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I chew on my lip, willing Brian to magically appear. I need to know what I’m supposed to do here. James doesn’t look like he wants company, but I don’t want to get fired. I could ask him if he needs anything, but that’s not my job. Where is the bartender? His waiter? How about a freaking bus boy?
I take a small step toward the podium, contemplating breaking out in a full sprint, but his voice catches me before I can.
“Come have a seat.”
I freeze like a deer caught in headlights, and then I do the very ridiculous, very sitcom move of glancing over my shoulder to confirm that he is in fact talking to me.
There’s no one else in the room.
I turn back to him. He’s taking another sip of his drink. I clear my throat and try to speak without conveying how much he’s caught me off guard.
“Oh, err, I’m on the clock. Actually, is there anything I can get you, Mr. Ashwood? The kitchen is still open.”
That’s a lie. When I passed by, the kitchen staff was wrapping up for the night, cleaning and prepping for tomorrow, but I don’t care. I will force one of them to whip something up if James wants it, and if they don’t agree, I’ll do it myself. I’ve seen inside the refrigerators back there—there’s more than enough fancy food to mask my ineptitude.
“You’re still on the clock?” he asks, still facing away from me.
“Yes.”
With that, he uses his foot to push aside the barstool beside him. Now it’s angled to face him, and it’s clearly an invitation for me to sit.
“So then there’s no problem. I pay the club, the club pays you, and now I’m asking you to sit.”
His words are demanding and clear. This man has entitlement seeping from his pores, but his tone catches me off guard. It’s surprisingly gentle, almost…sad.
I step closer. “I really shouldn’t. I have closing duties.”
He chuckles, just once, like he knows I’m lying. “I’m sure they can manage without you.”
And then finally, he turns and levels me with his searing gaze. As I suspected, his eyes are dark brown, almost black, and they pack quite a punch.
“Mr. Ashwood! I didn’t realize you were still here.”
It’s Brian, finally. He’s rushing into the room to aid our last, lonely member, but James is still focused on me, studying me just like I’m studying him.
“I’d like Brooke to sit with me for a few minutes,” he says to Brian. “Can you spare her?”
“Oh!” Brian’s gaze volleys between us. “Of course, but it’s up to Brooke. Her shift is ending soon.”
I’m shocked by his answer. I assumed he would force me to sit and entertain James. Now, the decision is up to me, and that somehow makes it easier to step closer and accept the barstool he’s moved aside for me. Brian says he’ll be in his office if Mr. Ashwood needs anything, and before he leaves, he shoots me a warning with one look: don’t say anything stupid.
Then we’re alone again in the quiet dining room.
I situate myself on the barstool so my cocktail dress falls as far down my thighs as the silky material will allow. James acts like he doesn’t notice as he takes a long pull of his drink. I wonder what number he’s on. He doesn’t seem drunk, but he’s been in the club for hours, so there’s no way he’s exactly sober.
I turn and study his profile. At this proximity, I can see everything I’ve been imagining for the last few weeks. My gaze drags across his strong jawline and then higher, across his cheekbones. He’s still clean-shaven, and I wonder if he usually has more stubble by this time of day.
Maybe I would have asked him, but he speaks up first.
“Tell me the real reason you didn’t want to sit with me.”
He asks the question with a small, teasing smirk, and it makes me want to tease back.
“I didn’t want to get fired.”
His smirk extends another inch and he turns to face me. I’m sad to lose his profile, but this is so much better. It’s intoxicating to sit this close to him, with his full attention aimed at me. His eyes hold mine and I want to continue like that, meeting him spade for spade, but I cave. My gaze falls to my lap, and then over to the rows of expensive liquor lining the back of the bar.
“Having a drink with a member off the clock hardly seems like a fireable offense.”
“Well if I’m off the clock, I might as well just head home,” I say coyly.
“Something tells me you’ll stay.”
His voice is so smooth and enticing. It’s confident, but not nearly as sharp as I’d imagined.
“I usually don’t keep company with guys like you,” I say, giving him the real reason. I catch his raised eyebrows out of the corner of my eyes. Maybe my honesty caught him off guard. “Sorry, you’re probably used to staff members kissing your ass.”
