The second was Alice, a forty-something-year-old with twenty years of experience running a bar in New York. Alice’s rough hands implied she was well-versed in throwing creepers and troublemakers out of bars if need be.
The third employee was a man named Simon Diamond (stage name, anyone?), who was approximately the size of a RAM truck. Simon eyed me the entire time like I was a prisoner he needed to keep from running away. When I asked about his work background, he offered a half-baked explanation. “Was a bouncer for a decade.”
“Oh. We don’t need any more bouncers.” I smiled politely, already planning to have Ross and Morgan teach him how to make cocktails.
Simon returned a smile—only it made my bones snap in fear. “I’m not here to be a bouncer.”
“What are you here for?” I took a sip of my coffee then immediately dribbled it back into the cup. Bad idea. Bad, bad idea. Baby Whitehall wasn’t impressed with my unkept promise not to touch caffeine.
“This and that. Everything, really.”
“Jack of all trades, huh? Well, that won’t be necessary.”
“I’ve already been paid for the next nine months, ma’am. You won’t be able to get rid of me.”
I didn’t know what I found more disconcerting. The fact that he forced his presence on me or the fact that he called me ma’am.
I also had no idea how Devon convinced these people to work for me. They were obviously overqualified. I was pretty sure he paid through the nose to compensate for the fact they were going to serve a lot of gin and tonics to middle-aged men coming to get an eyeful of the burlesque dancers.
“Belle, honey, a little more appreciation and a little less bitchiness would be great.” Ross materialized from the back office and strolled toward the bar, looking grim and a little put off. I didn’t even notice he was gone. “Devon brought me up to speed about the fact you’re eating for two.”
He put a hand on my shoulder and peered down at me. “Why on earth didn’t you tell me? I thought I was one of your best friends.”
“You are.” I licked my lips, not used to being called out, but appreciating it anyway because Ross had every right to be hurt. “I’m sorry, Ross. It’s just because … general health stuff. This is a high-risk pregnancy, so I didn’t want to announce it too early.”
“Oh.” I could feel him defrosting, but he still wasn’t happy that I’d kept it from him.
“Devon needs to be gagged. I’m surprised he didn’t commission a Times Square banner.” I looked around me dispassionately. Speaking of banners and billboards, my days posing naked were over. Baby Whitehall was going to have enough material for her future therapist without my nudity adding to the mix.
“Give him time. He might do that too.”
I flipped Ross the finger. He curled my middle finger back into my fist, but there was no anger in his voice. “I’ll let this one slide, because it seems like you’ve experienced many changes in the past few weeks.”
I gnawed at my lower lip, deciding to drop the ball-busting charade for a second. I mean, this was Ross. My Ross. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“So … you’ve met him.” I didn’t put a question mark at the end of the sentence. My insides liquefied.
“I have.” Ross nodded cryptically while Morgan, Alice, and Simon pretended to look around the place and talk to each other.
“And … what did you think?”
“I think…” he flipped my hair, playing with it lovingly, “…he is hotter than the devil’s dick, talks like a Netflix duke, and is crazy about you. I approve of the arrangement.”
“Thanks for giving me the blessing I didn’t ask for.”
“You’re welcome. And while we’re on the topic—I know you’re going to manage to screw it up somehow, because you’re allergic to relationships, but please, Belly-Belle, puh-lease, can we keep him for just a little longer?” He clapped his hands together and gave me puppy eyes, like a child who came across a stray cat he wanted to adopt.
“No.” I produced a small mirror from my clutch and checked my red lipstick, using my pinky to wipe the lines. “His job is done.”
“You should tell him that. He threatened that if I let you work the bar tonight, he’d personally kick my ass. So I’m going to go ahead and send you to work in the office until no later than six o’clock, after which you’ll go back home.”
“Six o’clock?” I roared. “It’s four o’clock right now!”
“Four twenty. Don’t forget you were late.” Ross grabbed the small mirror, checking his own reflection. He raised his eyebrows to check his Botox situation. In my opinion, he had at least three more months in him before he needed to visit his dermatologist.
“You can’t kick me out of my own workplace.” I snatched the mirror and shoved it into my clutch.