The revelation wasn’t surprising but somehow all the more paralyzing because Quinn would have to be in the same room as her mother worked the men. The times Marina had stumbled home in the small hours reeking of whiskey, sex, and male were innumerable, but it had remained in the darkness never to be revealed in the light of day. Never spoken of, even in anger, it was a slap in the face to bear this witness.
“Hey, you all right, kid?”
“M’fine.” Quinn mumbled through numbed lips, averting her eyes from the line. If Marina had any reaction, she didn’t want to see it.
“Listen, if you’re going to puke…”
“Really, I’m fine.”
“Then why are you turning green? Fuck, someone go get me another girl!”
“She’s never been up here, Jacks, cut her some slack.” Clara, a bastion of warmth and smiles, came to her rescue. A small hand smoothed over Quinn’s back, brushing away the clammy shroud of anxiety as if it was nothing but cobwebs.
Gaze sliding to the side, Quinn let the smallest of thanks perk her lips up before she squared her shoulders and faced Jackson head on.
“I’m okay, just a little nervous. I didn’t know my job was going to be on the line when Mr. Rey pulled me off the floor.”
“Fuck me,” Jackson grumbled under a sigh, wiping a meaty hand over his bald head. Addressing them all as he straightened, he waved at the bar tucked into the alcove manned by a waif of a Beta male. “Everyone grab your trays and head in.”
“You good, sweetie,” Clara whispered behind Quinn as they turned.
“Yeah, I’m good,” Quinn said over her shoulder, giving a real smile this time.
The double doors swung open, the roar of male laughter flowing out in resonating eddies and rumbling waves to greet them. Filing in one by one, the women all paused just inside the entry to give their audience a smile and a wave before moving in some pattern Quinn didn’t understand. At first it seemed it alternated right and left until it didn’t anymore. Some went to the far reaches of the back, some stood in the middle. Quinn had no idea where she was supposed to go.
“Hey, kid,” Jackson said, calling Quinn over to him. His hand tapped on her shoulder, an awkward reassurance. “Just don’t spill a glass on anyone and you’ll be okay. You’re the new girl, so stick to the perimeter and leave the middle ground to the experienced girls, all right?”
“Yes. Thank you so much.” The shuddery exhale of relief wasn’t feigned as she accepted another uncomfortable smack of his palm to her arm. Following in Clara’s wake, she sucked in a steadying breath before pasting on a plastic smile and heading through the doors.
Hours passed of an endless monotony of filling and refilling glasses. Whoever these men were, they could put away some alcohol. Feeling uncertain and somehow demeaned in the press of wool suits and immaculate dress shirts, Quinn kept her interactions to the bare minimum. Clara had told her she’d get an increased hourly wage for the time spent up here, so she tried not to be so concerned about the tips. It was hard not to see the once crisp bills fluttering from a wide variety of hems and waistbands on the other women though. Clara had a single hundred-dollar bill tucked in her cleavage, sticking up like a little flag. Quinn hadn’t dared to look at Marina.
“Hey you!”
Smiling through a clenched jaw, Quinn turned towards the summons. Hand already reaching for the man’s glass, she paused with her arm extended when she noticed it was still half full. A flick of her gaze upwards showed a Beta, recognition dawning as she noted the scruff of beard he attempted to maintain. She’d only just given him that drink a minute ago.
“I’m sorry, did you need something else?”
“Yeah, I sure do.” The lecherous grin was even more disgusting for the way the patchwork of his facial hair played peek-a-boo with it. The dull, dingy brown of his gaze slid over her, a slimy ooze that made her want to gag.
“What can I get you, sir?”
A string of curses lit up in her thoughts, bright as Christmas lights, as she kicked herself for the utter stupidity of her phrasing. Knowing what the response would be as soon as the last syllable slipped past her lips, Quinn fixed her server’s smile and tried not to show the edge of her teeth in a snarl.
“You naked and bouncing on my cock,” the male said, chest puffed and eyes gleaming with heat. His cronies were already letting loose their drunken guffaws and chortles, slapping each other and the Beta on the back in raucous victory.
Idiots.
“Sorry, the bar doesn’t carry that. Let me get you another bourbon instead.”
The smile was becoming painful to hold, flesh cracking under the strain of cheery politeness and powder. Already turning away, she didn’t see the hand that shot out. There was no time to maneuver away before fingers closed around her arm, hauling Quinn backwards into the crowd of Betas. Giving an indelicate squawk, she fell against the high table, pain crackling through her spine as it collided with the bruising edge.
“You think you can just brush me off, bitch,” the Beta hissed in her face as he leaned over her supine form. His breath was an acrid wash of alcohol that made her eyes water and Quinn could only hope he thought the brightness of her eyes was fear and not anger.
“I’m sorry, sir, but we’re not allowed—”
“I’ll do whatever in the fuck I want. Do you know who I am?”
“David Johnson, junior associate at Rhodes and Bassett.”
