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A knock on the door interrupts before I can answer. I snap, “who is it?”, and shake my head derisively when the bouncer takes it to mean he should enter.
“A group of college kids came in. Kelsey’s slammed. She needs your help. The waitresses aren’t serving quick enough.”
Simultaneously slicking a palm over my scalp, I place my other palm on Paisley’s thigh. The desire to touch her is ever-present, and I don’t want Paisley aware of my weaknesses. With practiced nonchalance, I use the pressure on her leg to buoy me to stand.
“You’d think I didn’t have barbacks that can pitch in and pull a draught beer,” I growl.
“Don’t shoot the messenger, boss. When I finished checking the frat boys’ IDs, Kelsey called me over to the bar. She specifically told me to go ask you to come out.” The bouncer shrugs.
I’ve been trying to give Kelsey the benefit of the doubt, but my new manager isn’t as great as my old one. Kelsey can manage the bar or the strippers, but not both at the same time. On busy nights when the dancers get in a snit, I’m slinging hooch because the bar needs coverage. On slow nights, I’m filling glasses, too, since my other option is sitting around waiting for things to implode.
I don’t dislike Kelsey. She’s just no Holly, and it’s pissing me off that I fired Holly for her own benefit. No different from it rankling my nerves when Holly decided to take all of her fucking accrued vacation time when she started dating Cass. Holly might not have been a Kimber, but Kelsey depends on me showing my face at Sweet Caroline’s, and she needs to get over it.
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8
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He left!
Up and went.
No “I’ll be back, Paisley.”
Not a single word.
Jake closed the office door without a backward glance.
I sit on the couch, stunned and fuming at how rude this man is. I stood flustered in the theater, where I’m positive he watched to see what I’d do because the con artist who appeared in my store gave me no choice other than to show up to a strip club.
He may have kissed me, multiple times today, the same way the Jake I drank rum with did, but this Jake is a class-A jerk. It’s clear whatever idiotic, romanticized thoughts that raced through my mind between when he pushed me up against the door and sitting down on this sofa were complete figments of my imagination. So, I’m glad I didn’t shower after yoga and change into something nicer.
I own my own business. I get that emergencies crop up. However, the bar is not on fire. And if it was, I would hope that Jake would mention where the emergency exit was, instead of acting like it’s every man for themselves. Now I don’t know who I hate more. Me for being the bitch with the audacity to ditch the genuine and handsome groom at the altar. Or Jake, the big brooding asshole, who doesn’t have the courtesy to tell me when he’s returning.
The minutes tick by with me expecting he’ll pop back in and apologize. By the half-hour mark, I have nothing better to do than get sucked into a fast and furious text exchange with a bridesmaid at my wedding that didn’t happen. She’s the daughter of my mother’s friend who’s messages I’ve been avoiding. What the heck is a girl supposed to say to someone who is mad that they didn’t stand up for you at your wedding? I might not have done the calling it off thing correctly, but I’m beginning to believe our guests would have preferred I marry Gavin just to divorce him next month. They’re offended that I ruined their night out and an expensive, yet free-for-them, meal. Have they considered it was actually Gavin’s Valentine’s Day that I wrecked… Likely in perpetuity, but that might be giving myself too much credit.
Someone actually told me returning the gift they bought to the store was a hassle. Meanwhile, someone else commented that at least I had the decency not to steal the check from the personalized Mr. & Mrs. wedding card box and cash it.
That’s what people think of me and, though a few weeks isn’t enough for it to blow over, the negativity is getting as old as sitting on my ass waiting for Jake to reappear.
Do people not understand I’m doing a bang-up job of beating myself over the head about how wrong I was to let the wedding planning get as far as it did?
In all actuality, they don’t because Gavin caught mekissingJake Ballentine!
My split-second decision turned me into a two-timing fraud.
I’m so mixed up that I’m actually looking for validation from a con man because we shared a few toe-curling kisses.
Get a grip, Paisley.The attraction is all in your head. Jake’s not popping a foot whenyoukisshim.
Angry, I zip my cell back into the wristlet and shove it to the side. About to storm out of the office to find out where Jake is, I glance up at the security camera. I see the reflection of me acting foolish by sticking my tongue out in the mirrored wall. It’s papered with flyers advertising old performers. Then I remember Jake turned the camera off. I’m glad that the almighty Jake Ballentine didn’t capture evidence of me being immature when I’ve been plenty patient staying put.
I could’ve beelined for the rear exit. Unless it’s a trick and Jake didn’t turn off the feed? Or Jake has more cameras hidden in here than he let on? Either option doesn’t make a hill of beans difference, since Jake knows where to find me if I disappear.
Opening his desk drawer, I make a big deal of cramming my wallet in and slam it shut. I march to the door, intending on slamming that behind me too. However, I can’t storm into the hallway.
Engaged in a heated discussion, Kelsey and a dancer block my escape.
