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But today, he didn’t do any of that. No humiliation. Instead, our interaction was far more devastating.
He was…nice.
Mercer isn’t a nice person. He was never nice. Polite, yes, but nice?
Nice is something you can hide things behind. It’s a clean, polished exterior. And I can’t shake that he was hiding things from me.
I press my fingertips to the sides of my head. Or maybe with this odd, weird arrangement, it only seems that way.
I just don’t know which way is up and who or what to trust.
And that is exactly the kind of mind-twisting that I’ve come to expect from him.
He’s still not back when I have to go to the West Village for my job later in the evening. It’s one of three I have. This one is completely off the books, and I can’t afford to lose it. So I go because he’s not here for me to ask.
The boss might be a creep and a little handsy, but the tips are so freaking good that I can do a little creative avoidance. All the girls do.
By the time the driver gets me to the restaurant, Liger, I’m a little late and the place is slammed. The bar’s always busy this time of night, and earning a glare from the manager, I pull my hair up in a ponytail, paint on a smile, and hustle through the crowd.
When the rush is over, I take a small breather at the server station with Anna, another server. My tables are fine for now. It’s still pretty busy, but now the place has settled for the night.
“Oh my gosh,” Anna says when our friend Melanie sails over with a tray of empty glasses like she’s on Cloud Nine. “Is Mr. Dreamy in your section?”
Melanie’s cheeks flush and she nods. “Even better up close. My God, the things I’d do to that man…”
“I love an older man,” Anna says. She’s twenty-one, and everyone over twenty-six is an older man to her. “He must be what? Early forties?”
“Idiot. Drop at least ten years from your estimation.” Sian, another server, leans forward and orders more drinks. “And good luck there. He’s only got hot eyes for this one.”
I look around, my brows furrowed.
“You, Ivy.” Sian shakes her head. “He couldn’t take his eyes off you the entire time he’s been in here.”
Who could it be? I shiver. Mercer? I scan the dining area butonly see a man’s back as he walks out the door. My heart sinks. Funny, I tend to notice him when he’s around.
But I don’t have time to waste thinking. My tables look ready for their checks.
About an hour later, the air thickens. My throat tightens when a hand slides down my back and over my ass.
“Bob.” I hide the groan.
“Ivy, you’re daydreaming.” His hand slips lower trying to slide under my skirt. I shift away. He follows. “Good thing you’re pretty.”
“I think my table needs me.” Damn it.
Normally I stay by the server station at the bar or move around my section, checking on tables so I’m not left in the shadowy back area near the manager’s office. But Mercer brain got in the way of any sane thought. And like some kind of oily entity, Bob’s slithered out and spotted what he considers fair game. A girl in his territory.
I slip away from his wandering hand and spend the rest of the night avoiding him. Honestly, I’d quit if the tips weren’t so good.
Normally we have a staff drink at the end of the shift. All of the other servers settle into their barstools, but I can’t seem to sit still. I jump off my stool and head for the back where I left my things. I fish through my bag for my phone so I can call that stupid car when Bob grabs me. He yanks my arm. Hard.
“Pretty Ivy. Come have a drink with me.”
“I can’t?—”
“Sure, you can.” He backs me into the darkest corner near his office. “You always run off, thinking you’re toogood to hang around here after your shift. The other girls drink with me.”
That’s a lie. We only drink at the bar together. I swallow a groan. Why did I have to be late and get stuck shoving my things in the back room? And now…Bob’s—oh gross, his breath could light fires with the amount of liquor on it—making his move.
