Page 68 of Direct Action

I’d be lucky if Ryan didn’t make good on his threat to cuff me to his bed. And why did that make my pulse pound and shivers run up my spine? I’d accused him of having multiple personalities when I was serving up the same.

I went to the POS machine to place Sterling and Beckett’s order, scanning the room for Poppy. Not seeing her, I went straight to the bar to wait.

“How’s that even fair?” I heard from behind me.

“He specifically reserved a table in her section,” Muriel returned.

“But Sterling’s mine,” the other woman, who I was pretty sure was Naomi, whined.

“Mr. Blackwell is a guest,” Muriel seethed. “He belongs to no one, and you’ll do well to remember that.”

I stood unmoving, holding my breath, hoping that if they didn’t notice me, they’d continue.

“But a feast is coming—”

“Enough,” Muriel interrupted her. “You have tables. I suggest you see to them.”

I counted to three, then looked over my shoulder. I had her back, but I was right, it was Naomi who’d been complaining.

Feast. Feast. Feast. I chanted in my head so I wouldn’t forget.

“Order’s up, Chloe,” Tomas told me.

“Thanks.”

I was halfway to Sterling’s table when I caught Poppy doing a double take.

It was safe to say I should’ve found a way to warn her about Beckett. I glanced at the table to see if either man was looking in her direction, finding three men and one woman now occupied the once-empty seats. I immediately understood Poppy’s second look, or one of the reasons—Beckett was smiling. As noted, he was good looking, if you were into a half step down from lumberjack-slash-biker (which Poppy was), even when he was scowling. Smiling . . . holy Hannah. The grin made him look like he’d stepped out of the pages of a Harley ad. Yes, his smile was that good.

The other reason could’ve had to do with the woman he was aiming that smile at, or the hand she had on his shoulder while leaning close. Or it could’ve had to do with the woman looking like a Victoria’s Secret model. A VS model who’d just stepped off the catwalk and hadn’t put on clothes yet. I couldn’t see her dress, but I could see her cleavage, and I wasn’t yet close to the table—her boobs were that big, and very obviously fake. That wasn’t me being catty, it was just that those babies were pushed up damn near to her throat and were the size of watermelons.

This was a disaster waiting to happen.

Beckett didn’t spare me a glance when I approached the table. He didn’t so much as look at me when I set his drink in front of him, but he did lean closer to the woman to make room for me.

“Miss, can I get you something?”

Without taking her hand off Beckett, her eyes tipped up, and her painted red lips formed a smile. I tried not to look, but her boobs were so enormous I couldn’t help but sneak a glance. I’d been partially correct. The bodice was nothing more than a bra, the rest of it was skintight leather, making her no longer look like a VS model but a dominatrix.

“Gin and tonic,” she purred.

“Nolet’s or Watenshi?”

The woman blinked like I’d spoken a different language.

“She’ll have Nolet’s, and a martini for me” came from across the table.

“Certainly, Mr. Taylor. Monkey 47 with extra olives?”

“You’re indeed efficient, pretty lady,” Len said. I was fighting my eye roll but I didn’t miss the look he gave Sterling.

Unfortunately, when I set down Sterling’s bourbon, he spared me more than a glance. It wasn’t the same I want to eat you look he’d given me earlier, but he was definitely staring. “Thank you, Chloe.” He slipped a bill into my palm. I didn’t have to look to know it was going to be a fifty. “My pleasure.”

“Perhaps one day,” he smoothly put in.

Um . . . what?

Without delay, I took the rest of the group’s orders and hightailed my butt back to the bar as quickly as I could on my heels.