“Or not, since I have no idea what I’m doing,” she joked, but it was the truth. Samantha would like to think that taking orders and delivering drinks would be a fairly easy thing to do, but like any job, she was sure there would be some kind of learning curve involved, and she’d make a few mistakes along the way.
Samantha could only hope that Clay didn’t fire her on her first night.
Chapter Five
Clay managed to avoid Samantha for most of the day. While she was out with Katrina, and even after she’d returned, he’d stayed down at the bar going through liquor inventory and keeping himself busy prepping for the evening crowd. Happy hour started at four, and Monday was ladies’ night, which meant half-price drinks for the women who came into the place.
The weekly promotion was great for business, but having an influx of female patrons also attracted a whole lot of men who were looking to score, and that made for a very busy night. At three-thirty, employees started to arrive—Hank, the cook, who prepped the appetizers, Elijah, who made sure all the drink glasses were cleaned and stocked for the rush of orders, along with Tara and Gina, who tended the bar, and Amanda and Tessa, who were experienced cocktail waitresses.
While Samantha had been gone earlier with Katrina, Clay had left a Kincaid bar shirt for her on the table to wear, along with a note telling her to be downstairs and ready to work at the designated time. He glanced toward the door that led up to his apartment just as it opened and the woman who’d spent way too much time in his head today appeared and walked toward the bar, where he’d just delivered a case of beer.
Damn, she looked good. He’d been worried about her fitting in with the rest of his employees, but all his concern evaporated as he watched her approach. Gone was the sophisticated, obviously wealthy-looking lady who’d come into his bar last night with the sole purpose of getting drunk. With her hair down in loose, natural waves and minimal makeup, this woman looked young and fresh and bright-eyed and eager. She looked as though she belonged in this environment.
He knew her attire was the main reason, and Jesus Christ, could the jeans she’d bought today be any tighter? The dark-wash denim molded to her curves, accentuating the sway of her hips, her sleek thighs, and long, slender legs. The material of the T-shirt he’d left for her to wear stretched taut across her chest, and he was a fucking idiot for feeling possessive about the way his last name, Kincaid’s, was imprinted across her full breasts, as if it were a statement that she belonged to him, rather than the name of the bar. All he needed to add was property of above Kincaid’s to complete the stupid-ass need to put a claim on her before any other men arrived and hit on her.
And he knew they would. Tonight’s male clientele for ladies’ night tended to be the cockier, more presumptuous type of guys, who, after a few drinks, became overly aggressive, rude, and lost any filter that they might have had when they’d first come in. For the most part, Clay managed to keep things under control, but he knew that Samantha was going to experience one hell of a culture shock tonight. If he was lucky, she’d be gone before the end of the night and heading back to where she’d come from.
Because he really, really needed her to leave. She was too much of a distraction and temptation, and proved as much when she met his gaze from across the room and gave him a sweet, sultry smile that made his cock twitch in his jeans and a groan roll up in his throat. He swallowed it back before the sound could escape.
“What the hell is she still doing here?” Tara asked from beside him, a frown on her face as her gaze traveled in the same direction as his. “And why is she wearing a bar uniform?”
“Because she needed a job,” he muttered, and made himself busy shoving beer bottles into the vat of ice so he didn’t have to make eye contact with Tara.
Knowing there was no way he could keep Samantha’s living arrangements a secret for long, he decided to get it out in the open and be done with it.
He straightened and finally met Tara’s gaze. “And since everyone is going to find out soon enough, she’s staying in my apartment upstairs for a week or so.”
“You’ve got to be joking,” Tara said, her eyes widening incredulously. “I thought you said you’d take care of her like any other tipsy patron. Make sure she leaves safely and all that.” She shook her head, and a tiny hint of a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “You just couldn’t resist rescuing that damsel in distress, could you?”
He wasn’t about to answer her question, and he didn’t need to justify his reasons for letting Samantha stay. “Don’t worry. She won’t be here long.”
Tara cut him a sidelong glance filled with curiosity as she set a stack of napkins on the bar top, then started refilling the swizzle sticks. “Why is that?”
“Because she’s never worked at a bar, and she doesn’t have a damn clue what she’s in for tonight.”
Tara didn’t bother to hide a smirk. “So, you’re hoping tonight’s rowdy crowd will scare her off and send her back to wherever she came from?”
“That’s the plan,” he admitted. Because after this morning’s encounter, he had no idea how long he could keep his hands off her. Especially when she’d already allowed him to kiss her with such lust and heat and had made it known she wanted a whole lot more of everything he had to offer. And fuck, did he want to give it to her. Badly.
Samantha finally reached the other side of the bar and sent him a cheerful smile. “I’m ready to get started. Where do you need me?” she asked, her innocent words not so innocent in Clay’s dirty mind.
On your knees in front of me…lying flat on your back with your legs wrapped tight around my waist as I slide hard and deep—
“Since Clay seems incapable of speaking at the moment, I’m Tara,” his bartender said in a wry tone, introducing herself as she waved one of the other bar waitresses over. “Let’s have Amanda give you a crash course on taking drink orders and what to expect tonight.”
Samantha didn’t even look a little bit nervous about her first night on the job. “That would be great.”
“She can help you out for the first few hours after we open,” Tara went on as she placed a small rubber mat on the service bar counter. “But at some point we’ll be slammed and you’ll have a section all to yourself and you’ll be on your own.”
“It’s a good thing I’m a quick learner.” A too-confident Samantha turned to Amanda and introduced herself, then the two of them walked away so Amanda could give her a quick lesson on drink terminology and how their order system worked.
“Is there something going on between the two of you?” Tara asked, the amusement in her voice evident as she began slicing lime wedges. “Because for a minute there, you know, while you were staring at her like a deaf-mute, you looked like you wanted to vault yourself over the bar, tackle the woman, and do all sorts of dirty things with her.” She waggled her eyebrows at him, enjoying herself immensely.
Get the fuck out of my head, Tara. “You have quite the imagination.” He gave her a bland look.
“Deny it all you want, Saint Clay,” she said, narrowing her gaze as she pointed the knife at him to emphasize her point. “But I’ve never seen you look at another woman that way. Not even Vicky.”
Vicky, the woman he occasionally hooked up with and who had been his casual fuck buddy for the past year. No, he’d never, ever felt this insane kind of hunger and need for Vicky as he did for Samantha, which was why she made the perfect hookup. But he wouldn’t admit his weakness for Samantha to Tara, or anyone else, for that matter.