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“Come on, move. Out the door,” Rurik says in his low, guttural voice.
Regan looks into my eyes before she turns around to leave. “Never thought you’d be the kind to fuck your boss, Delilah!” she shouts as she leads her posse of dim-witted, overdressed girls out the door.
When she’s finally gone, I can’t help but hug Rurik. “I don’t think you understand how much that meant to me. Nobody ever stands up to her,” I say.
He shrugs. “She doesn’t seem like the kind of person we’d want here anyway. She literally walked right up to you and insulted your clothes within seconds of arriving,” he replies. “I think you look nice, for what it’s worth.”
I smile, and I feel a strange sense of strength and pride in my chest. I’ve never felt so confident or cared for by the people around me.
Even if I’m as far removed from their business practices as possible, having the mafia on my side fills me with a sense of power that I’ve never known before. Despite Regan not knowing the full details, I doubt she’ll ever try to boss me around again.
11
Delilah
Working behind the bar isn’t always easy money. In addition to making things super awkward at home with Regan, my new job has brought on challenges that I’d never imagine having to face. But whenever there’s trouble, Akim is always there to get me out of it.
And that’s a huge problem in and of itself.
Sometimes, guys at the bar will get aggressive about my slutty outfit, or they’ll try to get me to go home with them by tipping me extra. Whenever this happens, it seems like Akim is right there to deal with it within minutes of the situation occurring. Even when there are fights in the parking lot or passed out junkies in the bathroom, he delegates the task of handling it to one of his close associates.
But whenever someone is making me uncomfortable, he’s right there.
I’ve started to see him sneaking looks at me, too, even holding his stare just a little too long. I know people see him looking at me, and even though I told myself I wouldn’t get involved with him again, I feel like I’m showing off to him. He sometimes brushes past me, touching my hip or my arm when he has plenty of space to pass by me without issue.
To be honest, it turns me on so much when he tries to touch me like that. I try not to be obvious about it, but sometimes I’ll bend over in front of him or lean into him when I feel him walk behind me. I think I’ve caught him off guard that way a few times, and sometimes I wish he would just call me into his office and fuck me like he did the first night that we met.
But that would mean this isn’t just a job.
And maybe Regan’s suspicions would become a reality.
Maybe I would start doingextrajust to make that fat paycheck.
Tonight, that extra thing is innocent enough. I’m rearranging the bottles on the shelf behind me for lack of customers to serve. There’s a storm putting dark red blobs on the radar, keeping most people home for the night. Normally, inclement weather doesn’t do much to temper the crowd, but tonight is particularly bad. Nobody is here.
I hear a sound behind me, a man clearing his throat, and I spin around to find Akim standing at the bar. He’s being doing that a lot lately.
“Is there something you want to say to me?” I ask him with a professional tone and a coy smile. “I’ve noticed you’ve been all over the bar tonight. Am I doing alright? You’re making me nervous.”
He glances down at the necklace that hangs just above my breasts, sustaining his gaze just a little longer than he intended. “Yeah, everything’s fine. It’s just that I wanted to talk to you about something,” he says, his tone not revealing the nature of his inquiry.
“Oh, okay, what is it?” I ask, feeling the hum of anxiety and arousal in my belly as he glances up and down my body.
“We should really talk about it in my office,” he says, gesturing for me to follow him away from the bar.
Oh no. This can’t be what I think it’s about. I said I wasn’t going to do that with him again. He’s my boss, not my boyfriend!
Still, as my boss, I at least have to follow him to his office. I feel self-conscious as people watch me leave the bar with Akim. Even if there were no sexual implications, it sucks for people to think they’re watching you fail at something. Like I’m in trouble.
When we get up to the office, Akim closes and locks the door.
“Is everything okay?” I ask nervously, noticing the unusual reactionary behavior from him.
He’s usually much more collected, even when under pressure. The possibility that I’m about to sustain an actual scolding makes my legs shake. I’m terrible at taking harsh criticism from people in positions of authority. I’m afraid I’ll crumble and begin sobbing.
“Sit down,” he says curtly, motioning to the chair across from his desk.
I note the brittleness of his tone, feeling as though I should only speak when absolutely necessary to avoid saying the wrong thing.
