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Seamus rushes to correct her. “There’s no need. We’ve no need for any new strippers at the moment.”
She opens her pretty mouth to argue but closes it again at the foreboding look on Seamus’s face. His tone is firm, and her face falls.
“But I didn’t even get to audition,” she whispers. Seamus’s eyes flicker over to me, and I tilt my head in her direction.
“We’ve an opening for a bartender if ye’re interested.”
Both the lass and Seamus turn to me, eyes wide with surprise.
“Indeed,” Seamus murmurs, trying to hide a smirk, while the lass gazes at me, relieved. Thank fuck for that.
“A… bartender?” she asks, sounding uncertain.
“Aye. We’ve recently decided to let Daryl go from his position and promote Arthur to head bartender, so we need another bartender.”
Seamus stares at me like I’ve grown an extra head, but he cops on quickly.
“Exactly so, lass. You seem to know your way around a whiskey bottle. We’d be happy to offer you a trial.”
The lass’s eyes dart between Seamus and me, a beaming smile crossing her lips like the sun rose on her face.
“Thank you for this opportunity! I won’t let you down. I can start immediately.”
Seamus nods, done with this conversation. I drain my drink, put the empty glass on the wooden desk, and gesture to the door.
“I’ll walk ye out, lass.”
I hold the door open for her, and Seamus calls out after us.
“We’ll need you to start tonight. Seven o’clock. And what’s your name?”
“Amelia Rogan.” She stops, turning to look at him as she speaks. “But I go by Mellie.”
Mellie. It suits her. Light and bubbly. Seamus nods, waving his hand dismissively.
“Seven o’clock, Mellie. And Niall,” his eyes meet mine as I glance at him, my eyebrow raised, “send Arthur and Daryl in.”
I nod. Daryl is lucky he’s only getting fired after the way he spoke to a stranger about his position here at the club.
Had Seamus heard his proclamation, he might have ended up downstairs strapped to my table.
MELLIE
The unmarked dark sedan is still out of the front of the club, though the two men inside look different. I swear one was a blonde earlier today.
There’s a gorgeous woman at the coat check when I walk in.
“Coat?” she asks, her bright red lips complementing her curled, jet-black hair.
“Oh. I’m starting work here tonight as a bartender. Do I leave my coat with you?”
Her coal-black eyes dip to take in my dark skinny jeans and black button-down shirt. It’s what Arthur and Daryl were wearing – or as close as I had – and I wanted to fit in.
“No. Go through. The strippers have lockers in their dressing room. Everyone else manages. Good luck.”
Effectively dismissed, I turn and walk through the elaborate archway. The overhead lights are off, and a stripper is shaking her ass on the stage, moving to the pole and doing a seriously talented swinging move. There was no way I could have managed something like that in those heels. Good for her.
“You lost?”
