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“Have you ever bartended before?”
“Not officially.”
He hesitates, sighing and shaking his head. “That’s Seamus Fitzpatrick’s problem. Not mine.”
“I don’t want to be a problem.”
“Then just don’t fuck it up, gorgeous.”
“So, what do I do?”
Arthur eyes me carefully, pursing his lips together. “You listen. You take everything in. You do exactly what I tell you, and you don’t fucking anything up tonight.”
“I can do that.”
Smirking, he proceeds to run me through a wicked fast training session. I learn the till, the schedules, which drinks to push, and he walks away.
“Uh, where are you going?”
“To the main bar. You’re the new VIP bartender. Seamus Fitzpatrick’s orders.”
“What… on my own?”
“You caught someone’s eye, girl. Good luck!”
Wait. No. I can’t do this. The bar here in the VIP room is smaller than out in the main area, where I saw at least two other bartenders working.
Right when I’m about to start hyperventilating, a solid body drops into one of the barstools, drawing my attention. The golden gorgeousness of my blonde Irishman is seated before me in all his glory. His eyes land on me, burning into my face.
A blush spreads across my cheeks as I carefully pour him the same whiskey I did this afternoon. When I place the glass on the bar in front of him, and he takes it, our fingers brush, making me feel like flames are licking over my face.
I’m wicked sure I owe getting this job to him. I was so confident about getting work as a stripper, but since they aren’t hiring new strippers, I wouldn’t have even made it through the Manager’s door without his interceding with Daryl.
Sipping his drink, he remains seated at the bar, watching me. I wonder if he’s in charge of assessing me for my review period.
I smile at him, but he doesn’t smile back, watching me with a serious expression in his emerald green eyes. I’m not entirely sure what it is about him, but I can feel his eyes in my panties when he watches me.
By the end of my shift, I’m convinced that women can get blue balls because, having experienced the heat of his gaze all night, I need him to throw me down and fuck me. Wicked hard.
“Great job tonight.” Arthur smiles at me, handing me a bottle of water after I finish wiping down the bar. “You’ll need to come in at two tomorrow afternoon, and we’ll run through stocking the bar and doing inventory.”
I still have a job tomorrow. Thank goodness for that!
“Thanks.” I beam at him. Today couldn’t have worked out better. A job right where I want one. I’m untouchable.
“I’ll walk ye out,” my gorgeous Irishman rumbles, a fluttering in my panties. Um. Yes, please. I flash him an appreciative smile, trailing him out to the parking lot.
“I wanted to say thanks.”
He looks at me in surprise, reaching over and helping me into my coat, his hands smoothing the thick fabric at my shoulders. Oh god. More of that, please.
“Thanks for what, lass?”
Uh, everything?
“You know…because I’m pretty sure I only have this job because of you, so…thanks.”
He nods, lifting his hands off my shoulders and looking at the small number of parked cars in the staff-only parking lot.
