“Do you have something to say?” I keep my question spoken slowly, my gaze piercing through hers. Her eyes widen ever so slightly as Mia takes a hesitant step back.
Color drains from Angela’s face as she shakes her head, gently swaying her halo of curls.
“’Cause it looks like you have something you want to say,” I add in a deadly low tone. My personal life is none of her concern.
She speaks in a single breath, her chest barely rising and falling. “Not at all, Mr. Cross.”
“Good. Send her to my office when she has a moment.” Giving the command, I gather the mug and leave. Not sparing either of them, or Braelynn, a single glance.
Braelynn
This lipstick is doing me all kinds of favors. It was worth the twenty bucks after all.
Men’s eyes slip down to look at it and women compliment me on it, and altogether it feels like I am doing all right for my first shift at The Club.
Even though this place is nothing like I imagined. Scarlet said it was like a high-end speakeasy. Like being taken back in time, but it isn’t.
It’s modern. It’s expensive. It’s like the devil designed this place. There’s a small kitchen, but the food they serve looks like it belongs in one of those fancy restaurants you see in magazines and TV shows.
All of this is so far out of my league.
My shoulders stay pulled back when Scarlet reminds me to carry myself like I belong here. And I do. It feels like I’m supposed to be here. Which doesn’t make a damn lick of sense, because a place like this is merely a dream to someone like me.
“Keep it up,” Scarlet says and winks at me as we pass each other. She’s got a martini glass in her hand and I’ve got a bill in my left.
It takes me a moment to remember the passcode and how to navigate the system. I’m slow, but it’s my first day and the bartender, Mia, she’s there to help.
It’s a bit too good to be true, but all of them point out that it gets more intense at night. Things are expected to be busier and louder, with everything moving faster. So I have about four hours to get familiar. Glancing down at my heels, I grimace. My toes curl in the tips of them. The first chance I get, I’m slipping into flats. Tips be damned.
I didn’t realize the extent of how short my dress was until I leaned down to take someone’s order and a breeze slipped between my thighs. It may have made me blush and yank the fabric down the moment I got away, but the tips, even for just five tables, have been insanely good. Scarlet wasn’t kidding about that. I’ll have that new set of sheets and new bedroom furniture in no time.
Slips are returned, orders paid, new guests are seated and greeted. Everything is fairly comfortable and easygoing. The other women are kind. The men in sharp suits who stand at the front … they’re intimidating until they look at me. It’s all polite smiles, but there’s no doubt in my mind they can be brutal.
I don’t know all their names yet, but I know the bartender is Mia; there’s a man in the kitchen named Benji and the other waitress working right now is Angela. The best way to describe her is that she’s an assassin with long, curly blond hair. She moves faster than Scarlet and me combined and she’s already nudged me to let me know if I fall behind she can help. Her experience is obvious and a number of the men seem to know her by name.
Maybe in that way it’s like a speakeasy. There are quiet conversations but most of the people here know everyone by first name.
Maybe … I shake my head, unsure of myself. It’s an odd mix and it’s hard to put my thumb on what exactly is throwing me off.
By two hours in, I’m starting to feel a little surer of myself. At four hours in, it’s slowed down a bit. Mia assures me as I walk off with a round of shots for two men in the corner, that it’s the eye of the storm.
“Get ready, the intensity is about to pick up.”
One deep breath in, and I tell myself I can do this. I am doing this.
Slipping out my lipstick, I touch up the color and then I spot Scarlet off to the side talking to Angela. Their heads are together and when they see me coming, Scarlet nods to her and approaches me.
“Hey,” I start, “I think things are—”
“Mr. Cross wants to see you in his office,” she says as soon as she’s close enough. Scarlet holds a black tray close, flat against her body.