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Kiera wove between the closely placed tables, turning her hips a little more than necessary each time she veered directions. She balanced a tray of food on her shoulder, the steadiness of her waltz barely shaking the bottle of steak sauce that rested between the two meals. When she finally reached the table and slid the tray from her shoulder, holding it with a well-placed hand, she smiled at the two suited men.
“Here’s the medium-rare,” she said with a flirtatious tone, placing the plate in front of the appropriate man. He didn’t bother looking at the food as he kept his eyes planted firmly on her assets.
“And the medium,” she added. She placed the plates before their patrons before sliding the steak sauce to the center of the table. “Is there anything else I can get you, gentlemen?”
The first man—the larger and more rugged of the two—reached out a hand and patted her ass, but Kiera didn’t flinch away. She softened her eyes into a look of lust—the same look that had gotten her incredible tips over the past year.
“How about some cake to go with my meat,” he said with a lewd grin.
The number of times she’d heard that exact request…
“Enjoy the meat first,” Kiera said, bending toward him and grabbing his drink for a refill. She knew the gesture gave him a perfect view of her breasts.
She wanted to cringe away at the excitement that crossed his face as she backed away. The moment she turned her back, her expression of lustful indifference fell away into an expression of neutrality. She didn’t work at a strip club, though her skimpy outfit would have gotten her just as many tips there. The upscale steakhouse bordering West Philadelphia catered to aspecificclientele. She rarely had a woman as a customer, and nearly all guests held ties to organized crime.
That was the reason her uniform consisted of high-waisted dress pants and a suit-and-tie-styled crop top, the top three buttons undone. Kiera had learned that the more skin she displayed, the better her tips, so she accented the uniform with bright-colored bralettes that lifted her breasts beautifully. Sometimes—especially on busy weekend nights like that night—Kiera replaced her uniform tie with a bow-tie choker.
It allowed a better view of her breasts, and her tipsalwaysincreased.
By her calculations, in another six months, she could afford to go to art school in California. Only six more months of being an object in a room full of men, and she’d be free.
As she tucked her tray beneath her arm and made her way back to the server’s line, the front door chimed, and Marco, the joint's top manager, walked inside. Trailing him was a man of similar size and build. Kiera turned to a new server, fidgety as all new employees of the Grotto were.
“Have Talia refill this for table 12. Dr. Pepper,” she told the girl.
The new server looked at Kiera with a small, forced smile. “I can do it.”
Kiera shook her head. “Trust me, you want to let Talia handle this table. They’re handsy.” Talia could handle handsy. Kiera’s roommate was nothing if not incredible at this job—better even than Kiera herself. “And tell her I’m with Marco, so I don’t know how long it’ll take.”
Kiera handed off her tray and glass before meeting Marco at the entrance. She didn’t bother with feigned smiles or pleasantries. It had been the reason he chose Kiera for the secondary managerial position.
“Coming to take the books late on a Saturday night isn’t your style,” Kiera said in greeting. She looked at the man over Marco’s shoulder, and rather than scanning his face as she typically did with men, her eyes locked on his and held.
Sometimes, faces captured her attention for their artistic potential, and the tall, broad, sharp-cheeked man had one of those faces. Perfectly paintable. She imagined the challenge that each salt and pepper facial hair would bring. The color of his lips—a purple-hued pink color that would be difficult to match. The shadows that the dim light cast on his face would make for a mysterious piece of art, and the eyes—depthless and almost black—would be nearly impossible to capture, but she loved a challenge.
She tilted her head in greeting and forced herself to look back at Marco.
Marco shook his head. “We’re not here officially. Just looking for someone.”
Kiera nodded. She marked the face of every man who walked through the doors of the joint, and she knew most of their names. The women, especially rare, were even more distinguishable.
“Who do you need?”
The man behind Marco stepped forward, and Kiera had to make a conscious effort not to step back. Shedidn’tback away from men. Even if this one stood too close for comfort.
“Krill Laker,” he said. His voice sounded hoarse, almost like he rarely used it. The intimidation the man exuded drilled into her with an unavoidable force, but she’d been intimidated daily for over a year while working at the Grotto. It no longer had the same effect.
Kiera raised her brows. “What about him?”
His expression registered shock before it dropped back into neutrality. She did notneedto give the man an attitude, but she also didn’t appreciate his attempts at intimidation.
Marco made a slight noise, and Kiera looked over the man’s shoulder and found him struggling to contain a laugh. He placed a hand on the other man’s stiff shoulder. “I told you she’s a spitfire, Vincent.”
Marco passed them, making his way toward the small bar area, leaving them alone at the entrance to the restaurant.
“You know we came here to find him. Do you have any information?” he asked slowly.
