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I looked down at the still-wet blood spatter on the sleeve of my dress shirt, then rolled it up.
Another good shirt ruined.
And still more questions than answers.
Then I walked back to the bar, back to Fee. Halfway across the room, my eyes fell on her stool.
Empty.
Fuck. I made eye contact with the security guard, who stood right next to the bar.
What the fuck? Where was she?
Then, Mark, one of the servers, stopped at my side. “Your girlfriend knows her way around a bar, boss,” he said.
I focused my eyes back on the bar—only this time, on the other side, and sure enough, there she was, joking, mixing drinks, and keeping the gathered crowd entertained.
I marched toward her, ready to throw her over the shoulder, carry her into my office, and take her over my knee—which would probably trigger her and cause her to have a breakdown.
I sighed, and in a last-second decision, changed direction and took the bar stool she should’ve parked her sexy ass on.
I made eye contact with her, saw the hesitation in her eyes before she covered it up and approached me.
“You’re not that good of a businessman, are you?” she said and shook her head. “You can’t just take the bartender without thinking about a replacement.”
“Mojito,” I said.
She rolled her eyes.
“I’m slammed. How about a gin rickey?”
I held her gaze until she sighed and shook her head. “One mojito for the boss-hole, coming right up.” She prepared the cocktail, then placed it right in front of me.
“Piña colada,” I said, just to annoy her a little and test her abilities at the same time.
Not that I would let her work here.
Zero chance of that happening.
She held my gaze. “You’re hurting your own business in keeping me busy by preparing a glorified slushy with rum for you.”
I suppressed a smile and held her gaze until she sighed, shrugged, and turned around.
I watched her ass while she prepared the time-consuming drink I knew most bartenders hated to prepare.
And despite her pushback, she didn’t seem at all annoyed—quite the opposite, she was pulsing with the beat and swaying her ass until I felt my slacks tighten and my annoyance rising.
Fuck.
What was it about this woman? Whatever I told her to do, she did the exact opposite. Why couldn’t she just follow my orders like everyone else?
I continued to watch her, when Matteo and Cristo settled next to me on both sides.
Matteo grabbed the mojito—he knew full well I hated them—and sucked on the straw. “Wow, it’s good.”
I growled. “How about you get someone in here to take over the bar so that my girlfriend”—I put an emphasis on the word, and it was funny how I got more comfortable with it every time I said it—“doesn’t have to chip in.”
I glared at Matteo, which made him chuckle. “You can pretend all you want, but you’re in way too good a mood for the way this day has gone. You like our little mob princess, don’t you?”
