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“For what?”
“Talking to you. Rod said not to speak directly to you, Rogue, or the security.”
Trey furrowed his brows. Talking to him? Very few dared to do it. It was never encouraged, but certainly not grounds for ramifications. He could’ve refuted Rod’s claim but Trey chose another route.
“Defying the rules again?”
Trey’s attempt at teasing her backfired on him.
Dahlia licked her lips, and his gaze immediately dropped to her mouth. Her lips were shiny from her gloss, almost appearing wet and flooding his mind with thoughts he didn’t need at the moment. He could envision her mouth wrapped around his cock and felt himself hardening.
“I actually take orders really well.” Dahlia glanced up through her lashes.
Oh fuck! For a man like Trey, who thrived on dominance, that statement alone had him thinking of her naked, spread out, and doing everything he ordered. He was playing with fire. Having her in his bed was quickly shifting from a want to a need.
“Shouldn’t you get back to work?”
Trey watched her shift on her feet under his stare. He made her nervous. Trey expected her to rush off or avert her eyes, but she stared back at him. Then, in a move he hadn’t even seen coming, she stepped closer.
“Thanks again for giving me the job. I promise you won’t regret it.”
Trey was already regretting it. It had nothing to do with her performance behind the bar. This had quickly and unexpectedly become personal. In this close proximity, she was hard to resist. Trey drew in a breath and walked out of the stockroom, heading down the hall. Not only was their encounter disruptive to his mindset, but he’d probably be late after taking time with her.
“Have a good night, Trey!”
His muscles tightened, but he refused to react as he turned the corner. Dahlia was fucking with his world, and he hadn’t even gotten a taste of her.
Yet.
Chapter Eight
It was after three in the morning. Her feet hurt, her back was sore, and she was pretty sure she was dehydrated. Her stomach growling was a reminder she’d skipped her break. Exhausted, hungry, and achy. And I wouldn’t change a thing!
One week of working at the Bowery had been taxing but worth every penny. And there were a lot of pennies. She hadn’t gotten her first paycheck yet, but she went home with cash from tips after every shift. In her first three nights of working, she’d earned enough to cover the whole rent. Dahlia had been warned that new hires started with two shifts weekly. But Sloane must have pulled some strings. Dahlia had gotten four, which included another weekend shift.
She covered her yawn, surveying the stacked glasses that had to be towel-dried before being put away. It would be another thirty minutes. At least.
“You’re doing good here,” Killian said.
“Well, it’s only day four, probably too early to tell, but if you want to tell Trey to give me a raise, I won’t stop you.”
Killian laughed, tossed a rag at her, and pulled out an envelope from under the bar. He held it up before offering it to her. “Four forty.”
Her stomach dropped, as well as her jaw. This marked the highest tip for the week. Dahlia bounced on her toes, unable to batten down her excitement.
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah.” He laughed. “You work really well with me and Misti. Even mentioned to Sloane, we want to keep you here with us at bar one, if possible.”
As if the tip hadn’t completely made her night, Killian’s praise had her riding high. Dahlia worked flawlessly with Killian. He made it easy. The same couldn’t be said for Misti, but she seemed to have warmed up to Dahlia a bit. She couldn’t foresee them having a girls' night out, but her glare had softened through Dahlia’s shift. It was toned down to a scowl.
Even drying dishes wasn’t going to steal her thunder. She worked quickly, and when she finished, she moved to Killian’s station, wiping down the counter.
“Fuck,” Killian muttered and gripped his forehead.
“What’s wrong?”
Killian glanced up to the second floor. “Forgot to get someone to clean up the balcony.”
