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“My problem,” Sebastian tells him, “is that this is my casino. And I don’t appreciate watching some asshole with delusions of grandeur slap and grope at my employees. That’s not the kind of place I run.”
He lets go of Mr. Sheenan’s wrist then, but the eye contact between them doesn’t waver. It doesn’t take a genius to realize I’m in the middle of a gigantic pissing contest, one that Sebastian has absolutely no intention of losing.
No intention of losing? I nearly laugh at the thought. It’s not like he’s got a chance in hell of losing. Not because of who he is, but because of the look on his face, in his eyes. He’s got total control of this situation and he isn’t giving up. Not to me, who spent the first couple minutes of his being here trying to hurry him along. Not to the security that is circling like wolves, just waiting for the boss’s orders. And definitely not to Mr. Sheenan, who’s gone from looking jovial and powerful to small and weak in the space of a few seconds.
In the end, Mr. Sheenan is the one to look away first—surprising exactly no one, except maybe himself.
I wait for Sebastian to say something else, to humiliate Mr. Sheenan with the fact that he blinked first. But I underestimate Sebastian Caine. All he does is say a very civilized “Thank you,” before placing his hand on my lower back and guiding me back toward the bar.
“What the hell was that about?” I hiss as soon as we’re out of earshot.
He eyes me coolly. “That was about making sure he doesn’t touch you—or any other waitress who works here—again. I’ve been watching him for the last three hours and if you don’t have at least one bruise on your ass because of him, I’ll be shocked.”
He’s right—already I can feel the soreness on my left ass cheek from where it’s been smacked repeatedly. I don’t tell Sebastian this, don’t want to give him the satisfaction of winning this round, too. But a glance at his face tells me he already knows he’s right and he’s not happy about it.
“Come to my office,” he tells me, taking the drinks tray from my hands and placing it on the bar next to Michael, who is trying to look like he’s not listening.
“I can’t,” I tell him, reaching over to pocket the tips that are still on the tray. I’m sure I look mercenary, but I still have rent that needs to be paid and a car that needs new tires desperately. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m working.”
“You’re due for your dinner break,” he tells me with the confidence of a man who isn’t used to being thwarted. “Take it now.”
“I don’t want to take it now.” My stomach chooses that moment to rumble, calling me a liar more effectively than Sebastian ever could. The truth is, I’d planned on making one more round of the floor before clocking out—my break actually started five minutes ago. But doing it because Sebastian orders me to isn’t the same as doing it because I want to, or because my manager tells me it’s time.
“Tough luck,” he tells me, and the hand on my back suddenly feels a lot more threatening. “You’re obviously hungry, you’ve had a rough night dealing with that bastard and you look like you’re about to drop if you don’t get some food in you. Take your damn dinner break.”
“Now is probably the perfect time to tell you that I don’t respond well to orders,” I snarl at him. The truth is, I have an anti-authority streak a mile wide, and it’s getting bigger every day. My therapist says it comes from spending so much of my early life toeing the line, doing exactly what was expected of me all the time, right up until—
I stop before I can go there, refusing to let myself get bogged down in a past I can’t change and never could control. Besides, I have enough trouble dealing with Sebastian when I’m on my game. Dealing with him when I’m lost in what happened fourteen months ago would be downright impossible.
I’m just about to launch another offensive—one that gets Sebastian’s hand off my back and tells him where he can put his orders—when David comes up. “Everything okay?” my direct boss asks quickly, his eyes darting between Sebastian and myself.
I’m not stupid. I know he’s asking for Sebastian’s benefit and not for mine, but I’m still glad to see him. Especially since it gives me an excuse to get back to work.
“Everything’s great,” I tell him with a smile so fake I’m surprised my face doesn’t crack right down the middle. “I’m about to do another round of the floor.”
“Actually, I came over here to tell you to take your break,” David says to me. “You’re already ten minutes late clocking out.”
Fuck. Really? Since when does David keep track of employee break times? Usually we’re the ones who have to seek him out to remind him we need to go off the clock. The bastard. It isn’t bad enough that he fired me two nights ago, now he needs to undermine what little control of my life I do have.
“She was just about to do that,” Sebastian says, using his hand on my back to guide me away from the bar and toward the private executive elevator situated behind the cashier cages.
“Where are we going?” I demand, torn between digging in my heels and following Sebastian just to see what he’s up to. Curiosity always has been one of my greatest flaws.
“To my office.”
I do stop then, right in the middle of the ebb and flow of casino traffic. “I need to eat,” I tell him, using it as an excuse to avoid his inner sanctum. I don’t want to be alone with him, can’t be alone with him. Not after yesterday. And definitely not with all the weird feelings he’s evoking in me.
“It’s taken care of,” he assures me. He inserts his key into the lock above the elevator call button and the doors open instantly. Then he’s shepherding me inside and pushing the button for the top floor. Seconds later, the doors whoosh silently shut.
I don’t know whether to be furious or amused by his high-handedness. The truth is, I’m a little bit of both and I don’t try to hide either reaction as the elevator opens into the reception area at the front of his office. Must be nice.
He leads the way to his office, then steps back and holds the door open for me so that I can enter first. It only takes a minute for me to realize what he meant about dinner being taken care of. There’s a small table set up in the center of the room, with chairs on either side of it. It’s covered in a fancy tablecloth, and there’s a small bouquet of roses in the center of it, along with two silver-dome covered plates.
I glance at Sebastian as my mind races with apprehension. I’ve barely gotten my head around the fact that I still have a job. This fancy dinner is waaaaay out of my comfort zone.
He must sense my unease because he smiles at me even as he gestures toward the table. “It’s not what you think,” he assures me. “They just like to make a big production out of everything I order. Comes with being the boss.”
“I don’t want to date you,” I tell him baldly.
