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When he removed said hand, my gaze flicked up to his blue eyes. A startling shade of light blue I also hadn’t realized before. “Are you serious?”
“You need a job. My boss needs a bartender.” He gestured to the row of bottles behind the bar. “Impress me.”
I shrugged out of my suit jacket and draped it over a stool before easing behind the bar, helping myself to various bottles of liquor and syrups. “Do you want the whole show or just the drinks?”
“The drinks are fine.”
I nodded and got to work. “And all that bullshit about my supplier? Are you just over that?”
“Not in the slightest,” he replied with a smirk, resuming his casual lean against the bar. He looked like a model standing there, propped up on one elbow, the picture of sophistication. Everything I’d never be. “Are you willing to give me a name? I’ll pay for it, if you like. I’ll pay handsomely.”
“Keep your money.”
I scooped some ice into a shaker and poured in the ingredients for the first drink. His insistence on knowing who I was connected to made sense now. Being the manager of a club like this, they were probably running their own ring. Maybe he was looking to switch suppliers—or eliminate the competition. Either way, my lips were sealed. I didn’t have much of anything, so I hung tight to the tattered remains of my pride. Plus, if I ratted out my source, I wouldn’t be around very long to enjoy the money anyway.
“I admire your principles, but there comes a point when theydoget in the way,” he said in that accented voice again. Russian. Definitely Russian. Aside from the fact it was a lot easier to hear him than it had been previously, his association with Delirium was a big ol’ clue.
Shooting him a curious glance, I shook the concoction and poured it into a martini glass. I didn’t bother waiting to see his reaction to the first drink and got to work on the second. Dumping a handful of ice into a towel, I crushed it with a pestle before throwing together some lemon, honey, and mint, muddling them. I added tequila and mezcal and strained it all together, dropping a sprig of mint into the glass before pushing it toward him.
“Do you have any eggs?” I asked, scanning the shelves beneath the bar for any other inspiring ingredients.
“Eggs?” He furrowed his brow.
“Yeah. I use them for foam.”
The barest hint of a smile flickered over his face. “No need. I think I’ve seen enough.”
Nodding, I vaulted over the bar top since I couldn’t be bothered to walk back to the service entrance and snagged my jacket off the stool on my way by. “Thanks for your time, then.”
“Are you always so dismissive of people, or is this strictly personal?”
His words brought me to a halt. I turned halfway toward him, watching as he strolled forward, one hand in his pocket. Seemed to be his signature pose, which meant jack shit since he was quick when he wanted to be. He already had the advantage of his size, I thought I would at least have speed. Wrong.
“What are you talking about?” I asked warily.
“You assume you don’t have the job because of our prior conversation. Just like you rushed to quit Dalton’s instead of waiting to see what the owner would say about your altercation.”
“The owner would say I’m fired. So, I saved him the hassle. Just like I’m saving you the hassle right now. You’re welcome.” I gave him a mock bow and pivoted for the door again.
His steps echoed behind me. “And if I said you’re hired?”
“I’d say you’re only after my supplier. Or my dick.” I kept walking, shrugging into my suit jacket again. “Either way, you’re wasting your time, pal.”
“So young and yet already so hardened by the world.” Out of nowhere, he cut in front of me and blocked my way. His eyes were soft, searching, like he was genuinely sad about what had transpired in my life until that point. He didn’t have a fucking clue.
Meanwhile, I rolled my eyes in return. “I don’t expect someone like you to understand and I sure as shit don’t need your pity. I’ve made it this far on my own.”
“When you’re tired of fighting the world, give me a call.” He slipped his hand into his inner pocket and withdrew a business card, holding it out to me between two fingers.
I didn’t move. I didn’t even look at it. I was too busy trying to figure out what this guy’s endgame was. It normally didn’t take me that long to figure out people’s motives because most people were pretty damn basic, but I honestly had no clue what he wanted from me. This was about more than Nirvana. It had to be. And whatever it was, he must havereallyfucking wanted it to take the amount of shit I’d thrown his way during each of our direct encounters.
He stepped forward and raised his sandy brows, the card hovering between us. “The job is yours, Marek. No strings attached, for youoryour dick. If you want it, be here tomorrow night at nine.”
My brain was still weighing the sincerity of his words when my hand snatched the card out of his fingers. Before either of us could change our minds, I shoved it in my pocket and strode out.
6
MAREK
