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Dahlia snorted. “No, trust me, he is.”
“Trey says he isn’t.” He pointed behind her. “He wants you back in his office.”
Oh dammit. I finally get a superb final line, and this man has to call me back in.
“I’m just going to go now.”
The man glared harshly. “After you speak with Trey.”
Ah, shit!
Dahlia hesitated, but his guard wasn’t going to allow her to leave, so she walked back down the hall, knowing all the men were watching her. She stepped inside the doorway and stopped.
If she’d thought Trey seemed unwelcoming and intolerable during the interview, nothing prepared her for the harsh glare he was sending her now.
Dahlia stood in the doorway. All her confidence from a minute earlier was gone, replaced with a hint of fear and regret. Trey continued to glare, making her shift on her feet. He didn’t say a word, but when he lifted his hand, her eyes followed as he pointed to the chair she’d been sitting in earlier.
Her throat bobbed as she took slow steps across the room. Her gaze veered to the floor as she took her seat, folding her hands on her lap. Her silky dark hair fell over her shoulder, forming a curtain around her face. It was longer than he remembered. She brushed the pads of her fingers on her bare knees as her skirt hiked up well past mid-thigh. Trey didn’t have a specific type or preference when it came to women, but Dahlia checked off all the boxes when it came to beauty.
Trey tapped his knuckles on his desk and waited until she glanced up, meeting his stare.
“Would you like to know what I find most interesting about you?” He paused and watched as she shifted in her seat, losing her last bit of confidence. “For someone who accuses another of being judgmental, you seem to be making quite a few assumptions and judgments of your own.”
Trey didn’t expect her to respond, but she did.
“You blatantly insulted me.” Her voice shook slightly.
Interesting.
Trey cocked his brow. “How?”
“You said my experience isn’t what you’re looking for.”
“It’s not.”
Dahlia blinked and scoffed, shaking her head. “And you don’t find that offensive?”
“No.”
“Unbelievable,” she muttered under her breath, but Trey heard it. She grabbed the arms of the chair, but before she could fully stand, he slammed his hand down on his desk, gaining her attention. Dahlia flinched and then froze.
“Sit down,” Trey ordered, narrowing his gaze.
Surprisingly, Dahlia followed his command.
“Correct me if I’m wrong.” Trey drew in a breath, cupping his mouth. “You worked at two bars, both MCs. From what I understand, all members drink free, which makes up more than half the attendees or clientele at their parties. Therefore, the only cash or payment exchange would be with guests. Correct?”
Trey knew he was right. He knew the way they operated.
Dahlia confirmed it with a sharp nod.
“I’m also aware that their bar is stocked primarily with specific alcohol because that’s what they drink. Bourbon, whiskey, vodka, scotch, tequila. And beer. I’m sure there aren’t many requests for an Old-Fashioned, Cosmopolitan, or a Pomegranate Martini. The MCs don’t have wine on hand, nor do they stock many mixers or liqueurs. Correct?”
Dahlia gave a small shrug, ultimately giving a small nod.
“Your experience bartending at the MCs doesn’t equate to working here. You’ve probably handled cash for about fifty paying customers a night at the MCs, and that’s me being generous with the estimation. A single bartender here will handle thousands over the course of a six-hour shift. They’ll also prepare all the specialty drinks, every drink imaginable. Very rarely will you get a whiskey neat for anyone who comes up to the bar. I’ll ask you again. Do you think your experience is what my club is looking for?”
Dahlia glanced down at the floor. She didn’t answer.
