by Ava Harrison
“Hmm,” she says, clearly concerned about this stranger she’s yet to vet.
“Don’t hmm me, Harper. She’s doing me a favor.”
I’m annoyed that I have to fabricate a story. The lies just keep adding up, and I hate it, but I’d hate to disappoint her more.
“Okay.” She sighs. “Will you call me when you get home? I want to catch up.”
Inhale. Exhale. Lie some more.
“I have a really busy day tomorrow. Can we catch up after work?” I grind my teeth, hoping she’ll just go with it for once.
“Ah, all right. Tomorrow works,” she assents. “I love you, Bae.”
“I love you too, sis.”
I disconnect and run my palms down my face, feeling extra shitty for all the deceit even though I know it can’t be helped. I’ve learned over the years to simply keep Harper ignorant to certain aspects about my life because she just doesn’t get it.
Running a hand through my brown locks, I decide it’s time to move. I breathe in deeply, counting slowly to ten, and allow each breath I inhale to calm my fragile nerves. With tentative steps, I make my way inside. To think that, in a few short minutes, this barren building will become my lifeline—or my demise.
I stop in my tracks and shake my head. I can’t think that way. If I get myself keyed up before I make it in the door, I’m done for. I shake it all off literally and figuratively. If anyone is watching me, they’ll think I’m tripping. After one more deep breath, I begin to walk again.
With all my strength, I push open the heavy metal door. It screeches across the floor as I walk over the threshold. My eyes dart around the room and goose bumps break out on my skin. The familiarity is unnerving. I already feel myself falling back on old habits as I locate the bar.
I’m waiting for the itch to begin.
The need for a pill.
That need to feed the beast within.
It doesn’t come, though, and for that, I’m relieved. There’s no place for that in my new life.
I walk into the room filled with decadence and sin, clinging to the hope that I’m stronger than this. There’s no temptation great enough for me to break this clean streak. Putting food on my plate and making rent are quite the motivation to stay on the straight and narrow.
My ears begin to ring as my feet carry me closer to the bar. The bass is so loud it actually shakes the room, and I can barely hear myself think. It would be easy to lose myself to the oblivion of the pulse in this familiar terrain. For this reason, I haven’t stepped foot in a club or a bar since the night I attended my first NA meeting.
This feeling of wanting to drown in booze gnaws at the pit of my stomach as my eyes scan the room. I shouldn’t be here, but I have no choice.
Club Silver is a white and sterile, modernistic space. Along the outskirts of the room are faintly lit alcoves for bottle service. White chiffon drapes hang from metal wires that allow the patrons to close themselves off from the outside chaos and be free to drink and party the night away.
My jaw tightens. No. Not going back there.
Pushing back my memories, I continue to the bar. I walk up to the stainless-steel monstrosity that takes up the whole wall, and the most beautiful man I have ever seen turns in my direction. He has short, brown hair that looks kissed by the sun and piercing blue eyes. His intense gaze causes me to flush from head to toe, and a perfect five o’clock shadow adds just a bit of ruggedness to his otherwise boyish features. This man can easily play the main character in my next fantasy. He’s sheer perfection.
“Um, is something wrong?” I ask, feeling shy under his blatant staring.
“Nope. Not so much as a hair out of place.” He cracks a warm smile. “You just remind me of someone I used to know. No big deal,” he says, pulling down the handle of the tap and filling a glass full of amber beer. “Damn,” he barks as the keg splutters, spilling the last of its contents and spraying a bit at him. “Give me one minute,” he says, running toward the back.
I take my time looking over the liquors that line the wall in front of me. Top shelf and the most expensive bottles sit highest on the wall. I’m sure in a place like this, bottles even that expensive don’t gather dust.
“Sorry about that,” he says, wheeling in a new keg. “What’s your poison?” Mr. Beautiful throws my way.
“Actually, I’m here to see Mr. Lawson. I’m Bailey Jameson.”
“Your name is Bailey Jameson?” He chuckles. “Did your parents have a drinking problem or something?” he says over his shoulder as he slings the keg into place.
Oh my god, his arms are so toned and sexy. He raises his eyebrows, signaling he’s waiting for me to speak.
“Um, what?” Brilliant, Bae. Now he thinks you’re a moron.
“You have two liquor names. Ya know, Bailey and Jameson?”
“Oh, right. I’m pretty sure that was an unfortunate accident.” I grin and continue my quest to locate my new boss. Please don’t let it be a hot bartender.
“I’m supposed to be starting here tonight.”
“Ah, yes. The fresh meat.” He smirks.
Oh god, that smirk. My insides melt right then and there.
“Unfortunately for you, Bailey, you’re stuck with me. Drew is meeting with someone in his office. I’m Carter Cass.”
Carter Cass. His name is perfect . . . He’s perfect.
“That’s okay.” Suddenly, I’m nervous at the prospect of being stuck with this guy. He leans forward across the bar, his muscles becoming more defined, and I gulp deeply as I’m sure my cheeks turn crimson. His lips tip upward as he catches my perusal. Keep your head in the game.
“You sure you want to work here? You look a little scared.” His grin deepens.
My eyes widen. Shit. He’s hot, but no reason to make an ass out of yourself. “I’m fine. New jobs always make me a bit uneasy.”
“Well, you got nothing to fear at Silver, Bailey. Everyone is real chill, plus the tips are killer. You can’t get better than this anywhere in New York.” He motions around the room to prove his point. “Why don’t you come back here, and I’ll show you the ropes? What did Drew tell you about the job?”
“Honestly, nothing. I’ve never spoken to him.” I shrug.
“So how did you wind up here with us?”
“A friend called in a favor. I was about to get evicted from my apartment—”
My hand clamps over my mouth. Carter lifts his head to me. He doesn’t say anything, but I know he wants to ask. He’s giving me time to spill, but I won’t. We stand here in silence until he averts his eyes and gives me the out I desperately want.
“You don’t need to say more. I get it. So, where were we?” He taps his chin with his pointer finger. “Oh yes, the ropes. Come on back. Don’t be scared. I won’t bite.” A small dimple forms in his right cheek, and it’s so cute, my whole body relaxes. It gives me the strength I need to overcome this first obstacle, remembering how I got here.
I make my way inside the bar and peer up at him as he tells me the ins and outs. With his tanned arm, he points toward the secluded banquettes lining the dance floor, showing me the way to the VIP rooms I’ll be serving.
“So, Bailey, what’s your story? You a struggling model too?”
“Hardly. I assume you are?”
“Model, actor, singer. Typical bartender story,” he says as he pours a shot of Patrón Silver for a group of guys across the bar from us. “I can tell you’re going to do great. The men will love you.”
He goes about pouring more shots for another group of people. The idea of “the men” loving me isn’t sitting well. Guys are another distraction I don’t have time for.
“If you start to need a drink or a pick-me-up, just let me know. I’ve got you covered on both fronts,” he whispers in my ear conspiratorially. “However, you have to be careful because the boss is a tight-ass about it. He used to be cool, but now, not so much. We find our way around it, though.” Fuck, so not what I wanted to hear. “Thanks, but I’m good
. I’ll stick to Coca-Cola or Red Bull.”
“Good for you. I respect that. Honestly, though, according to all the girls who work here, the only thing you need is a good look at Drew. Apparently, and I quote ‘The man is sex on a stick.’”
“And you . . . what keeps you distracted . . .” I trail off, not knowing what to say.
“Tall, blonde bombshells who love to party.” Great. The complete opposite of me. I’m not tall, have mousy brown hair, dull blue eyes, and the word “bombshell” does not apply. So much for a chance with him. Although that’s probably a good thing, seeing as he does drugs. I can’t be involved with someone who does.
Hours pass and I can’t remember the last time I clicked so well with someone. I’m working my ass off, but at least it’s fun.
A movement to my left has me leaving that thought behind. Carter is trying his hand at juggling but failing miserably. I can now add cleaning the floor of broken bottles to my list of things to do tonight. Carter passes a gorgeous smirk my way. My lip involuntarily rises into a large, goofy smile of my own. This guy is undeniably some exquisite eye candy. I must have been standing here for minutes, just staring, when I hear Carter call out to me.
“Hey, earth to Bailey. I know I’m hot, but can you please stop staring? And for the love of God, close your mouth. The drool is not attractive, love. We can’t be friends if you keep looking at me like that.”
Shit, was my mouth open? Lifting my hand, I go to check for drool, and Carter bursts into laughter. Great, not only am I caught gawking, but now I look like an idiot, too.
“Um, sorry, lost in thought. What did you say?”
With a wave of his hand, he manages to move into work mode. “Nothing. Can you take a bottle of Goose and the usual mixers to table three?” I must still look confused because he narrows his eyes at me and lets out an audible sigh. After a shake of his head, he resumes berating me with directions. “It’s the one toward the middle of the room.”
I start to head in that direction, but clearly, I’m not going the right way because I soon hear, “No, to the left. To the left. Right next to the table with the blinds closed. See the guys?” I throw my hands up to signal that he can stop now. Jeez, am I really that clueless?
Heading toward my target, I take in the scene. It reminds me of a distant memory. A memory I have no business remembering right now. My arm starts to throb, and I feel the familiar need clawing through my veins.
My first day here and I’m already jonesing to escape.
It never gets easier.
The accident changed everything.
Made everything worse.
I shake off all thoughts. I need this job, and I need the money. I can do this. I have to do this.
I make my way to the VIP table. As I step into the alcove, I notice four men in business suits conversing. They barely acknowledge my presence. Not even a glance up as they lift the empty bottle of vodka toward me and wave it around.
“We need more Goose,” a handsome man slurs at me.
That’s not any old bottle of vodka. That’s Grey Goose Magnum, and it’s a steep eight hundred dollars a bottle. One of my friends back in the day had an infinity for the stuff. These men are clearly wealthy, so I decide to play nice to hopefully garner a fat tip.
“Um, of course. Sorry, I grabbed the wrong bottle of Grey Goose.” I flash my biggest smile at him only to be met with a sneer that quickly turns to something else. His face pales as it goes slack, and he blinks several times, never removing his eyes from mine. Um. Strange.
“Are you okay?” I ask, concerned for the man.
He shakes his head and clears his throat before slipping right back into the asshole he was to start.
“You brought us that cheap shit? Don’t you know who I am, girl? I don’t wait for anyone.” His antics draw laughter and hoots from the other men at his table. “Go fix your error and ask Carter if Monica is available to wait on us.” He dismisses me with a wave of his hand. “Monica knows what we like.”
More laughter follows me out of the VIP room. He’s drunk, I remind myself while trying to hold the anger at bay. It also felt like he was covering up whatever strange reaction he had to me by his over-the-top rudeness.
I don’t need anything from those assholes. There is plenty of money to be made in the place, and if it’s Monica they want, then fine. I’ll find my next paycheck somewhere else in this building.
“Do you know who Monica is?” I ask the first waitress I see. She’s a petite blonde with a pixie cut and enough makeup caked on to last tonight and tomorrow.
“Yeah, she’s in room five right now. Probably giving the geezer a lap dance.” Pixie rolls her eyes. “I’m Darla. You must be Bailey.”
I nod. “Nice to meet you. And seriously? Lap dances?”
“Don’t mind me. I’m jealous. Girl makes bank.” She shrugs. “If you need anything, let me know,” she calls over her shoulder as she walks past me.
I head to room five and practically run into Monica as she exits.
“Excuse me,” she snaps, looking at me like a flea.
I ignore her. “Are you Monica?”
“Yes,” she hisses, sounding equal parts annoyed and bored.
“Room three specifically asked for you.”
She looks at the room and raises her perfectly manicured eyebrow. “You couldn’t handle Reese? He’s a big flirt, but he’s harmless,” she jeers. “I’ll take care of him. Go. And let Carter know we’re switching rooms.”
I turn on my heels to leave.
On my way back to the bar, I stifle a yawn. I’m such a lightweight these days. I check my watch. It’s not even 2:00 a.m., and I’m already exhausted. As I’m doing my best to stay awake, the patrons of the club are in full force party mode.
I throw my towel onto the bar and fling myself onto a stool. “Those guys were real pricks,” I say, Carter raises an eyebrow and follows my gaze to the VIP room I came from. Turning back to me, he shrugs.
“Reese is an ass. Welcome to the party.”
Turning my face away from Carter, I focus my attention on the table of assholes. I shouldn’t continue to torture myself over what a few douchebags in overpriced loafers think of me. I take a deep cleansing breath and resolve not to give the jackasses from table three any more of my thoughts.
“I need coffee.” I groan. “Or an Oreo.”
“Oreo? Interesting . . .”
My brow lifts. “Why?”
“I saw you more of Sour Patch Kid kind of girl. Either way, what you need is a distraction, some eye candy.”
“And how will eye candy help?”
“If you saw some, you would know. Nothing gives a pick-me-up like staring at someone hot at a bar. For me, I stare at Monica. Would never touch her, but damn, is she fun to look at.”
“I’ve got you to stare at . . .” I stifle a yawn. “It’s not working.”
“Hotter.”
“Hotter, like what?”
“From what the girls who work here say . . . He’s behind you.”
My head shifts so that I’m looking over my shoulder, but I don’t see anyone who fits the image I have in my head of who Carter is talking about.
My gaze roams the room, squinting through the mass of people congregating on the dance floor. The crowd parts, and for a split second, my heart stops beating. I’m frozen in place, my hand trembling under its own weight. Directly across from me stands a divine creature.
He is tall and sculpted from head to toe. His brown hair has that just fucked appearance that makes me want to run my hands through it, and his eyes remind me of the night. An endless depth, a bottomless pool of darkness, that promises to hold secrets like the midnight sky.
He is a Greek god amongst men.
I have never seen a man this beautiful.
He’s rendered me useless.
I watch him push his sleeves farther up on his arms, showcasing toned forearms, and I notice the way he seems to be clenching his jaw. He looks almost irritat
ed as he looks out into the crowd, surveying the people. This man makes Carter look ordinary. It’s ridiculous.
Carter starts to speak, but I can hardly hear him. I’m lost in a trance. Completely riveted by this man. “Who is that?” I sound breathless because I am.
“That, my dear, sweet Bailey, is what the girls like to refer to as our resident hottie,” he says while pulling out a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue and pouring it into a tumbler beside me. His irritated tone gives him away. He clearly does not like sharing the spotlight. I can’t help but tease him.
“And here I thought that title went to you.” I bite back a laugh, and from my peripheral, I can see Carter smile.
“Oh, it does. He’s just the bonus,” he says, and I return my focus back to the dashing stranger. He practically glides down the stairs. I’m mesmerized.
“But who is he?” My eyes narrow, and I can feel a line forming on my forehead as I try to figure out who this man is. Everything Carter has said is completely lost on my one-track mind.
“Sweetie, by the way you’re looking at men tonight, yours truly included, I’d say you really need to get laid.” He chuckles. If only he knew what kind of a dry spell I was in, he wouldn’t be so flippant with those comments. It’s a travesty.
“Oh, shut up and just tell me who he is.” I need to know.
“Turn your head to me ’cause I don’t want to miss your reaction to this bit of news.”
I roll my eyes blatantly at him as our gaze meets.
“That, my love, is Mr. Drew Lawson. Doesn’t it just suck that you’ll have to look at that every night?”
Fuck. That bit of news just made this job a bit more interesting. But, Lord, will he be a distraction at the same time. I finally pull my gaze away long enough to wipe down the bar. My rag comes across more pieces of glass from Carter’s attempts at juggling bottles. I toss the shards into the trash when the hair on my neck rises. It feels like someone is staring at me. It’s not a creepy feeling, just my body’s realization that I’m being watched. Raising my head slowly, I’m trying to find the person responsible for eliciting such a reaction, and my gaze collides with Drew Lawson’s from across the room.
