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Most of the staff had left for the night, leaving only Killian and Dahlia on the floor.
“I can do it.”
“I usually have one of the waitresses do it. It’s no offense toward you, but they like it set up a certain way and they’re very fucking meticulous. No room for error in the balcony, or you get your ass handed to you.”
Dahlia chuckled. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Sloane ream anyone’s ass.”
Killian flattened his lips, obviously not finding her joke amusing.
“Not talking about Sloane.” He balled his fist, clearly frustrated. “Shit.”
Dahlia dropped her towel on the counter and stepped closer.
“Just tell me what to do, and I’ll make sure it all gets done, I promise.”
How hard could it be? Aside from clearing glasses and debris and wiping everything down, it didn’t seem like a big job. Dahlia might have an ulterior motive, too. She hadn’t seen Trey since her first night. Well, that wasn’t true. She’d caught glimpses of him, but they never made eye contact. He’d been in the balcony a few times, and once she’d seen him walk through the club. He’d never even looked in her direction.
Dahlia hadn’t seen him at all tonight, and she’d looked. It crossed her mind that he was purposely avoiding her. But that thought was fleeting. Trey had no reason since he obviously had no interest. Her crush was shifting to infatuation, which would only have her crash and burn if she didn’t get control over it.
She and Trey were on different levels, different spaces in the universe. The faster she realized that, the safer her heart would be.
Killian reluctantly gave her instructions, and she walked up the steps. It was eerily silent. From the view below on the main floor, she’d only caught a glimpse of the coveted balcony. There had been a man standing at the bottom of the stairs all night. Security. She wasn’t exactly sure what they were protecting the owners from, but they obviously took their jobs very seriously. The two times she’d passed by and smiled, it was met with a harsh scowl.
The balcony was grander than the club itself, which said a lot.
She was piling the glasses and ashtrays into her plastic bin when she heard a deep growl followed by a berating, loud voice booming. She straightened her back and turned to the stairs. A man she’d never seen before stalked forward, waving his hand.
“That’s not what I fucking agreed to, Nash, so you tell him if he wants to change this deal, then he can fucking call me himself!”
He slapped his phone down on the table. She’d be surprised if the screen hadn’t shattered. He sat down, reaching into his suit pocket. “Whiskey.”
Dahlia widened her eyes. He could only be talking to one person seeing as they were the only two people there. Dahlia froze, wondering where he’d come from. She hadn’t heard anyone walking up the stairs.
“Why the fuck are you still standing here?”
Dahlia winced at the harsh tone and the visceral snap. She’d spent plenty of time around burly, loud men but wasn’t accustomed to the nasty, condescending edge of his voice. How was she supposed to handle a customer who wasn’t even supposed to be there? It was probably best to get Killian, but she’d just spent five minutes convincing him she could handle the balcony. When in doubt, kindness went a long way. Usually.
“Um…” She swallowed the knot in her throat, forcing a smile. “I’m sorry, we’re closed.”
His brows dipped into a hard scowl, and his gaze hardened.
“What the fuck did you just say?”
Oh shit.
“We close at two.”
He lit his cigarette and kept his harsh glare locked on her. She rocked on her heels, tightening her hold on the plastic tub. Under his scrutinizing stare, her hands shook slightly, and she tapped her foot. His eyes drifted down her body as he settled into his seat, showing no signs of leaving. He squinted, taking a deep drag from his cigarette, never taking his eyes off her.
This must be how weaker wildlife feels seconds before they’re pounced on. It was a fair assessment, considering she felt like prey. Dahlia waited, biting her bottom lip. As the smoke billowed around his face, the corner of his mouth curled, which only amplified her tension.
“Who the fuck are you?” He seemed to have lost the slight edge of his tone. Clearly, he was still harboring a good amount of anger, but his question came out as more of an inquiry than an accusation. Pissing off the customers was not how she wanted to end her shift.
“I’m Dahlia. I’m a barback.” She smiled and shivered under his inspecting perusal of her body. The uniform left little to the imagination. Not all women would be comfortable traipsing around the club in the tiny outfit. It was the one thing Dahlia felt most at ease with.
“I just started last week.” She wasn’t sure why she offered up that nugget of information. It wouldn’t matter to him, or maybe it would. Hopefully, he’d be compliant and leave.
Unfortunately, he didn’t, and they were back to a standoff. Arrogant, entitled men were the least attractive, and this man was no different. By all outward appearances, he was good-looking. Very good looking. A little rough, not quite as clean cut as the usual customers. In an odd sense, he kind of reminded her of Trey. By their attire alone, they were polar opposites. While they both appeared expensive, Trey’s look was crisp and muted black. This man’s burgundy shirt, two buttons undone, partnered with his dark gray suit, was flashier without being tacky. His dark hair was disheveled but suited his strong features. The lines between his brows were deep for someone she’d peg not much older than forty if that. He’d obviously taken care of himself, minus the smoking, if his body was any indication. He was bulkier than Trey but probably the same height.
