Page 12 of Direct Action

“I never considered leaving,” I told him. “What’s not to love about almost-perfect year-round weather? Not to mention we have the best beaches.”

There. That was perfectly pleasant.

“I take it your family’s close then.”

Well, that was intrusive, not to mention a shot to my heart.

“Indeed, they are. You gentlemen enjoy your drinks. I’ll be back to check on you.”

“Chloe.” Sterling once again stopped me. This time with an offering—a folded fifty.

Thankfully I was able to contain my sigh of impatience. I injected as much gratitude as I could muster when I acknowledged his generosity. “Thank you, Mr. Blackwell.”

“Sterling,” he corrected.

“Sterling.”

Not that I wasn’t grateful. I needed the money badly, but there was something about Sterling Blackwell that had mental red flags waving.

I did a quick walk-around, checked in with my tables, went back and forth to the bar to deliver drinks, all the while managing to steer clear of Pete’s table.

There, I did it. I was just giving myself a mental high five because I hadn’t thought about Ryan for a whole twenty minutes when the devil himself walked passed me, slowing just enough to growl, “You don’t know us.”

Um.

What?

“I don’t—”

“You. Do. Not. Know. Us.”

With that he stalked off in the direction of the restrooms.

Right, so I hadn’t been seeing things. It had been disgust marring his stupidly perfect features.

Whatever.

He could be mad. They all could be. It made no difference to me. Even if for some reason they fired me, I now made enough money at the Vault to cover my dad’s nursing home. Even with the change in his circumstances and the cost going up another five hundred dollars a month. I wouldn’t be replenishing my savings anytime soon if they canned me, but my dad would be taken care of, and that was all that mattered.

I spent the rest of the night doing my best to convince myself I didn’t care what Ryan thought of me. And since I’d actively avoided making eye contact with Calli and my bosses and had done everything in my power to stay as far away from their table as I could, I didn’t know what time they’d left. However, I knew that Sterling stayed until twenty minutes before closing—a full hour after Len bid his farewell. In this time, Sterling hadn’t ordered another drink, yet he left me another hundred-dollar bill on the table on top of the fifties he’d given me upon delivery of each round.

The guy was filthy rich, and if he was throwing around bills like they were burning a hole in his pocket, I’d gladly take them and add them to tomorrow’s bank deposit and maybe even treat myself to a takeaway coffee—something I hadn’t been able to afford in a long time.

I also scratched calling Poppy onto my mental to-do list so I could thank her again for not giving up and pushing me to give the Vault a try.

This place was a godsend.

You do not know us.

Five words I couldn’t stop replaying now that I no longer had drink orders taking up headspace.

On the drive home I’d thought about it, and I couldn’t understand why he didn’t want anyone to know I knew them. I mean, why would someone ask if I knew three men and one woman sitting at a random table?

That was bizarre.

But not my biggest worry.

I’d danced in front of my bosses in leather booty shorts.