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“Because you walked in off the street and proceeded to sit here all afternoon when I told you to come back later to see him,” the head bartender, Daryl, replies, his voice also raised.
I step into the room, lingering by the door, my eyes fixed on the scene. None of the three people present observe my entry. They are all glaring at each other, standing near the bar.
The young woman has her back to me. A denim jacket over a very short dress, miles of tanned skin, and masses of thick, dark brown hair are all I can see from this angle. I like her voice. It's nice. I could fall asleep to a voice like hers.
“Shit, Daryl,” the younger bartender, Arthur, interjects. “She’s here. Seamus is here. Just let her dance for him.”
“Yeah, Daryl,” the lass snipes, “let me dance for him. Who died and made you king of Oracle anyway?”
“Bitch, as far as you’re concerned, I’m King, Emperor, and God of Oracle,” Daryl snaps back at her.
I can’t stand liars, and that’s a fucking lie if ever I’ve heard one. I clear my throat, the three of them turning hurriedly to look at me.
Daryl looks scared, probably because he’snothingwhen it comes to Oracle, and he won’t like that I heard his proclamation. Arthur looks faintly amused for the same reason, but I don’t give a flying fuck about either of those cunts. I’m focused on the lass, and there’s only one thought running on a loop through my brain as I look at her.
Blue eyes. Jesus fuck. How is it even possible for eyes to be that fucking blue?
“Ye’re here to see Seamus, lass?” I finally find my voice as she stares at me, her blue, blue eyes locked on mine.
“Yes.” She turns, flicking a glare in Daryl’s direction. “But it seems I have arbitrarily pissed off the wrong person, and now I can’t have a job here.”
What? Fuck that. She has to get a job here. I need to see more of those fucking eyes. Her working here is the best way to make that happen.
“I’ll take ye to see Seamus, lass.”
I wave at the door through to the back offices. After one final glare at Daryl, she walks in the direction I am gesturing. I turn, fixing my eyes on Daryl. As our eyes meet, his face pales.
I watch him for a beat longer until he looks like he’s about to piss himself. Turning, I stalk over to the blue-eyed reason for my existence, holding the door and gesturing for her to walk through.
We walk silently down the polished wooden corridor, past the doors to the kitchenette, storerooms, and strippers' dressing room, until I halt in front of the unassuming door readingManager.
The lass’s eyes flicker over it, and she looks a little nervous. I pause for a moment, giving her a chance to throw back her shoulders, take a deep breath, and raise her chin. I like that.
Raising a hand, I hold her gaze, her blue eyes staring into mine, deep and fathomless, as I hammer on the door.
“Come in. It better be fucking important.”
Oh. It fucking is. I open the door, motioning for the lass to precede me into the room. Seamus glances up from whatever spreadsheet he’s looking at on his desk, his eyes sparkling with interest when they land on my blue-eyed lass.
I’m loyal to Seamus and no one else, but that doesn’t mean I won’t fight him on this. He has a reputation as a ladies’ man, and he’s going nowhere near my blue-eyed lass. He’d tear her apart and discard her like a used condom.
“What can I help you with?” he asks her, his eyes roaming over her body. Sure, and it’s a fine body, but he needs to keep his eyes to himself. I need to make my stance clear without spooking her. If I scare her away, she’ll never apply for a job here.
“The lass is here for a job interview,” I growl. “Not to be leered at by the likes of ye.”
Seamus’s eyes dance over me at my words, and he nods to me. The lass doesn’t even notice, but I do. Seamus’s nod tells me that he understands the lass is mine and off-limits. He’ll keep his eyes on her face and only her face in the fucking future. Sometimes being the Reaper has its benefits.
“You’re here for a job?” Seamus asks, turning his eyes back to her face. The lass nods, darting a glance at me, turning back to him.
“Yes.” She lifts her jaw and looks him in the eye. Brave lass. “I know how to work a pole.”
Fuck that. Not fucking happening. I have no intention of letting any other man see what’s underneath her clothes. Seamus’s eyes flicker to me for the briefest moment, correctly reading my disapproval of the lass’s plan.
Continuing their progress, Seamus’s gaze lands on the well-stocked bar he keeps in here.
“Before you dance for us, perhaps you can fetch us some whiskey,” he sighs, waving his hand at the numerous bottles of liquor lined up on the cabinet over by the wall. The lass won’t be dancing for anyone, but she can bring him a drink before she’s told so.
The lass’s eyes follow his, and she pauses for a moment without moving.
