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Lisa, the head bartender, spies me and puts down the rag and can of wood polish. She grabs a small folder and comes over, slapping the folder in front of me. A short, unpolished nail hits the top. “The latest costumes for the cocktail waitresses and bar staff.I’m wearing one myself.”
“I can see that you updated.”
She laughs. “A girl needs a change. Drink?”
I shake my head, and she goes to the drinks gun and gets herself a Coke.
“Let me know what you think, I took in all the specs you talked about. And this is what we got. They’re all in the back and ready to go. On your say, of course.”
“Thanks.” Lisa’s doing her part to try and help.
Unlike most of the men I know, she keeps it all low-key and small. Men want to fix problems. Women? We tend just to do little things and biggest of all—be there to listen if it’s needed.
I’m grateful for Lisa, and I can talk to Blake.
Everyone knows what happened to me, and I hate that. Not that I’m about to admit such a thing. But I hate the fact my private shame, the horrors I went through, are general knowledge. Not what, exactly, just I was taken, hurt, and shot.
No one who was there would have said a word, but me not being here? Reaper and Angel breaking heads? That shit all feeds the rumors.
God only knows what everyone thinks happened. There are times when I get a look from someone who doesn’t think I see, and times when I want to just take out a two-page spread in the paper so everyone has the facts.
Instead of doing something so stupid, so rash, so ridiculous, I gather my strength about me and keep them all at arm’s length.
Including family.
It just helps.
I flick open the folder and look at the outfits.
All black and a choice of level of exposure. Tantalize or outright tease.
I’d never have the ovaries to wear these. Not now. But I know Christian would probably want to fuck each and every one of the women here dressed like this.
Probably?
Would in less than a heartbeat.
And dressed like this?
He’d be up in there with them in their street clothes. The outfits are a bonus.
And they’d all be happy being a notch. Most women he sets his gaze on are happy to be anything if they get to touch him.
Asshole.
“What do you think?” Lisa asks.
I look at her, my mind a little scattered. With an effort, I pull everything back into focus.
“Let me see.”
She turns in her outfit, black pants that look painted on with a laced-up panel on the side of each leg that shows flesh. She has on a low-cut tank too.
This woman could wear a caftan and make men’s dicks stand at full salute.
“Looking good.”
She smiles and pushes her blonde hair away from her face, twisting it into a ponytail. She starts unloading beer cans into a tub, ready to be iced later. “Thanks.” Lisa pauses. “Is it okay if the bar staff wear this? The other isn’t going to work without giving patrons a free view of our wares.”
