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I hurry across to her, watching as she unlocks the locker, memorizing the combination. When the door swings open, Fiona steps back. Her locker has a bag sitting on top of some tennis shoes. Another shelf has a pair of jeans, some T-shirts, and underwear.
“You can have the top shelf.”
I shove my things onto the top shelf, closing the locker. Fiona dances across the space, sliding into a chair at one of the dressing tables, her name scrawled across the top of the mirror in pale pink lipstick. Behind her mirror is a small hanging rack with skimpy lace lingerie.
Fiona’s mirror has no personal photographs or decorations. In contrast, the table next to her has pictures stuck all over it of a gorgeous woman with ebony skin and masses of beautiful dark hair. I recognize Fiona in one of the photographs.
“You don’t have any pictures.” I poke my finger at her mirror. Fiona screws her nose up and shrugs.
“I’ve only worked here for a month. Shawna has been here for over a year. I’ll get some eventually.” Her eyes meet mine in the mirror, and she grins at me. “Arthur will be waiting for you. And, Mellie, a word of advice…stay away from the Irish boys. They’re nothing but trouble.”
Grinning, I wave to her as I dart out of the room, back to the kitchenette. I don’t think that’s going to be an issue. I don’t want to fall into bed with a mobster. The only one I had a crush on turned out to be the Irish Reaper. That’s not exactly the best start.
“Sorry,” I gasp as I crash back into the kitchenette. “Fiona was giving me a tour.”
Arthur grins, placing his empty mug in the industrial dishwasher. “Fiona is a good egg. She gets here early to organize her shit, and sometimes she helps me out with stuff. I always slip her extra cash when she does. I think it helps with her rent.”
“She told me to stay away from the Irish boys.”
Arthur sighs, a dreamy look crossing his face. “We always have to stay away from the yummiest things. It’s a cross we must bear. But it’s also the right move. I’d listen to Fiona if I were you.”
“I don’t think that’s going to be an issue.”
Nodding, Arthur leads me out of the kitchenette, pointing at two closed doors across the corridor. “These are the storerooms. Liquor in that one, non-perishables in that one.” He holds up an iPad.
“I’ll show you the inventory system, and we’ll restock the VIP room bar. You’ll be the bartender there, so you’re in charge of everything. You tell me what needs to be ordered, and I can arrange it.”
“You do the ordering?”
Arthur makes a face. “I tell Seamus what we need. He runs this place. He’s definitely one of those Irish boys you should stay away from.”
“Noted.”
Chapter Four
MELLIE
A gorgeous tanned stripper with silky black hair contorts herself on the pole while the first patrons stroll into the VIP room, claiming the tables along the front.
“I’ll take a whiskey, Mellie,” a familiar deep voice rumbles.
Even though I know who he is now, my insides clench at the sound of Niall’s voice. Throwing him a quick smile, not wanting to lock eyes with the Reaper, I quickly fix his drink, setting it down on the bar in front of him and snatching my hand away before he reaches for it. If our fingers brush, I’ll be soaking. Not a good idea.
“Make that three more, lass.”
My eyes dart along the bar where another three men have stepped up beside Niall. The one who spoke is gorgeous, dressed in a suit with ash-blonde hair and sleepy bedroom eyes. The other two are dark, one about Niall’s age, the other closer to mine.
As I pour the three tumblers of whiskey, the younger brunette guy eyes me with a smirk. A dangerous smirk. I think he might be one of the Irish guys Fiona warned me off. He looks like a total player. The ash-blonde and the other guy are chatting, barely glancing in my direction as I set their drinks in front of them.
Like with Niall, I have to snatch my hand away before the younger guy can touch my fingers. Unlike with Niall, I don’t have to force myself to do it. I don’t like players. Other women are welcome to them.
I open my mouth to tell them the cost when Niall shakes his head at me. Okay. I think they don’t have to pay. Niall didn’t pay for any drinks last night, and he hasn’t paid for the one sitting in front of him now. I commit their faces to memory. I don’t want to make a mistake by asking the wrong mobster for money.
Niall says something in a strange, musical language – I think it might be Irish – drawing the attention of the two chatting men. They smirk, their eyes darting between me and the younger guy, who is now undressing me with his eyes. His gaze drops away when ash-blonde reaches over, smacking him upside the head.
He grumbles but doesn’t look at me again as the three of them move off. Niall remains seated on his barstool, his eyes locked on me. A surge of gratitude runs through me. Whatever he said, I think he told them to make that guy stop looking at me.
“Liam’s harmless,” Niall grunts at me when we are left alone again. “But if he bothers ye, ye let me know.”
