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“Then you know this is a big deal!” Rodney exclaims, forgetting about me and stepping closer to her. “My neck is on the fucking line here. If Lucifer thinks I’m running his club into the ground…”
Lana gives his arm another pat. “I’m sure he won’t think that because some customers had to wait a couple of minutes for their drinks.”
Rodney shakes his head sadly. “If it were only that…”
I watch the color drain from Lana’s face as the implication of what he said sinks in. “Rodney, what have you done? Don’t tell me you’ve done something stupid.”
Glancing side to side, as if he’s looking for who could be watching, Rodney’s attention falls on me again. “Why are you still standing here? What the fuck, Eden? Get your ass moving!”
Eyes widening, Lana mouths, “Go,” at me over his shoulder and jerks her chin in the direction of the tables.
Afraid Rodney might fire me right on the spot, I grab the tray and spin on my heels.
Strutting back to table eleven, I look for the man Lana said was watching me but catch no sight of him.
All I can see in front of me is the club as a whole. A club some genius designed to look like Heaven.
The booths look like big fluffy clouds and the tables are painted to look like golden harps. The floor is ivory marble with streaks of gold. The ceiling above features a very well done homage to Michelangelo’s Creation of Adam.
Except Adam and all the others surrounding God are painted as beautiful naked women.
Too bad whoever designed this place didn’t realize that when you shove a bunch of men dressed in dark suits into the booths and tables it looks like a horde of demons paying to see angels strip.
Or perhaps that was their intention…
Trying not to let my disappointment get to me, I plaster my fake smile back on my face as I approach Mr. Business Card and all his friends.
The chatter at the table immediately dies down as I strut up. The men watching me place their drinks on the table with gleaming eyes and secret grins tugging at the corners of their lips.
Feeling like I’m being watched by a pack of wolves, I do my best to place the drinks down as fast as I can without spilling them.
The tension multiplying by a second, I finally get the last glass down, Mr. Business Card’s whiskey sour, and straighten.
Tucking the tray under my arm, I pivot, ready to retreat back to the safety of the bar, when out of nowhere I’mspanked.
The sound of the hand hitting my ass reaches my ears before the sting sinks in. A loud crack that causes me to flinch.
“Thanks, sweetcheeks,” Mr. Business Card says behind me.
At once, I freeze in place. My muscles tightening and my spine going rigid.
It’s only a spank, something I should probably put up with grace, given my current occupation.
Any other girl here would probably laugh it off and remind him of the no touching policy. Or take it as a sign to work more money out of him.
But I can’t bring myself to do it.
Not after he touched me the first time.
Grinding my teeth together, my blood starting to boil, I glance back. Glaring daggers as he and his buddies grin back at me.
“You’re welcome,” I grit out.
Eyes lighting up at my reaction and his grin only growing wider, Mr. Business Card grabs his drink.
Lifting the glass in a cheers at me, he takes a big swallow.
I wait until I see his throat working before I let my own grin slide across my lips. “I spit in your drinks.”
