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Okay. He told me his name last night. Having Arthur hiss it is hardly going to scare me off. Does Arthur think I’m too stupid to realize Niall is a mobster? I totally got that. I remember to close my mouth – it’s rude to gape at someone – and raise my eyebrows again.
“Why on earth wouldNiall Byrnescare me off? He’s nice. He gave me a lift home and everything. Also, I’m pretty sure he’s why I have this job….” I trail off, blushing as Arthur stares at me as though I said I get my rocks off beheading babies and drinking their blood.
“Fucking hell. You have no idea who he is, do you?” Arthur’s eyes are wider than saucers. “He’s the Irish Reaper.”
The blood in my veins feels sluggish –like it’s turned to ice. I swallow thickly, bile churning in my stomach, as I stand here, blinking like a deer in the headlights, my mouth slackly open.
My mind is going a hundred miles an hour, trying to reconcile my sexy, charming,intense, blonde-haired, green-eyed Irishman with theIrish Reaper.
Everyone in Boston knows who the Irish Reaper is. He has a body count that makes Ted Bundy look like a choirboy. Just his name can make the hardest men shudder. And I spent last night touching myself to the memory of his face. Oh. My. God.
“Don’t freak out, girl!” Arthur hisses in response to whatever he sees in my face. “Don’t panic. Just breathe.”
That’s easy for him to say. I’m wicked sure he’s never had a sexy dream about the freakingIrish Reaper.
Somehow I manage not to freak out. I suck in deep, shuddering breaths while Arthur watches me like I’m a rabid dog.
“You good?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.
Am I? How badly do I need this job? Hart’s face floats in front of my eyes. Shit. Squaring my shoulders, I take another steadying breath and nod my head.
“I’m good. Let’s learn how to inventory.”
Arthur’s eyebrows shoot up, an incredulous look crossing his face.
“You sure?”
“Wicked sure. So he’s the Irish Reaper. Big deal. I survived getting a lift with him. I’ll be fine.”
“If you’re sure, come on through to the VIP room. I’ll run you through the day tasks and show you the storerooms.”
Thank god. I need something to keep my mind off everything, and learning how to be freaking amazing at my job, so I get to keep it is the perfect thing.
Arthur leads me through, not stopping at the bar in the smaller, more intimate, private lounge. We walk through into the back area, and he opens a door.
“This is the kitchenette. Feel free to make yourself a coffee or whatever when you get here. The creamer is in the fridge, the coffee is in the cabinet, and the mugs are in that drawer.” He points to everything, turning and smirking at the doorway.
“Hey, you’re back.”
Spinning, I lock eyes with the petite blonde stripper with cornflower blue eyes from last night. She looks different, dressed in jeans and a baggy sweater, and grins at me.
“I know. I look different with my tits away.” Her eyes drop to my bag and coat, clutched in my hands. “There aren’t any free lockers in the dressing room, but if that’s all you’ve got, you can share mine if you like.”
Flashing her a smile, I turn to her. “That would be great!”
Arthur is making a coffee and waves to me over his shoulder. “I’ll be here when you get back!”
My eyes swivel, following Fiona out of the kitchenette and into a large dressing room. Considering yesterday was the first time I set foot in a strip club, I’ve certainly never been in their dressing room.
There are makeup tables with chairs lined up against one wall, names written across the top in varying shades of lipstick, lockboxes sitting on them, welded to the tables, and lights lining the mirrors –like a dressing room in a theatre.
Along the back wall, there are open cubicles. Fiona’s eyes flicker over them.
“Most girls just get changed here,” she gestures to the large empty space in the middle of the room and the wall of mirrors. “But they have those in case anyone wants some more privacy.”
Privacy to change while they are getting ready to take their clothes off in a room full of strangers? That’s a strange juxtaposition.
“Not many people choose that option,” Fiona says cheerfully, crossing to the far wall where there are a number of metal lockers – like in a high school hallway. “This one’s mine.”
