Dark Queen

If I wasn’t running late for work, I would drag him into the shower with me and let him help me release some of this tension just to spite Jewel. But I made a pact with myself.

I’m not going to put myself in an awkward predicament that can cause drama with my peers or jeopardize my position here.

“Are we done?” I ask exasperated, I have to cover an extra shift at Vinos I don’t have time to play who can be the biggest bitch.

“You’ll be done if you keep getting in my way.” She snides.

It’s one step too far for my own ego to accept, my earlier promise not to cause drama flying out the window. I grab her forearm before she can strut away happy with herself, jerking her against my chest.

“Oh my god, let me go.” She gasps.

Tightening my hold, I lower my voice so I can’t be heard by passing dancers, “Don’t fucking threaten me, you spoilt, little bitch, or I’ll snap your leg and use it as a toothpick.” I bite out, releasing her with gentle shove.

Her eyes are as wide as saucers, mouth agape, her hand wrapping around her arm.

“Now we’re done.” I add, waltzing into the shower room.

“You’re late.” Hannah tuts, wobbling her head like a hula girl on a dashboard in jest as she plays with a bottle of water and forks a mouthful of salad leaves into her mouth at the staff room dining table.

“It’s six on the dot,” I rush out, dumping my things in a locker, tying my apron in place and taking the bread roll Simon offers me, devouring it like a starved animal.

I burn so many calories dancing, I’m slowly trying to unlearn all the bad habits Mom instilled in me.

“The king is at his table.” Simon nudges my shoulder, exiting the room. He looks a little different tonight, a new hair cut maybe?

My stomach dips, thinking about what he just said, a fluttering of butterflies taking flight. Hannah offers me a worried half smile.

“How’s things at school?” she asks to make conversation, watching me add extra plasters to my feet before pushing my feet into my work shoes.

“Exhausting, and painful.” I chuckle wiggling my foot in her direction.

She swipes up her salad and takes it to the trash dropping it in half full. Walking to where I’m looking in the mirror tightening my ponytail.

Her hand rests on my back, “You should take better care of your wellbeing.”

The door swings closed behind her not giving me a chance to digest and reply to her.

I check my face in the mirror, pinching my cheeks to give myself a bit of color before heading out to the shop floor.

Soft music and the purr of voices hums through the room as I scan the occupants. My heart skittering in my chest when my eyes land on Mr. Leto in the raised private area.

“He’s only here because you’re working,” Joelle whispers in my ear from behind jolting my body. I hadn’t even noticed her.

“He never takes his eyes off you.” Her lips tug up into a mischievous smirk.

“Liar,” I scold, feeling naked.

I’m covering Milly’s shift. He would have had no idea I’d be here.

She busies herself making up an order, “I’d wish he’d notice me, but three years—and nothing.” She winks.

I drop my head to sneak a peek over at him. My breath catches when I feel his penetrating gaze burning a hole through me.

Seeing him at the table dressed in a designer suit with perfectly styled hair…he looks like he fell from the pages of a magazine. It’s intoxicating to be in his trajectory.

Joelle pushes a tray in front of me, mouthing, “The king,” before biting down on her lip and cutting her gaze to Luca’s direction. “He likes the bottle placed down and left.” She jerks her head firmly.

My throat dries, and my nipples tighten under my formfitting shirt. I’d gone braless while in a hurry to get dressed and now regretted that mistake.

His very aura makes my heart hammer in my chest. His tense jaw sends a wave of nerves dancing in my blood stream—excitable nerves, exhilaration.

“Sorry for the delay,” I lie, placing the bottle of bourbon on his table and the glass with two ice cubes on a napkin before him.

Turning to leave, he barks out, “Pour.”

The husky, rich tone of his voice incites a nervous giddiness within me.

I should be intimidated.

He’s much older than me, I’d bet his thirties easily, and an air of fear surrounds him, like an invisible fire, keeping most people from even daring to look his way.

Not me, though.

I like the burn.

He has a dominance in his movement. His speech has a way of making you feel inferior to him. And in my fucked up, broken way, I like that too.

His thick lips cause heat to pulse in the lower part of my stomach. My eyes trace down his throat, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows.