by J. Saman
She studied up and that makes me smile like I won something.
“Do you need a break?” I ask her, making a point to touch her bare shoulder as I do just so I can watch her reaction. She draws back. Again. Like she’s expecting me to land a blow. Jesus motherfucking Christ. How do I make sense of that?
She smiles up at me. Big, brilliant and beaming. That’s how. That smile, man. I’ve never seen anything like it.
“No,” she says softly. “I’m good. You go if you need to.”
I don’t. I’m not going on a break while she’s working. And that thought is solidified when I see that cocksucker Brent walk in. He smiles that asshole smile of his at her, throws her a wink and quirks a finger, asking her to approach him. I’m instantly jealous. But I force myself to stay quiet as this vulture swoops in and takes what’s mine.
Mine?
Mia is not mine, but I’m having a hell of a time convincing myself of that. I don’t possess her. I feel like that’s been attempted a time or two by men who should not be allowed near women. So yeah, that’s not my objective. But mine feels right. Keeping her close feels right. Watching out for her feels right.
I might be a special level of fucked with this.
She steps back from me, only to approach him. I stand and watch. I don’t even hide the fact. Let him think what he wants about me. I don’t give a fuck. I don’t want him touching her. And hell. None of this is good. It’s only going to end badly. I need to get my head on straight and I need to do it now.
Scrubbing my hands up and down my face, I pull myself together, but don’t go far. I smile at the women sitting next to the asshole, and take their order.
“I was hoping I’d see you tonight,” he says to Mia. “I missed you last night, but I see your boyfriend is here keeping tabs on you again.” He glances in my direction and that draws her eyes over her shoulder to me as I mix up a batch of martinis.
I wink at her. Then smirk at him, because he can go screw himself sideways.
She rolls her eyes. Shakes her head. And then turns back to him. “He’s not my boyfriend. Just my boss. What can I get you tonight? Same as the other night?”
“Will you stand on the stool to reach for it again?”
She blushes a bright red and I hate he just humiliated her like that. “I might not have a choice.” She grins. She’s being playful. Just. Perfect.
I do my best to ignore them, to focus on these drinks and these girls who are flirting with me the way Brent is flirting with her. But I can’t concentrate on them. My attention is one hundred percent on Mia.
“Then my answer is yes. I’m all for anything that gets you to reach for something high up in that outfit. But if it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll let it be ladies’ choice.” She smiles softly now. She likes that answer. “I’m hoping you’ll go out to dinner with me some night while I’m here and something tells me that objectifying you won’t earn me that luxury.”
She shakes her head. “You’re right about that.” And then she pauses, straightening herself up a bit. “But I don’t date.”
“Are you married?” Brent presses.
She shifts her position. “I’m not on the market.”
Well, hell.
“Do you have a boyfriend, a fiancé?”
The guy is persistent. I’ll give him that.
Her posture stiffens, but she recovers quickly. “No, but I’m not dating right now.”
He gives her his million-dollar grin. “I’d love to change that. Here.” He slides a card across the smooth wood bar top. “That’s my number. Just promise me you’ll think about dinner.”
“I will,” she says and then goes and gets him a nice bourbon from the second shelf instead of reaching up high and showing off her ass. She slides him three fingers with some ice, and he accepts it with a big smile. He doesn’t touch her, and part of me wishes he would. Just so I could watch her flinch the way she does with me.
“Are you okay?” she asks softly when she catches me staring at her, but then she sees that I’m not okay and takes a step back.
Shit. I’m scaring her.
“I’m fine. Sorry.” I shake my head, clearing away everything. “Just tired, you know? It’s late and I was up early again. You must be tired, too, doing swing shifts between here and The Bistro like this.” I shut my mouth before I continue my inane babbling.
She shrugs, but she still looks wary. I don’t blame her, so I tack on a easy-going smile at the end of my little speech. She seems to buy that because she relaxes her rigid spine and manages a grin of her own. I blow out a breath and pull my shit together, pushing all those thoughts to the back of my mind.
Brent sits there, sipping his expensive drink and eating her up with his eyes while she continues to work. I do, too. I can’t even seem to help myself. She’s the most alluring drug. I can’t help but stay closer to her than I know I should.
A girl walks up to the bar, leaning so far across it her tits practically spill out of her tiny top. “Hey,” she coos, offering me a seductive grin.
“What can I get you?”
“Are you on the menu?”
Jesus. I can’t stop my small laugh. People flirt with bartenders. They do it everywhere. They think we’re all easy game and out for a lay. And sometimes that is most definitely the case. But of all the places I’ve worked, people are far more brazen in Las Vegas.
“I’m not. But we have a lot of drinks that I’m sure would make you feel just as good.”
Her finger glides along the line of her cleavage, but I do not take the bait. My eyes stay focused on hers. And when she realizes this isn’t going the way she anticipated it would, she points over to her friends and says, “A pitcher of margaritas.”
“You got it.”
“But if you change your mind, I’m staying in this hotel. Room 10-050. Come find me. I’m a lot of fun.”
“I have no doubt that you are. Thanks for the offer, but I’m afraid I can’t.” She gives me a pouty frown but leaves it at that.
I start making the margaritas when Mia approaches me, standing close as she mixes a drink she could have easily made on the other side of the bar where she’s stationed. “She was pretty.” It takes everything in my power not to smile at that.
I shrug indifferently.
“Why didn’t you take her up on her offer?” Her eyes are on the bottle of gin and glass in her hand, but her voice tells me that my answer means something to her.
“Not interested in her.”
She nods. That’s all. She told Brent she doesn’t date, that she’s not on the market, but hell, this small nothing of a conversation makes me wonder if she’s just not interested in him.
“Are you working tomorrow morning?” I ask her, making sure my body slides in nearer to hers. I can feel her warmth, catch a hint of something floral on her skin, and it only makes me want to move in closer so I can absorb more of it. She doesn’t back away, but she stiffens.
She shakes her head no.
“Have breakfast with me.”
Another head shake. “I don’t date.”
I anticipated she was going to say that and I have my answer ready. “Perfect,” I reply quickly. “Neither do I,” I lie. “Have breakfast with me as a friend.”
She swallows hard, glances all around her and then goes back to her drink.
“You can come up to my place. We don’t have to go out if you’d rather not. I’ll cook for you.”
“No,” she says firmly, pivoting to meet my eyes. “I will not go to your apartment.” And then she sighs, but this one is more in defeat than fear, her face dropping to the rubber floor. “You saved me that night and brought me into town. You’ve helped me learn my way around this job and not once have you mentioned the money I owe you for the tow you paid for.” Finally, she finds me again, killing me with the pain I see swimming in those grass colored depths. “I think you might be a good man and those are very hard to come by for me, but I don’t want breakfast. I don’t want dinne
rs or lunches. I don’t want whatever you’re trying to offer me. I don’t want anything that has anything to do with anyone. We can be friendly here, but that’s it, Jake. Not friends. Not lovers. Not even casual sex buddies. And that will never change.”
It takes me a moment to absorb her words, analyze them, roll them around my brain and when I do, I realize I have no comeback for that. She left me with no loophole. I know that was her intention because she just walks off like her point was made. And I guess it was. She most definitely won this round.
I should give up. Right here and now.
But she asked me about the girl who gave me her room number. There is only one reason I can think of to ask a non-friend, member of the opposite sex a question like that and it’s not because she doesn’t want anything to do with me.
But she meant what she said. That much was clear.
What happened to you, Mia?
I know the answer to that question before my brain can even finish the question. She’s running from something. Or someone. Most likely someone if good men are hard to come by for her.
That gives me pause. Actually stops me in tracks and has me frozen on the spot, clutching a pitcher of margaritas, incapable of movement. She was scared of me when I approached her car that night. Maybe that was a typical female reaction to a strange man approaching your car, but more than likely, it wasn’t. I don’t know to be honest. She’s formal and inadvertently sweet, a mass of contradictions. Overemotional one minute and completely detached the next. And she lied about her last name. Maybe even her first name as well.
I think someone hurt her. I think someone did something so bad to her that she fled from them in an old piece of shit car. I think someone did something so bad to her that she’s terrified they’ll find her again so she’s giving me a fake name and wouldn’t stay at a hotel that would ask her for ID.
I find her, across the bar as she works furiously, trying to read everything she’s hiding behind. Blood pounds in my ears, my fists clench, nearly cracking the plastic of the pitcher I’m still holding. I want to kill the man who put her in this position. But more than that, I want to protect her from them. I don’t even know her, but that’s the feeling I have. And it’s strong.
I should give up. Right here and now.
That’s what the smart, rational part of my brain is telling me. But a woman has not intrigued me the way she does in… hell, forever. I tell her I’ll be right back, and she gives me what I determine to be a genuine, possibly relieved, smile. Diamond is here so it’s not like she’s alone. I shouldn’t leave the bar. It’s busy and crowded and overrun with drunks looking to bump up their buzz. But I’m a man on a mission and there is no deterring me.
I stalk across the lounge and through the restaurant, past the busy tables until I reach the back room. Cal is there, staring at God knows what on his computer. “What do you know about her?”
He glances up at me, not bothering with the pretense of asking me who and just shrugs. “She came recommended.”
“By whom?”
“Can’t say.”
I raise an eyebrow at that and he laughs, shaking his head at me. He does the stare down thing with me, the one guys do when they’re trying to not-so-subtly tell the other guy to fuck off without causing a fight. But he knows me well enough to realize I won’t back down. Not on this.
Finally, after a very long minute, he goes with, “Someone we trust vouched for her. Said Mia was a good worker, a capable bartender and in need of a job. Did I miss something? Were they fucking with me?”
I shake my head. “No. She’s good. She’s a quick learner, a hard worker and the customers lover her.”
Cal doesn’t smile. He doesn’t even smirk. He just stares at me for a long hard minute. “Then tell me what the fuck you’re doing back here asking about her?”
“I want to see her file.”
“For what purpose, man? You just said she’s good. Why are you turning over rocks?”
It’s a good question. One I have no answer for. I need more information and that’s all there is to it.
“If you didn’t own the goddamn place, I’d tell you to fuck off. But I guess I don’t have that luxury.”
“Not anymore.”
He chuckles at that. I’ve known Cal a very long time. Practically my whole life. He and my father were as close as anyone in their respective roles could be.
“But for the record, I’m not letting you get rid of her.”
Dick.
I roll my eyes. “I’m not getting rid of her. I just want more info. That’s all.” I hold my hands up in surrender, the way I did after I touched Mia and she freaked out. God, the things that bastard must have done to her.
“Fine. But none of it is legit. I already checked it out.”
“I’m going to forget you just said that. Because if you just admitted to hiring someone with fake info, then not only will she get fired, but you will as well.”
He doesn’t flinch. He knows I won’t fire him. Or her.
I sigh, resigned. I can’t win this one.
“Just show me.”
He clicks a few keys and by the time I get around his desk to his computer, her face is there. And that address. Holy shit. It’s a joke. To anyone who lives local, we know that no one has that address. It’s not even creative. I have no idea who advised her to put that down on her application, but hell, it stands out considering there is a big, bright casino in that location. Her name says Mia Jones, no middle name. Her ID is Connecticut, not Texas, though that’s where the plates on the car she was stranded in were from. Plus she most definitely has that sexy southern twang. She has a social security card on file with the same name. Are these IDs fake? Most definitely. A full background check was not done because she’s not full-time here and each restaurant is individual, which means whatever she has on file with The Bistro is not available here.
“She’s a sweet girl, Jake.”
I inwardly groan. “I’m not out to hurt her.”
“But you want her. Anyone can see that.” I glare at him, and he visibly backs off. “Hey, I’m not criticizing. I get it. If I weren’t married—” Another look and his hands are above his head. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just saying she’s a beautiful girl. But she wants privacy. She’s a sweet, innocent kid and a good worker. Just let her be. If you’re not invested, let her be.”
Right. Let her be.
Am I invested? How can one be invested after such a short time with a woman who lies to them? I don’t know this woman, and clearly, she’s involved in something heavy if she’s using fake IDs and addresses. Something potentially dangerous? Maybe. Could even be illegal for all I know.
“I’m just checking,” is all I say, knowing it’s not nearly enough but it’s what I’ve got. She turned me down for a date. She doesn’t want to be anything more than friendly. Not even friends. I guess that means I walk away. Why does that thought make my gut wrench?
I leave Cal’s office, my mind a blur. I have no idea who is involved. Who recommended her for the job or who got her the IDs. I didn’t press it. But why are they putting themselves on the line for Mia?
I reach the bar again and find her leaning over the flat wood top, talking to Brent far closer than I’d like her to be, the curve of her ass just visible beneath the hem of her dress. I hate her in that dress. It wouldn’t be so short if she didn’t have legs for miles. Smooth, tanned, gorgeous legs that I’d die to have wrapped around me as I sink into her. And that ass. Jesus, my cock is twitching, which only serves to make me feel like more of a creep.
She laughs, and I want to kick Brent’s ass. It’s juvenile as hell, but I can’t muster enough strength or pride to care. I hate the way he looks at her. I hate the way he speaks to her. I just plain hate him.
“It’s dinner. Maybe some dancing,” he says, and she shakes her head, but she’s smiling. “Oh come on, beautiful. I know you want to. I’m charming, right?”
She laughs now. “That�
�s why it’s a no. Besides, I already told you, I’m not available.”
“I’m persistent,” he warns.
She gives an unconcerned shrug. “Do you live here?”
“No,” he replies and there is actual regret in his voice.
“Then I’m not worried. You’ll go home to your wife or girlfriend—or both—and forget all about the bartender you met in Vegas.”
“No,” he says firmly. “There is no forgetting you. And there is no wife or girlfriend. There is just you.”
“Wow.” She laughs, tossing a napkin at him. I hate that she just did that. It was flirtatious as hell. “You’re good at this. But I’m not falling for your act, so you should just back off now.”
“Not gonna happen.”
Another shrug. “Do you need another refill or are you done for the night?”
“You really won’t go out with me?”
She shakes her head. “I really won’t.”
“I guess I’m done, then. Don’t want to push the lady too hard, too fast.” Brent stands up, reaches into his back pocket for his wallet and slaps a hundred on the bar with a resonating smack. That’s a seventy-dollar tip. “Until tomorrow, beautiful.” He bows like the douchetard he is and then leaves.
She throws me a sidelong glance, like she knows I was watching her, and then goes back to work. That’s it. Goddamn, this woman is driving me insane. I want to pepper questions across her lips. Both sets. Have her answer me with screams of pleasure. I want her to beg to be mine and no one else’s.
Who are you, Mia Jones?
Why give a fake local address? And that license was a not a great fake. The whole name thing keeps throwing me. I knew that last name was bogus. She’s not a skilled liar.
Mia Jones. Two weeks and I can’t get you out of my head.
If I thought I was intrigued before, I’m downright captivated now.
By the time we finished up it was past two, but now it’s rounding on three. I should not still be here. I should not be planning what I’m planning. Or doing what I’m about to do. It’s wrong. I know it’s wrong. But I can’t stop myself. I have to know. I tried rationalizing it by saying that I was doing my job as the owner of the hotel, but that’s bullshit.