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I wondered if he was accustomed to ordering people around or if he just thought he could with me.
Either way, the assumption that I would be at his beck and call pissed me off enough for me to not pour him another drink, though I should have for the sake of my cover.
He took in my defiance without concern, and when his mouth curved up into a scoff, I braced myself for the impact of his impending words.
“Do you always force yourself on all your potential employers?”
He was trying to make me sound pathetic, and it worked.
Christ, I hated his guts.
Meanwhile, he remained indifferent, barely gathering the energy to spare me a glance in between sentences.
“No.” I swallowed my irritation and tried to salvage this impossible situation, reminding myself how much I wanted to prove myself and get better assignments. “But I’m an opportunist. I see an in, and I take it.”
“And I’m your in?” He let loose a mocking laugh. “For what? The job?” His warm whiskey breath caressed my ear as he leaned closer and whispered, “Or something else?”
I placed a firm hand on his chest and pushed him away. He didn’t budge an inch.
I pushed again.
Still no movement.
Lowering my hand, I racked my brain for a way to save face and came up empty. “The job. I got your attention, didn’t I?”
He leaned back of his own accord, his face instantly serious. “There aren’t any bartending openings here.”
He was lying.
We both knew this.
The fact that I had to make him the drink he’d been waiting for was proof of that, but this was just another test. For what? I didn’t know. I just had to hope for the best.
I tucked a strand of hair from my face and leveled him with a determined stare. “Make one.”
“Why should I?”
“I did you a favor.”
He scoffed. “Chasing off a mafia bunny? Hardly a favor. Unless you’ve taken a bullet for me, I don’t owe you a thing.”
Like I’d ever take a bullet for him.
“You’re a real piece of work.” The words slipped out.
What the hell. Stop talking, Ari, I begged.
“As if I give a fuck.” He turned to me, stood up, and inched closer until his chest brushed my arm. “The door’s that way. Drink’s on you.”
My jaw dropped.
He wanted me to pay for a drink that he drank in a bar that he ran?
He was unbelievable.
He placed his finger underneath my chin, pushed upward until my mouth shut with an audible snap, and started to walk away.
Instinctively, I grabbed his arm, my fingers unable to wrap fully around the sheer width of his forearm.
