by Ava Claire
"Sadie!" Gail Winters beckoned me with a French tip nail, like her screeching my name wasn't embarrassing enough. Even with the music pumping from the speakers and the bass dulling much of the sound from the back, her Jersey accent carried to a couple of people at the bar who craned their necks toward her wail. My fellow employees averted their eyes, just grateful they weren't the target of her ire.
It was hard to miss the spray-tanned woman with pageant hair that barreled through wait staff carrying drink trays. It was clear she didn't care if she took one of them out because it would be worth getting a few jabs in and berating me for a few minutes.
I steadied my drink tray and forced my lips into a smile. "What can I do for you, Gail?"
The woman barely missed Shonda, one of our newer waitresses, who was precariously balancing a tray full of drinks. Shonda let out a squeal that earned her a growl from Gail. Luckily, the moment gave Shonda time to avert disaster and she skittered to her section without another peep.
I just blinked up at Gail, wishing I could tell her that she wasn't the first asshole boss I'd dealt with and she wasn't going to break me. It would have been a dumb move. The kind of move she kept hoping I'd make. Her steely blue eyes and earring-lined ears didn't miss a thing. If I went off on her, it would give her the ammunition to go to Javier, the owner, and say that I was more trouble than I was worth. Considering Javier had his eyes glued to his phone for 99% of my interview, I knew that he'd just tell her to deal with it and I'd be out of a job.
So instead of pretending I hadn't stepped away for a moment, checking my other work schedule to see if I had a client request from the man from last night, I went with the truth. Well, the only truth she was looking for.
“I just wanted to check my phone real quick.” I hung my head. “My bad.”
"'What can I do for you, Gail?'" she mocked my voice, adding in her signature neck roll. It made her sky-high, bleach-blonde hair shudder precariously. "How about the job we hired you for? A job that doesn't include being on your phone? Who is so important that you're not out there doing your job?" She stopped right in front of me, close enough that she was too close, forcing me to take a step backward.
I clenched my teeth, my smile becoming something downright painful. It took every ounce of self-restraint to hold back questions like: why did you get a job in the service industry when you so clearly hate working with people? Or: what makes you think that a title gives you the right to treat your staff like they're your minions, there to do your bidding? And, the most important question of all: was it a fireable offense if I tell you to take the finger you love to stick in my face and stick it up your ass?
Grin and bear it, Sadie. You need this job.
I knew the smile on my face looked like the fake grin of someone who'd been told to 'smile for the camera!' for the hundredth time, but it was the best I could do. "I'm sorry, Gail. Won't happen again."
Her finger was still in full effect. It flew from an inch from my nose and stopped where I'd tucked my phone out of sight. "You kids think you're so slick." She said 'kids' with all the condescension of a person who was secretly still chasing their youth, but there was no going back. "You can't get a thing past me, girl."
"You caught me!" My lips barely moved since my fake smile was still glued to my face and I knew if it wavered, I'd lose it. "Now, if I could get back to work-"
"Who were you talking to, anyway?" Gail prodded. I took a measure of relief in the fact that she finally moved her finger, but it was short-lived. She just decided to dial up the obnoxiousness by stroking her chin, feigning contemplation. "Boyfriend?" She snorted as soon as she said it, like she'd just told the punch line of a joke.
I knew what they called me here. Why I had clients at The Tower cut our sessions short. They called me ‘Ice Queen’, and it wasn't because of my pale skin and fiery red hair. I didn't let anyone close enough to have any friends, and I hid my smile, any beauty and gentleness that my mother had given me, behind a carefully constructed ‘Don't fuck with me’ mask. And it worked, most of the time. Maybe too well.
Clearly my reputation preceded me because Gail was still laughing. The staff area behind the main bar wasn't that expansive. There was just room for lockers, a small break room with a few tables and chairs, and the chrome metallic doors that led to the kitchen. Even if Gail was at her usual post, which was in the office out back watching Netflix, we still kept our conversations hushed because any noise carried. She seemed oblivious to that fact, and her laughter filled the tiny space and reverberated in my ears.
I couldn't stop the heat from booking it to my face. I hated that I couldn't help but give her a reaction, and that was exactly what she wanted. Red faced or not, I dropped my smile and looked her dead in the eye until her laughter tapered off.
“I’m sorry, sweetie.” She patted my shoulder. "Probably not a boyfriend. Family stuff?"
This woman was a walking billboard for what not to do when managing a business. Things like crossing lines into personal territory and airing my shit to anyone within earshot, considering her volume was stuck on full blast.
The part of me that believed she felt so little in every other part of her life that she needed to belittle every one else was silenced. Everyone had an Achilles heel, skeletons in their closet that they wanted to keep buried. My family, and the reason I worked two jobs (one of which wasn't technically legal) and put my education on hold, were mine. I hadn't shared every detail in my interview, but I had gotten emotional when they asked why I needed the job. The afternoon before my interview, my little sister Rose told me a man had tried to pick her up from school, claiming he was a friend of our mom's. Our mom didn't have any friends. She had boyfriends and debts, and not the kind of debts where bill collectors blew up your phone. Hers were the kind where they took cash...or blood.
"Family thing, I bet," Gail mused loudly, completely ignoring how inappropriate she was being. "Your poor sister."
She hadn't even said her name, and she had no idea how heavy the weight was that I carried, but the point was that I knew she didn't care. Red bled across my view and I felt anger bubbling in my chest. My temper had cost me jobs in the past and my rational mind told me to just walk away, but I was only human. She didn't get to air my private life, my story that I shared in an interview, with anyone that could hear. She didn't get to use my issues as ammunition.
I stepped forward and made her take two steps backward. "If you ever talk about my family again-"
Before I could finish the sentence that would serve as my notice, the chatter in the bar raised to a fever pitch, spilling into the staff area. Gail and I both craned our necks toward the noise, just in time for a couple of waitresses near us to echo the squeals. Whatever fever had possessed the club was contagious, apparently.
Gail gave me a glare that told me we'd pick this up later and strode toward the main bar. "What the hell is going on?" she barked at one of the new hostesses, a petite blonde who practically jumped out of her skin when she squared off with the annoyed woman.
"M-Mrs. Winters-"
"I'm not married, and I'm not nearly old enough to be a Mrs. Anything,” Gail snapped. Only half of that statement was true, and she confirmed which half when she smoothed the area beneath her eyes like she was trying to make wrinkles disappear.
"I'm sorry...Gail?" The girl said her name tentatively, like she was trying to defuse a bomb and was hoping she didn't cut the wrong wire. When Gail didn't bite her head off, she visibly relaxed. "It's just—he’s here!"
"Who is he?" Gail asked excitedly, forgetting her annoyance. She rolled her shoulders back, making her huge breasts nearly pop from her shirt.
"Jackson Colt!" The blonde's voice matched the ear-plugging pitch that echoed from the bar, like The Beatles or Beyoncé had just walked into The Red Room. Both Gail and I stared at the blonde blankly, so she followed up with, “He's like, super loaded and dates actresses but he’s super into charities and stuff too!”
Gail practically threw the tiny bl
onde out of the way so she could join the throngs of admirers.
I hadn't even laid my eyes on our VIP guest, and I was uninterested. He was the kind of man used to attention. Who loved attention. Men who saw women as prizes to be won or notches on a bedpost. Men like the billionaires who thought they could own me for a hour or two, but they barely scratched my surface.
The Sadie that gave them the moans they required, acting like I was getting pleasure from their pleasure, was not the real me. Not even close. They used me, and I used them. It was only a matter of time before I'd finish paying off the debt and I could go back to school. Build a career where I could go home and not scrub away cigar smoke, booze, and sweat. I'd give every one of those rich pricks the finger silently while I took their spare change and built an empire of my own.
Well, not every one of them.
Not him.
I couldn’t get him out of my head. He had me checking my phone like some silly woman after a first date that finally went right, praying that he'd text, call, email, Snapchat, anything. But there was no date. And what happened between us was far from romance. We'd skipped right over the romance to the juicy part in the novel.
Just thinking about last night made heat fly back to my cheeks. This wasn't the anger that Gail elicited. It was something else entirely, a desire that started at my toes and raced up my calves. Like I was back on those midnight sheets, legs spread and wanting. I could feel his strong fingertips smoothing over my calves like he couldn't get enough, and we hadn't even begun. And his tongue...
I squeezed my eyes shut and willed away the memory of him. He was just a distraction. An unwelcome one, even if there was something about him that was different. In the months since I'd started working at The Tower, I'd met every shade of rich guy, from the douchebags to the timid ones that scurried out when we were done like they'd committed some unforgivable sin.
The guy from last night was cocky, that much was true. He was used to getting his way. But he didn't treat me like he owned me because he'd paid my fee. He looked at me, touched me, licked me like he wished we'd met some other way. Like he wished he could give me more of him. Like he wanted all of me.
In an hour, a man who should have been like all the rest managed to make everything go quiet, which was not what I wanted.
Which was more.
More of him.
Maybe even all of him.
I did my best to put him out of my mind. The bar seemed to settle down, and I used it as an excuse to pause at the mirror beside the break room. My cheeks were still flushed, my red locks slicked back into a bun that I knew made me look older than my twenty three years. I'd never admit it to a soul, but looking into that glass was like looking at my mother's face. Weary lines gave the illusion that it had been days since I had a good night of sleep. My glossy lips couldn’t even hold a smile long enough for it to be real. My forest-colored eyes should have been sparkling, but they were as flat as a crusty green crayon.
I rubbed my lips together and lifted my chin. Unlike my mother, I wasn't doing all this for myself. She'd say to hell with all of it and ride off into the sunset with the first man that made her feel sexy. Beautiful.
And the guy from last night had done that, and then some.
I’d never felt sexier, more desirable, more beautiful than when he’d looked at me.
"No," I whispered fervently. I wouldn't let myself see him or last night as anything more than a transaction between two adults. Reading anything more into it was a waste of time. I'd put money on him forgetting me already, anyway.
That thought rang in my head, making my heart do things in my chest that I refused to examine. I pointed myself back toward the bar, determined to focus on my work and not my fantasies. Even though there were no more screams, cameras and attention were still pointed at the VIP area. The VIP area was on the second floor, so those who could afford it could look down on the other mere mortals from Mt. Olympus.
My section, I thought glumly. Looked like I was kissing celebrity ass tonight whether I wanted to or not.
I found my smile and started my ascent up the stairs. I maneuvered around scantily clad women who were gyrating extra hard in hopes of catching his attention—and getting past Dashawn. Dashawn Lenoir played college football but got injured his freshman year, dashing his dreams of playing professionally. It was a missed opportunity that Gail liked to remind him of when she tossed him things and hollered, "Go long!"
Built like a tank with a face that rarely smiled, he was a perfect fit for security. Even the sexiest groupies hoping to get behind the velvet rope didn't try their luck with Dashawn.
Dashawn nodded and stepped to the side when he saw me. He immediately stepped back in place the moment I walked past, folding his massive arms across his massive chest.
I looked past the decorations, every leggy woman crammed in the VIP area more beautiful than the last. Curiosity had me seeking out the man who had everyone worked into a tizzy. The man who ordered top shelf bourbon on the rocks. My eyes paused when I realized everything seemed to revolve around a man that was leaning over the railing in the far corner. He was probably scanning the crowd for some woman he'd forget the moment he came.
When he straightened and pivoted toward me, I reminded myself to smile and not roll my eyes. The minute I saw his face, my smile evaporated.
Was I buzzing off all the alcohol everyone else was drinking? I swore he looked like...
I squeezed my eyes shut and reopened them.
It wasn’t an apparition.
It was him.
Panicking, I whirled toward the stairs and slammed into Dashawn, spilling all the drinks on my tray on the floor.
The celebrity? The one everyone couldn't get enough of?
It was the man from last night.
~
I wasn't sure what was more mortifying, that I'd dumped every drink on the tray on the floor or that he'd seen me drop every drink.
I'd looked into those blue eyes, blue eyes that I could pick out of a lineup, and I knew that he hadn't been able to stop thinking about me either.
He remembered me.
Any joy I got from that realization was quickly squashed when the reality of the situation hit me. I was on the clock, yet again, and I'd just committed one of the worst sins a hostess could commit. I’d wasted product, and from the glares I felt as I futilely tried to gather broken pieces of glass, I'd probably gotten said product on one of his many admirers. All it would take was one complaint from one of them and Gail would finally get her wish—me fired.
The music beat like a drum in my ears, and nerves made me shake from head to toe. Him seeing me like this, it made tears sting my eyes. This was so not happening.
Dashawn leaned down beside me, showing me kindness that ensured that yep, I was crying.
"You okay?"
I bit back a sob. “I’m f-fine.”
Dashawn reached for a few pieces of glass, but I finally put some strength behind my voice.
"Thanks, but I've got it," I insisted, sniffling. We exchanged a look, and I didn't need to say our manager's name for him to get why I couldn't have him doing my job instead of his.
“I’ll call someone to help," he assured me and went back to his post.
There was another set of legs, legs wrapped in slacks, but I refused to look up to confirm who they belonged to. I just sniffed and shut down the emotion that was rendering me useless and worked on gathering the big pieces. I wanted to tell him to go back to his party, to let me go back to being some invisible hostess instead of a woman that he'd been intimate with. I just wanted to disappear altogether.
“I think we've met.” His voice was as smooth as I remembered. Just as intoxicating.
I paused, my hand hovering above a broken wine stem. “I’m glad you found the experience as memorable as I did.” By the time I realized that the music wasn't nearly as loud as I thought up here and my voice was definitely not as quiet as I hoped, the words were already out. I held my b
reath, wondering if he'd call me out, or if my attitude was only welcome under different circumstances.
He chuckled, and I breathed a sigh of relief.
“Let me help you.”
He didn't wait for me to give him the okay, which made my hackles rise and my heart race in my chest at the same time.
“You don't have to do that-”
“Oh, I know I don't have to, Red. I want to.” His voice was dripping with confidence and authority and all the things that should have turned me off. It was unnerving—and impossible for me to resist. It was the playfulness that knocked me off balance. The fact that the nickname he gave me didn't annoy me, that it felt as natural as his lips on my skin had, made me want to flee. Hide. But I couldn't. Just like I couldn't keep pretending like I was searching for something amidst the pile of broken glass. I had to look up at him.
I gripped a final hearty piece, like it was a piece of sanity that I had to touch so I didn't do something truly crazy like kiss him. Or even better, start tearing his clothes off so we could finish what we began last night.
I drew my gaze from his shoes, trying to titrate my enthusiasm about us crossing paths again by reminding myself that once again, I was serving him. His shoes probably cost as much as my rent. The pants that fit his sculpted, powerful legs were probably tailored. By an actual tailor, because he could afford such things. And that white shirt, that would have been the hue of my skin if I wasn't red as a freaking tomato, was keeping me from racing my fingertips along every perfect inch of his chest. I paused at his neck, lust flaring into an inferno when I watched his Adam's apple bob, like he was swallowing. Like he was nervous. I made him, this billionaire who dated perfect socialites, nervous? I wasted no more time and shot my gaze to his face.
I hit his mouth first and traced the lines of his lips as I licked my own. One side of his mouth curved knowingly, like he was stealing a peek in my head. Blushing even harder, every part of me officially wide awake and casting a vote for the ripping off of clothing, I kept going. I cruised past the dimples that made butterflies swarm in my belly, beyond the angular good looks that I remembered all too well. I lingered at his eyes. I didn't have a choice. The deep blue grabbed me like a wave rushing to the shore, pulling me in.
