Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 109164 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109164 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
“You don’t need to say more. I get it. So, where were we?” He taps his chin with his pointer finger. “Oh yes, the ropes. Come on back. Don’t be scared. I won’t bite.” A small dimple forms in his right cheek, and it’s so cute, my whole body relaxes. It gives me the strength I need to overcome this first obstacle, remembering how I got here.
I make my way inside the bar and peer up at him as he tells me the ins and outs. With his tanned arm, he points toward the secluded banquettes lining the dance floor, showing me the way to the VIP rooms I’ll be serving.
“So, Bailey, what’s your story? You a struggling model too?”
“Hardly. I assume you are?”
“Model, actor, singer. Typical bartender story,” he says as he pours a shot of Patrón Silver for a group of guys across the bar from us. “I can tell you’re going to do great. The men will love you.”
He goes about pouring more shots for another group of people. The idea of “the men” loving me isn’t sitting well. Guys are another distraction I don’t have time for.
“If you start to need a drink or a pick-me-up, just let me know. I’ve got you covered on both fronts,” he whispers in my ear conspiratorially. “However, you have to be careful because the boss is a tight-ass about it. He used to be cool, but now, not so much. We find our way around it, though.” Fuck, so not what I wanted to hear. “Thanks, but I’m good. I’ll stick to Coca-Cola or Red Bull.”
“Good for you. I respect that. Honestly, though, according to all the girls who work here, the only thing you need is a good look at Drew. Apparently, and I quote ‘The man is sex on a stick.’”
“And you . . . what keeps you distracted . . .” I trail off, not knowing what to say.
“Tall, blonde bombshells who love to party.” Great. The complete opposite of me. I’m not tall, have mousy brown hair, dull blue eyes, and the word “bombshell” does not apply. So much for a chance with him. Although that’s probably a good thing, seeing as he does drugs. I can’t be involved with someone who does.
Hours pass and I can’t remember the last time I clicked so well with someone. I’m working my ass off, but at least it’s fun.
A movement to my left has me leaving that thought behind. Carter is trying his hand at juggling but failing miserably. I can now add cleaning the floor of broken bottles to my list of things to do tonight. Carter passes a gorgeous smirk my way. My lip involuntarily rises into a large, goofy smile of my own. This guy is undeniably some exquisite eye candy. I must have been standing here for minutes, just staring, when I hear Carter call out to me.
“Hey, earth to Bailey. I know I’m hot, but can you please stop staring? And for the love of God, close your mouth. The drool is not attractive, love. We can’t be friends if you keep looking at me like that.”
Shit, was my mouth open? Lifting my hand, I go to check for drool, and Carter bursts into laughter. Great, not only am I caught gawking, but now I look like an idiot, too.
“Um, sorry, lost in thought. What did you say?”
With a wave of his hand, he manages to move into work mode. “Nothing. Can you take a bottle of Goose and the usual mixers to table three?” I must still look confused because he narrows his eyes at me and lets out an audible sigh. After a shake of his head, he resumes berating me with directions. “It’s the one toward the middle of the room.”
I start to head in that direction, but clearly, I’m not going the right way because I soon hear, “No, to the left. To the left. Right next to the table with the blinds closed. See the guys?” I throw my hands up to signal that he can stop now. Jeez, am I really that clueless?
Heading toward my target, I take in the scene. It reminds me of a distant memory. A memory I have no business remembering right now. My arm starts to throb, and I feel the familiar need clawing through my veins.
My first day here and I’m already jonesing to escape.
It never gets easier.
The accident changed everything.
Made everything worse.
I shake off all thoughts. I need this job, and I need the money. I can do this. I have to do this.
I make my way to the VIP table. As I step into the alcove, I notice four men in business suits conversing. They barely acknowledge my presence. Not even a glance up as they lift the empty bottle of vodka toward me and wave it around.