“We’ll see you tonight at Rusty’s,” Bronson says as I leave.
It seems that I’m going to have to get used to the Stone brothers being back in my life. There will probably be more family dinners to come, and I can play nice when I need to. I’ll keep the peace for Rachel’s sake, but I won’t be letting them back into my heart where they used to be.
I’m not going to let them matter.
11
Teach you a lesson
Any feelings of tolerance that developed toward Barrett, Bronson, Lincoln, and Lennox during lunch dissolve as soon as I arrive at the bar.
I try to pass by the office quickly, but they call my name before I can make it to the lockers.
“What’s up?” I ask, staying just outside the room.
Bronson tosses something dark my way. I manage to catch it before it falls; it’s a ball of bunched-up black fabric. “What’s this?”
“It’s your new uniform,” Barrett says.
I unfold it to reveal a t-shirt that’s thick and bulky with a high, round neck. Deciding that it’s best to appease my new bosses for the moment, I pull the shirt over my head and smooth it down over the tank top I wore in. “Rusty’s” is printed in small cursive over the left side of my chest. Apparently, they’ve decided not to change the bar’s name.
After I flash them an artificial smile and receive their nods of approval, I move along, stopping at my locker and then heading out front. Christine and Becca are wearing identical black shirts; I’m almost surprised the Stone brothers didn’t single me out for this honor.
I lean over the bar and look around. “Do you have any scissors back there?”
Christine arches a brow as she hands me the requested item, and proceeds to watch as I tug off the new shirt and begin to customize it, first cutting off the sleeves and then eliminating the collar and lowering the neckline.
“Nice,” Becca says with a laugh, when I put it back on.
I’m sure it’s still ugly, but at least now it’s more comfortable, and more suitable for the job. I fish a hair tie out of my pocket and cinch the fabric at my lower back, so the front of the new shirt fits more snugly.
“Do you think they’ll be mad?” Becca asks, casting her eyes toward the hall that leads to the office.
I shrug as Christine says, “It seems like they’re going to be very hands-on bosses.”
For some crazy reason, my brain hears hands-on and envisions my stepbrothers’ hands on my body. Ignoring the corresponding tingle in my belly, I shake my head to clear the image. Where the hell did that come from?
“Two of them were out here just a few minutes ago reviewing all the brands we carry,” Christine says. “Seems like they intend to make some changes. Maybe give the place some class.”
I don’t really care one way or another about how they change Rusty’s, but this t-shirt nonsense has me thinking again that I should look for another job. Not that the dress code itself is a big issue, but I resent them thinking they can control my behavior.
It’s a usual night, fairly busy, lots of friendly customers, some of them gossiping about the new owners. Individually or in pairs, the Stone brothers are out in the bar, talking to Christine and the other bartender, Tom, looking over the glassware and spirits, and just generally milling around. I ignore the glares they direct at my modified uniform, and am surprised and relieved that they don’t say anything about it.
Becca needs to leave an hour before closing, so at the end of the night, Christine and I are the last ones out front. Just as we’ve finished cleaning up and are about to go home, Barrett and Bronson appear.
“Caz, we’d like to see you in our office before you leave.”
“I’ll wait for you,” Christine says.
I shake my head at the bartender. “That’s okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Maybe she thinks I need her support; it was nice of her to offer to stick around.
I feel like I’m being summoned to the principal’s office as I follow the twins. Once inside the office, Barrett throws another shirt at me.
“Don’t ruin this one.” Bronson’s tone is annoyingly stern.
“I don’t need this. The first shirt you gave me is fine.” I toss the new offering back onto their desk.
“It is not fine,” Barrett says. His rising irritation pleases me.
“If you don’t want to follow the rules to work here, we can arrange a job for you with Stone Security,” Lincoln adds diplomatically.
“Do I look like I want to be a mall cop?”
“He means a work-from-home position, a virtual admin job,” Lennox clarifies, with laughter in his tone.
Bronson takes a menacing step toward me, his eyes dark. “We’re not going to have you working here with your tits on display.”