“Trust me, Tara,” he says, and there’s definitely amusement in his voice now, “after watching you wrestle scaffolding for an hour, ‘helpless’ isn’t a word I’d use to describe you. Stubborn, maybe. Possibly delusional about physics…”
“Oh, be quiet,”
“…but not helpless. There are plenty of other words I’d use first.” his eyes darken and I am overtaken with a need to know what these other words are.
“The ladder’s not stable,” I say, watching Alfie test its wobble. We’re trying to cover up the…artwork.
“Maybe we should wait for maintenance to bring a better one.”
“It’s fine. I’m barely going off the ground.” He starts climbing. “Just spot me.” I position myself behind the ladder, hands raised uselessly.
“If you fall and die, I’m not explaining it to Troy, Freddie or Ethan. Actually Ethan would probably be the worst. I think he would cry the most.”
“Your concern is touching.” He reaches for the top shelf, stretching. His shirt rides up, revealing a strip of tanned skin and defined muscle that makes my mouth go dry.
I force my eyes away, but not before noticing the trail of dark hair disappearing into his jeans.
The ladder shifts suddenly. Without thinking, I grab his hips to steady him. My fingers meet warm skin wherehis shirt has ridden up, and his muscles tense under my touch.
“Careful,” he says, voice rougher than usual. I should move my hands. I definitely should not be noticing how perfectly they fit against his hipbones, or how his skin is like fire under my palms.
“Tara.” Heat pools in my stomach.
“Yeah?”
“You can let go now.”
“Right.”
I snatch my hands back.
“Sorry.” He descends slowly, and when he turns to face me, his eyes are dark in a way that makes my heart race.
Then he clears his throat and steps back. “I should get back to work.”
Luzia looks different in daylight.Less like a glossy nightclub. It has a more industrial feel with exposed beams and warehouse-like windows. I adjust my all-black uniform and check my reflection in the window. Professional.
“You’re early.” The voice behind me makes me jump. I turn to find a guy a little older than me, probably mid-twenties, wearing a crisp button-down and a smile that belongs in a toothpaste commercial. “James. Nice to see you again, Tara.”
James was the one who interviewed me, which was more of a conversation than an interview. In all honesty I came out thinking I’d flunked it.
“Hi! Yes, sorry. I’m probably way too early, I just?—”
“No such thing.” He unlocks the door, gesturing me inside. “Eager is good. Shows initiative.” He winks.
The bar smells like lemons and cleaning products, nothing like the perfume and sweat mixture from my interview. James leads me behind the main bar, pointing out equipment with the precision of someone who actually enjoys training.
“We’re a bit different from your average college bar; in fact, we price our drinks high to discourage college students from coming in. We get the occasional post grad who’s got some cash but it’s mostly rich tourists,” he explains, pulling out a leather-bound menu. “Our cocktail list changes seasonally. Everything’s premium, including our clientele. The tips reflect that.”
I try not to look too excited about that part, but he catches my expression and grins.
“Yeah, that’s why everyone wants to work here. But it’s not easy. You’ve got to be smart, efficient, and good with people. That’s why I hired you. You’ve got a natural charm to you.”
Something flutters in my stomach at the compliment, but I push it aside.
“The uniform suits you,” he adds, then immediately moves on to explaining the POS system.
“Here, let me show you a trick,” James says, stepping behind me at the register. “The system can be tough, but I’ve got shortcuts for everything.” He’s close enough that I can smell his cologne, something expensive that reminds me of the way Alfie smells, exceptwrongsomehow. Artificial. Alfie smells like the outdoors, like freshly cut wood and the forest.
