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“Please don’t,” I say, sounding more bored than anything. “It’s all good. I’ll get your Goose, and Lauren will be back to keep you happy,” I air quote and turn to the sound of the guys hooting and hollering at my brush-off.
I come around the corner and jump, hand coming to my heart. Drew’s standing there, eyes narrowed and lost in thought.
“Sorry, you scared me,” I say, but he doesn’t answer. “Drew? Is everything okay?”
He clears his throat as his eyes meet mine.
“Yes. Fine,” he says. “You handled that well,” the husky, rich voice praising me belongs to Drew Lawson, but something seems off about him.
I shrug. “Unfortunately, I have too much experience with guys like him.”
His lips form a line, and his one brow quirks. “Is that so?”
I nod. “Sadly, yes. I have to get his bottles,” I say, motioning toward the bar.
He lifts his chin in acknowledgment. “Nice work in there.”
“Thank you,” I reply and haul ass toward the bar, trying hard not to trip, shuffle my feet, or otherwise look like an imbecile. The entire way there, aside from attempting not to embarrass myself, I think about Drew and how off he just was. The man is mercurial, if nothing else.
“Here’s the Goose.” Carter hands me the bottles.
The expensive alcohol isn’t just left lying atop the bar. The bartender has to personally pass it to us. It makes sense with the sheer number of people milling about. Not that any of them couldn’t afford the liquor, but according to Carter, money doesn’t equal honesty. He’s right.
“How’s Reese acting tonight?” he asks.
“He’s better. Still a douche, but not a complete asshat tonight.”
Carter snorts. “Reese will always be a douche. Nothing will change that.”
I smile at him. “Gotta go. My tables will be needing me too.”
When I make it back to room two, Lauren is waiting at the entrance. “Thanks, Bailey. I appreciate it.” She grabs the Goose and turns to walk away.
As much as I don’t want to deal with the group inside, I need the money, and I need to push through it. I missed out on the tip Reese was offering up. I grit my teeth and head to my own tables. I can make that much on each of them if I make sure they’re all okay. So that’s what I do, and it works. For the rest of the night, I run my ass off for four high-top tables. They aren’t the VIP rooms, and I won’t make the kind of money the VIP girls will, but I didn’t do too shabby either. Each table tipped me over three hundred dollars.
I take a load of glasses to the back room and shift through my apron looking for my tip purse. It’s gone. Panic claws at my chest and works its way up my throat, bringing bile with it.
Sweat beads at my temples and my hands begin to shake.
This can’t be happening.
“Drop something?” That smooth, delicious voice washes over me, momentarily setting my nerves right.
I turn hesitantly, not wanting him to see the way my mouth quivers from the exertion of staving off tears. He lifts his hand out, and that’s when I see my tip purse. My entire body relaxes, shoulders slouching as I breathe easier.
He doesn’t move any closer, so I step forward and reach for the purse. My hand grazes his, and electricity courses its way up my arm. A traitorous sigh escapes my lips, and his brow quirks in amusement.
My cheeks heat, and I rip the purse from his grip, then take three giant steps back.
“I believe a thank you is in order,” he teases, and I frown.
“Thank you,” I say a tad too snippily for having just been saved by this gorgeous man.
“I’m sorry, it has been a long night. I am grateful you found this. Truly. Thank you.”
He nods. “You’re welcome.”
I offer a small smile and grab a rag to get back to my table.
“Bailey,” he calls out, and I turn my head over my shoulders to look at him.
“I’ll take care of Reese. He won’t talk like that to you again.”
With that, he exits the room, leaving me reeling at the intensity of his promise.
7
Drew
“God, that was a long night.”
I glance sideways at Carter. He’s our complainer. I usually ignore him, but tonight fucking blew, and I’m not in the mood for his bitching.
“I know thousands of people who would love to look at attractive people all night and leave with over five grand in their pocket.” I don’t mince words. He makes bank here, and I have a stack of résumés a mile high in my office belonging to people who would kill for his position.
“But you’d miss me.”
“Wrong, but I do know several people who would. So, for now, you stay,” I say, only half-serious.
“What’s up with Reese and the crew these days?” Carter asks with a hint of annoyance.
