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“Yeah, well, I don’t fucking have one yet.”
Trey ground his teeth. “The longer you wait, the more risk we’re taking. This can be resolved tonight if you just…”
Rogue jerked his head toward the door and threw his hands over his head.
“It’s about time. Thank fuck you’re not a server.”
Trey turned, looked over at the door, and stilled as Dahlia stood painfully nervous in the doorway, holding a glass. His muscles immediately tightened.
“You gonna make me come and get it?” Rogue said, and Dahlia immediately shook her head and rushed forward, carefully holding the glass. She stopped a few feet away. It was as if she didn’t want to get too close to him. If Trey had to guess, this was her first interaction with Rogue. You’re in for a real treat, Dahlia.
When Rogue grabbed the glass, she turned quickly but only made it halfway across the room.
“Hey!” Rogue snapped. “I didn’t fucking dismiss you.”
Trey had been dealing with Rogue’s bedside manner since the day they’d met. It was an acquired taste not many enjoyed, but most tolerated. Trey had grown accustomed to it and didn’t call him out on it. Usually.
“Rogue.” Trey narrowed his gaze in a firm warning.
Dahlia whipped her head toward Rogue, the realization immediately kicking in. It was interesting to watch her face pale even beyond her makeup as she slowly withdrew and shrunk deeper in her posture. Then she bowed her head slightly and closed her eyes. It was evident she had no clue it had been Rogue, but she knew of him. Trey had no doubt Sloane had given her friend a warning.
Most people had similar reactions.
“This is a fucking first. I’m getting paid to drink in my own fucking club.”
Trey watched as Dahlia pried open her eyes and glanced up. She’d regained color in her face, and it was shifting in the opposite direction, turning a dark shade of pink.
Rogue jutted his chin. “How much did you make in tips?”
“Four forty.” She let her composure slip, and she smiled. “Not bad for seven hours.”
Rogue scoffed. “Is it?”
She licked her lips and looked over at Trey. “I think so.”
It was as if she was looking to him for validation. One he didn’t give. While it was decent, it wasn’t anything his seasoned barbacks would brag about.
“Bartenders make over a thousand, and you’re fucking satisfied with four forty? Is that before or after you bought my drink?”
“Before,” Dahlia muttered.
“So you didn’t make four forty then.”
Rogue was trying to mess with her. Trey had seen this tactic a million times, and Rogue was gifted when it came to mindfucks and intimidation.
Dahlia cleared her throat. “I made four forty, and I chose to spend twenty-two of it on your drink.”
Trey cupped his mouth, concealing his smile. Dahlia may have been nervous, but she was holding her own. Or at least trying.
She hooked her thumb over her shoulder. “I have to get back downstairs. Clean up.”
“No,” Rogue snapped and pointed to the chair in front of Trey’s desk. “Sit the fuck down.”
Trey ground his teeth, dropped his hands to his lap, and clasped them while keeping a watchful eye on her. Stepping in would bring too much attention to Dahlia.
Dahlia inched toward the chair and sat.
“Started last week, right?” Rogue asked.
