Page 41 of Wade’s Wrath

“The job is yours if you want it,” he offered.

“I've never worked in a bar,” she warned.

“You can learn the basics,” he said. “I’ll even let you work behind the bar.”

“I don't know anything about bartending,” she said.

“Can you pour whiskey into a glass?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said.

“Congratulations. You're halfway trained.”

She laughed. “That's not how bartending works.”

“You'd be surprised,” he grumbled.

Harlow studied him. “Would this be a real job?”

“What the hell does that mean?” he asked.

“You'd pay me?” she questioned. “An actual wage.”

“Yes,” he breathed, rolling his eyes at her. “Unless you'd prefer to be paid in bottle caps.”

“Wade,” she warned.

“Yes, Harlow. I'd fucking pay you,” he said.

“And I wouldn't be some charity case?”

His expression hardened. “No. I don't do charity.” She suspected that was a lie. The man had spent an entire night sitting in a chair because she'd asked him not to leave her alone. But she let it go—for now.

“When do I start?” she asked.

Wade stared at her. “Seriously?”

“You offered, and I’m accepting,” she said.

“I thought you'd think about it,” he breathed.

“I just did,” she said.

“For ten seconds,” he chided.

“I think fast,” she said, holding out her hand to him. Wade looked at it. “We should shake on it.”

“You're weird,” he mumbled.

“Shake my hand, Wade,” she insisted. He took it. His rough palm closed around hers, and Harlow's pulse skipped again. Goddammit.

“Welcome to Wade's Watering Hole, runaway bride,” he teased.

She narrowed her eyes. “Call me that at work and I'm filing an HR complaint.”

“I am HR,” he reminded.

“Of course you are,” she grumbled.