by Meghan March
“Hey, Tanya. Good to see you,” Silas Bohannon says as he lowers the newspaper he’s reading.
“You too, Silas. You drinking, eating, or just smoking today?” she asks, opting to not introduce me as the new trainee, like she has for every other table.
Hmmm. I can’t help but wonder why not. Territorial? The rest of the men we’ve served over the last two hours were businessmen and politicians, and Silas Bohannon is our first celebrity.
“Eating and smoking. Although my trainer keeps telling me I have to turn in my humidor key.” He shakes his head with a smile. “Too bad he doesn’t always get what he wants.”
“Absolutely. What’s life without a few vices?” Tanya leans forward to remove the wineglass from the place setting in front of him.
Instead of responding to her question, he cranes his neck to get a better view of me. “Who’s your friend?”
Almost as though she forgot I was standing next to her, Tanya glances over her shoulder. “Oh, this is Drew. She’s learning the ropes. First day.”
“Nice to meet you, Drew.” His gaze narrows on me. “Have we met before? You look familiar.”
My stomach instantly twists into a web of knots, but I school my reaction to casual confusion. There’s no way he can recognize me, even if he’s seen me on TV before. I knew walking into this job that I’d be facing a crowd of the most elite members of the city, some of whom I’ve interviewed before, and I took great pains to change my appearance as much as possible. I’m not just a chameleon, I’m a damn good one.
“I would definitely remember if we’d met before, sir. I can safely say we haven’t.” I keep my tone friendly, deliberately injecting a hint of star-struck, but keep my hands firmly clamped together by my waist.
Silas scans me closer. “Are you sure? You haven’t been auditioning in town lately?”
Thankfully, Tanya’s booming laughter saves me from coming up with an answer. “She’s no actress, Silas. Trust me. We’re still trying to see if she can hack it as a waitress.”
How the hell Tanya feels like she knows me well enough to make that statement, I have no idea, but I’m ready to hug her for it.
To firmly close out this line of questioning, I add, “I’m just one of those people with a familiar face. It’s an honor to meet you, sir. I’m happy to take your order when you’ve made a lunch selection.”
Tanya’s laughter fades to a pointed look. She’s probably pissed that I’m stepping on her toes by offering to take his order, but I’ll risk her anger to kill this conversation.
“Salmon Caesar salad, no cheese, no croutons, dressing on the side. Basically, boring as fuck, but that’s the price of playing a superhero, I guess. A bottle of still water as well, please.”
“I can’t wait to see the movie,” Tanya says, regaining control of the encounter. “We’ll have your lunch out to you in a moment, and I’ll let Matteo know that you’ll be using your regular room when you finish eating.”
Silas’s attention still splits between us. “Thanks, ladies. Nice to meet you, Drew.”
As we walk away from the table, Tanya makes a beeline for the kitchen, not stopping until we slip inside the doors. She turns her icy blue eyes on me as her fingers latch onto my wrist like a cuff. “Whatever you’re thinking right now, stop. This is one of the only places in this city where Silas can escape from the fawning fans, not another place where he has to be on.”
Everything in me wants to protest that I don’t give a fuck about Silas Bohannon, but that would only invite more questions.
“Understood?”
Tanya’s gaze is sharp enough to wound as her nails dig into my skin. And I know it’s now or never, if I want to be treated with even a modicum of respect by this woman.
“I don’t know what the hell your problem is with me, Tanya, but I’m here to work. Nothing else. Now I’m asking you respectfully to remove your hand from my person before I make you.” My stone-cold tone leaves absolutely no question about how serious I am.
With a huff and gritted teeth, Tanya drops my wrist. “You’re here because you want something this place can offer. That’s why they all try to get jobs here. Easy access to rich men to pay for your life in exchange for a little suck and fuck in return. Or maybe you’re out to try to get Cannon’s attention. Well, guess what? He’s off-limits. Won’t fucking touch you, even if you laid out naked on the bar and spread your legs for him. Got it?”
Squaring my shoulders, I stare her down with the colored contacts turning my eyes from aquamarine to brown, and lie my ass off. “I’m here for a steady job and paycheck. That’s it. End of story.”
Tanya’s eyes narrow until her glare is piercing enough to impale. “I don’t believe you.”
“I don’t care what you believe, but here’s one thing you can take to the bank—I don’t want your boss in my bed. There’s no need to piss on your territory to scare me off. Now, if you’re done lifting your leg, let’s get back to work.” I straighten my shirt cuffs and lift my chin high, all under Tanya’s continued glare.
“I don’t like you, and that means you won’t last. Now go place Silas’s order with the chef and don’t fuck it up. Actually, do. Because I’d love to have a reason to fire you on your first day.”
When she stomps out of the kitchen, all I can think is Well, hell. I probably should have handled that better.
Thankfully, training with Matteo, an older Cuban man with an inky black widow’s peak and gray frosting his temples, who I learn is Letty’s uncle, takes me away from Tanya’s rancid attitude for the next three hours. Inside the large glassed-in room, he assesses my knowledge of cigars, which he deems adequate, and I have my father to thank for that.
Dad always indulged himself with a smoke on the back deck at night after dinner. That’s when he lit a fire in me about becoming an investigative reporter, and taught me the things he didn’t think young journalists knew well enough when they got started in his world.
How to be objective. How to look for the right perspective. How to be unbiased and always focus on finding the truth, not only looking for evidence that supported the conclusion you thought would be right. Keeping an open mind when your investigation took a different turn than you expected, because there was nothing worse than twisting the facts into something other than what they were.
Then he’d tap the ashes in the ceramic dish he hid from Mother and press one finger to his lips to remind me that this was all our secret. As if I’d ever tattle on my old man. No, I soaked up every word out of his mouth like a sponge. There was never a chance of any other career for me. I wanted to grow up to be just like Dad.
“Before we wrap things up, we must talk about the most difficult and yet simple part of your job.”
Dragging myself back to the present and away from those cherished memories, I lift my gaze from the lid of a box of Cohibas to meet Matteo’s ruddy-cheeked expression.
“What’s that?”
“The art of the upsell.” He waves his hand at the left side of the room, where glass-fronted humidors contain box after box of cigars on angled shelves that allow for maximum visibility. “That is where we keep our most expensive inventory, each cigar more precious than the last. Make no mistake, if the fire alarm were ever to sound, we get the cigars out before we leave. They are like my children, you see?” His voice carries the exotic lilt of Cuba as he waves with a flourish at the boxes.
I take a step closer and scan the labels. “Which one is the most expensive?”
He shifts to the center glass case and points at a box cradling the artfully rolled cigars. “It is not necessarily the brand or the name that makes a cigar expensive. Sometimes it is the story behind it, and the rarity. These were made by Fidel Castro’s personal cigar roller. They are nearly impossible to find anymore.”
“That’s impressive. How much are they?”
“We charge ten thousand per stick. It pairs nicely with the five-thousand-dollar-per-shot cognac from the French Revolution, or the Pappy
Van Winkle.” Matteo turns to me with a smile. “And your job is to entice patrons to amplify their experience here with the most exclusive of everything. Other than privacy and comfort, that is our most valuable offering.”
He runs through the other expensive cigars I’m supposed to upsell—the Gurkha Black Dragons, stored in their handcrafted camel-bone boxes that are around twelve hundred dollars per stick or over a hundred grand for the box. The Arturo Fuente Opus X, which now seems to be a great deal at over thirty thousand per box. The Cohiba Behikes are practically bargain priced in my mind because they’re under twenty grand per box. The price scale continues downward with cigars ranging in price from hundreds of dollars for one to merely fifty.
I commit every word to memory, which is a habit I honed while interviewing on the off chance my recorder would fail or the recording turned out muffled.
An hour later, a tap on the glass catches my attention. I expect to see Tanya summoning me, but Cannon stands there watching us.
How long has he been there, and how didn’t I notice?
I blame it on the ventilation system, that’s louder in here due to the particular needs of the cigars.
With a friendly expression, Matteo waves to the boss. “My time is up, Drew. Do not hesitate to come back for more lessons. The more you know about the cigars and their stories, the more effective you will be at your job.”
He has no way of knowing that the only reason I want to be effective at my job is to find out what the man on the other side of the glass knows. And if I do it right, he never will.
I hold out a hand, and Matteo shakes it. “Thank you for your time and expertise, sir. It was a pleasure.”
“Don’t be a stranger. And good luck with Tanya. She’s not an easy one, but she is loyal once you are part of her circle.”
Yet another warning about Tanya. Interesting.
I move to the door Cannon is opening, and note his features are tight rather than relaxed like they were when I saw him this morning.
My first thought is—he knows. But that’s impossible. Ariel is one of the best hackers in the world. The mob doesn’t have anyone who could drill through the false identity she created for me.
With my heart hammering, I step out of the humidor room and wait for him to speak.
“I need to talk to you in my office.”
7
Drew
Being called into my boss’s office on my first day, especially when he’s wearing an unreadable expression, isn’t a good sign for a regular employee.
And for someone like me? It’s a one-way ticket to terror.
The rational part of my brain is hoping this is simply a formality following the end of my shift. Or maybe Tanya said something to try to get me fired? Either of those are vastly preferable to the only other alternative I can think of right now—that someone recognized me . . . like Silas Bohannon.
With a lump in my throat, I focus on my steps, keeping them even and at pace with Cannon’s as I follow him to his office. Once we’re inside, he closes the door.
“Sit.”
I’m tempted to glance behind me, but I err on the side of obeying his order in silence. He doesn’t take a seat behind his desk until I’ve lowered myself into the leather club chair.
“Are you going to quit?” Cannon’s question catches me completely off guard.
“What?”
“Are you going to quit today?” He speaks slower this time, a current of tension underlying each perfectly enunciated word. His hazel eyes sizzle and snap, like he’s daring me to lie to him.
Already have, Cannon. Will definitely continue.
My shoulder blades press into the padding of the leather back as he brushes a hand through his dark brown hair in a frustrated move.
“I wasn’t planning on it,” I reply carefully. “Why would you ask that?” The confusion in my tone is totally genuine.
“Because Tanya seems to think you won’t be able to hack it. She’s laying money on the fact that you won’t show up tomorrow.”
Heat, a direct result of the anger burning deep in my chest, floods my system. I clamp my teeth together to stop the words dying to spring forth and take a deep breath instead.
Cannon watches me closely, as if he’s observing every fleeting emotion I’m trying not to show on my face while I prepare a response that isn’t your head waitress is a massive bitch who needs an attitude adjustment.
Apparently, Cannon is tired of waiting for me to reply, because he says, “She’s going to try to make you quit. I would’ve warned you, but that’s not how things work here. If you can’t handle her, you can’t handle the job.”
“I can handle her and the job, sir.” The emphasis on the last word comes through my clenched teeth.
Cannon leans back in his chair and crosses one ankle over a knee. “You’re stone cold, aren’t you, Drew? That’s a quality I don’t often see in women around here.”
“You don’t have many women around here, from what I’ve noticed,” I say, not sure what kind of reaction he’s fishing for.
“Women aren’t allowed to apply for membership to the Upper Ten. They’re only allowed in the club for special occasions, which take place two or three times per year. But that’s not what I’m talking about, and you know it.”
I lift my chin in challenge that comes naturally to me. I don’t know what his purpose is, but I’m not losing this job as soon as I got it. I need to be here. “What are we talking about, sir?”
“Cut the sir shit. My name is Cannon. No one here has ever called me sir and meant it with respect, so no one says it. Understand?”
“Yes, s—. I mean yes, Cannon.”
He uncrosses his ankle and shifts forward in his chair to lean his elbows on the desk. “Good. Because with brass balls like you’ve got, you’ll do well here. Win Tanya over, and you’ll do even better. It’s not your fault she hates you. She’d hate anyone in your position. That’s on me, but I’m not going to fix it for you.”
What a dick. He knows she’s pissed at him for their one-night stand, and he’s going to let her take it out on me? Asshole move.
My chin goes higher. “I’m not sleeping with you. I’m sure as soon as she understands that, we won’t have a problem.”
Cannon’s head jerks back and his eyes narrow on me.
Fuck. I shouldn’t have said that. If I was considering seduction as a last resort for information, I’ve jacked it up royally.
Cannon’s chest puffs out as his gaze bores into me. “Says who?” The words come out quiet and dangerous, and the heat that was rushing through my system from anger pools between my legs.
No. No. Seduction is a last resort. Not a first choice. I dump a mental bucket of ice water on my unruly lady parts and reinforce my bravado.
“Me. I don’t care if you screw every woman who walks in this door, but I won’t be on the list.”
A predatory smile stretches over his face, and holy hell, if that isn’t a good look for him, then I don’t know what is. My panties are a lost cause as his green-and-amber gaze catches and holds mine.
“Interesting.” He breaks our stare to push a piece of paper across the desk toward me, and when he looks up, there’s no trace of the intensity that was there a second ago.
Whoa. It’s like he changed his mask. The trick is impressive to me, wildly so, given my chosen occupation.
“In the meantime,” he says as I glance down at the paper, “here’s your schedule. You’re on days until your training is finished and we’ll ease you into the evenings. Club is open until two a.m., unless we have a special request from a member, in which case, we will stay open all night, if necessary.”
“Doesn’t the State Liquor Authority have a problem with that?” As soon as the question is out, I know it’s a stupid one. This is a mob establishment.
A smirk tugs at the corners of Cannon’s mouth. “You’ll find, Drew, that many rules that apply to everyone else don’t apply to us. But if you’re really concerned,
the chairman of the SLA should be in tomorrow night. He enjoys his Cohibas.” He rises and waves toward the door. “You can show yourself out.”
8
Drew
Day two moves along much like day one, except I arrive fifteen minutes before the appointed time printed on my schedule. There are four pressed white shirts hanging on the door of my locker, and I change into one after stowing my bag. I’m on the floor a full five minutes before Tanya walks in the door.
If I thought she was in fine form yesterday, today’s mood is even worse. She barely speaks to me. I follow her silently, memorizing orders, and even correcting her once when she relays them to the kitchen staff. It doesn’t win me any favors.
At four, she has to leave to run an errand and appoints Letty my watchdog for the hour she’ll be gone. Cannon is nowhere to be found, and I’m starting to wonder if my grand idea of infiltrating the Casso family through one of their legitimate operations is going to work.
Be patient. It will work. Persevere.
Perseverance is another trait learned from my father. He had a quiet sense of power coupled with unrelenting determination. You might think he’d abandoned a problem or investigation, but he never did. He’d continue wearing away at it like water through the Grand Canyon.
“Good investigative journalists aren’t always flashy and bold. There’s a lot to be said for subtlety.”
Subtlety. I can do that. Well, maybe after I figure out which pricey cigar is shoved so far up Tanya’s ass that she can barely stand to look at me.