expected to be prostitutes. She shuddered at the memory of one such place and pushed it down and away. Her daddy taught her how to throw a punch and shoot a gun but sometimes there was no overpowering a man when he had all that adrenalin fueling his muscles.
She swallowed and tucked a stray curl of hair back into her messy bun and tried to get back into work-mode but her nerves were jangled, even if she did an excellent job of hiding it.
Kennedy excused herself from the floor to calm down. She shook out her shaking hands and grabbed a bottled water from the mini-fridge in the break room.
Mia Miller, another cocktail waitress at the bar was also on her break and immediately saw Kennedy was shaken up.
"Are you okay? You're pale as a ghost," she said, concerned.
The small blonde was pretty as a princess but unlike many girls with her look
s, she wasn't two-dimensional or shallow. Kennedy actually liked her but she wasn't exactly a joiner so hadn't reached out in any meaningful way. Kennedy wiped away any smudged eyeliner from beneath her eyes and nodded. "Some guy got a little handsy but Isaac took care of it." Well, not only Isaac but that other guy, too.
"Was it the guy at table nine?" Mia asked. When Kennedy nodded, she said, "God, that jerk was getting out of line all night. I hope Isaac threw him hard onto the street."
Kennedy chuckled. "Yeah, he bounced him right on his ass."
Mia crumpled her sandwich wrapping and deposited it in the trash. "Well, I'm glad you're okay. I swear, you can't put a pig in a tuxedo and expect him to be anything more than a well-dressed pig."
Kennedy's smile widened. "My daddy used to say the same thing."
"Yeah?"
She nodded. "My daddy was always full of advice like that. I miss him." Kennedy hadn't meant to say that out loud but since her daddy's passing a year ago, it'd been a struggle to get past her grief.
"I'm sorry," Mia offered with genuine emotion. "He must've been a good man."
"One of the best," Kennedy said, blinking back sudden tears. She groaned. "I'm all over the place tonight. Sorry. My 'A' game is totally fucked."
"It happens to the best of us. Maybe you can see if you can go home early tonight?"
But Kennedy knew there was no chance of that. The bar was hopping and they needed all the help they could get. Besides, she needed the hours. "I'm fine. I just need to shake it off."
Mia nodded, understanding. "Take a shot. It'll take the edge off."
Kennedy didn't drink much. If she downed a shot, she'd be really off her game. No, she'd rather stay focused, especially with that tall stranger still in the bar. Speaking of..."Hey Mia, do you know the guy at table four?"
Mia rose and peeked her head out to peer onto the floor. She returned with a shake of her head. "Sorry. Doesn't look familiar, why?"
"He kinda helped deal with that shitty customer. Made him calm the fuck down before he did something real stupid. Then Isaac threw the guy out."
"That's cool. Sounds like a decent guy. Not too many of those around anymore, it seems. Dying breed."
Kennedy nodded but kept to herself how the guy gave off a dangerous vibe but not the kind that scared her. Maybe that was worse. She didn't want anything to do with a patron. Rich men couldn't be trusted.
She sighed, knowing she couldn't hide in the break room for the rest of the night but as she reluctantly returned to the floor, she realized the man and his red-dressed woman were gone.
Disappointment wasn't the word to describe how she felt but she definitely felt something.
Yeah, that was dangerous. Feeling anything for a patron was bad business — and bad for the heart.
Lazarus "Lars" James couldn't stop thinking about the brunette at the bar. So much so that he'd sent home his entertainment before even enjoying what he'd purchased.
He hated Vegas but certain vices were easy to satisfy if you knew the right people. When he was in town Cassidy always made herself available. Not because she was enamored with him or some romantic shit but because he paid her well above her going rate, fucked her good and then sent her home with a more than generous tip.
But for some reason, this time around, he hadn't been able to get that brunette off his mind. That'd never happened before.
He didn't fixate on anyone for long. Better that way. He was fucked up in the mental department and totally screwed in the emotional stability department, which was why he preferred paid company over that of casual dates.
Ugh. Dating. Even the word left a sour taste in his mouth. But there was never a shortage of women trying to change his mind on that score. Money had a way of whitewashing even the most fatal of flaws. At least for a while.
Even though he knew he shouldn't, he picked up his cell and called Maximo. They weren't friends but Max always made sure that Cassidy was available when he was town so their relationship was more business than anything else.
Of course, Max picked up on the first ring.
"You left early. Is everything okay?" Max asked.
"Yeah, everything is fine. I want to know more about one of your cocktail girls, a brunette working tonight. Tall, curves, nice tits. Ring a bell?"
Immediately, Max knew who Lars was talking about but he wasn't a fan. "Did she give you sass? I swear that girl is more trouble than she's worth. I'll handle it."
"No, she didn't do anything wrong. Don't go off all half-cocked. I just want to know more about her."
Max's tone changed. "Oh? Well, I should warn you, there are easier women to deal with. She's always sassing the patrons instead of playing nice. She's on thin ice, to be honest."
"Really? She seems...interesting."
"I don't pay her to be interesting. I pay her to be nice, pretty and flirt up the patrons so they buy more booze."
"What's her name? Where does she come from?"
"Her name's Kennedy Shae, Tennessee girl."
Lars stroked his beard. He'd thought he'd detected a slight accent flavoring her voice but she must work really hard to suppress that southern drawl. "How'd she come to the LBD?"
"We were down a girl and she came in looking for a job. She was pretty enough in the face, even if she was a little soft. I thought it might be good to diversify. Some guys like the thick ones so I hired her. Possibly not the best decision but she's smart, I'll give her that. Not that I pay her to be smart but whatever, it is what it is."
Max was a real dick but Lars wasn't trying to judge the man on his personality flaws. "She got a boyfriend or any kind of attachments?"
"Not that I'm aware. Can't imagine a man putting up with her mouth for too long. I'd probably eat a bullet if she were my girl." Max paused a beat, then asked, "Are you actually into her?"
He wasn't sure. All he knew at the moment was that he couldn't get her out of his thoughts and that was unusual.
If he were smart, he'd walk away and forget all about her. Hell, if he was really smart, he'd get Cassidy's sweet little ass back in his hotel room so he could fuck her raw like he'd planned but he already knew that wasn't going to happen.
He knew himself well enough to know that if he didn't figure out why this particular woman was stuck in his head, he'd never have any peace. All he needed to do was satisfy his curiosity and it would go away.
"Give me her number."
"I can't do that, man. Laws and all that shit but I can tell you when she works again and if you happen to show up...I can't stop you."
Max accepted that. "Sounds reasonable."
"She works tomorrow night."
"Excellent."
His Saturday night just got a lot more promising.
Chapter Two
Lars stepped into the LBD the following evening, his gaze immediately searching out Kennedy. The LBD was known for its pretty women as it catered to a certain clientele but there was something about Kennedy that broke the mold.
He took a seat at the bar and ordered a whiskey neat and then surveyed the scene. The usual type milled about as the cocktail waitresses, clad in their signature 'Little Black Dress' uniforms made their way from table to table, smiling, flirting and otherwise playing the part of the 'almost attainable' hottie just dancing out of reach and his eyes found Kennedy almost immediately.
Her dress clung to her curves, those swelling hips and high, full breasts, were enough to make his hands itch to touch, but it was more than just her body that intrigued him.
Unlike the other girls who played the game and had a certain level of fun with it, Lars could tell Kennedy loathed playing up to the patrons. He could see it in her eyes even as she smiled prettily and said the right things.
How did someone like Kennedy end up employed at the LBD? He needed to know more but it wasn't as if Kennedy was going to just pull up a chair and unload her life story. Likely she'd tell him to go fuck himself if he tried to strike up any meaningful conversation.
; And he kinda liked that about her.
Maybe he was bored of people constantly kissing his ass, telling him what wanted to hear. Maybe being a multi-billionaire had lost its charm because he couldn't trust a Goddamn thing anyone said to him.
No one wanted to hear a billionaire play the "woe is me" card. Hell, he didn't want to hear from himself so he could only imagine how little someone else might care for it.
Much less someone like Kennedy who seemed as if suffering fools wasn't her favorite pastime.
But fuck man, the struggle was real.
Everyone had an angle. As soon as they recognized him and realized his net worth, the game was on. He supposed that was why he preferred the company of paid women when he sought companionship because there was no pretense or subterfuge.
But there was a soullessness to the exchange that he'd come to dread.
Hell, maybe he was going soft. Maybe he wanted someone to cuddle?
He chuckled at his own ridiculousness and savored his whiskey even as he watched Kennedy do her thing.
Her long brown hair was tucked into an artfully messy bun, exposing the sweet softness of her neck. Everything about Kennedy seemed soft and touchable.
Even the stubborn set of her jaw.
Kennedy breezed past him, oblivious to him, but he caught her scent — something sharp and citrusy — and he wanted to bury his nose in her hair.
And other places.
He signaled for the bartender. "Which table is in Kennedy Shae's section?"
The bartender, a younger man who looked like he got plenty of pussy, gestured to an empty table and Lars slid him a crisp $100 bill for his help.
The man quietly tucked the bill into his pocket without missing a beat and Lars took ownership of the booth, pleased when Kennedy came over within a few moments. Her prompt attention pleased him, even though he knew she was just doing her job.