Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 75218 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75218 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
“What happens inside of the bar is his business, not what goes on outside the bar.”
“He owns the parking lot, too,” he argues.
“Still. I don’t like being ambushed.”
“It’s only fair. I can’t be the one who gets all of his irritation.”
I frown at Tyson’s tone. His grandfather is a lovely man, but he treats his regular employees differently than he does the man standing in front of me. If there was an opposite word for nepotism, that would describe the relationship the two of them have. I think it’s because Mr. Williams’s expectations are set so high—which isn’t a bad thing—but the man is also very old school and doesn’t understand the technology we have these days that makes running this business better. Tyson is trying to bring the bar into the current century and Mr. Williams still seems hell-bent to keep it back in the seventies when he first opened the doors.
“Using me as a distraction isn’t cool,” I tell him as I wash my hands in the sink before I go check supplies.
Tuesday nights aren’t usually busy, but we could get a rush at any time. There’s always something going on downtown, and I’m not always in the know of the activities.
“It didn’t work. I have to go see him first thing in the morning. At least you only have to deal with him here.”
I pat his cheek after drying my hands. “You poor thing. It must be tough making six figures and having accountability.”
He rolls his eyes. I don’t know if he does make that much, but he doesn’t argue my guess.
“And I’m supposed to walk you to your car tonight and every other night that you work. I can’t believe you didn’t even tell me that your car was vandalized in the parking lot.”
“You don’t have to walk me to my car. I’ll be fine.”
His face falls, and I hate seeing that look there. His eyes dart to my lips, and… shit. Did I miss some clue, some hint that this man felt something for me? I mean, he’s an innocent flirt sometimes, but he stays so busy keeping his grandfather’s legacy afloat that he’s never really focused on me before.
“I want you to be safe.”
I take a step back, feeling weird now about the limited distance between our bodies. We’re not close to touching, but it still gives me an uneasy feeling low in my gut. I don’t think Tyson would ever cross a line with an employee, but I also put very limited faith in men when their hormones are involved.
My biological father was my mother’s boss after all.
“I’ll be fine. If you want me to be safe, you need to go ahead and send her home. I’ll go insane if I’m picking up after her for the next six hours.” I point to Roxie, the newest bartender to join the team.
“She won’t learn if she doesn’t work,” he says, and those words are straight from his grandfather’s mouth. I heard them whispered about me more than once the first week I started here and had trouble carrying more than two drinks without dropping something.
“Fine,” I capitulate. “But if I have to deal with her, so do you. No sneaking off to the back.”
He nods in agreement, and I give him a smile hoping that he can’t read the slight fear in my eyes. Honestly, he looks relieved to be up here with me and had plans to stick close, regardless. The worry that the belligerent asshole will return doesn’t fade until two hours into my shift.
By eight in the evening, I’ve hit my stride. The smiles come as easily as the flirting does. The drinks are flowing and so are the tips. Tyson smiles often, shaking his head at my antics, making me realize whatever the look was that he gave me earlier wasn’t anything more than a passing attraction. Did he want to kiss me? Maybe. Would he turn me down if I invited him back to my apartment after my shift? Probably not. But he’s not going to lose his mind in a jealous rage because I flirt with the customers.
He either doesn’t see me as someone to get possessive over or he honestly just doesn’t care. Either way, I’m feeling less uneasy.
My eyes dart up for the hundredth time tonight when the front door swings open, but the handsome guy entering is not the jerk who hates me.
“Hey there,” I say, my voice extra sweet. “What can I get for you?”
His dark, mysterious eyes sweep the length of me. Why don’t I feel it under my skin like I normally would? This man is attractive. He has that sense of bad boy that I like to dip my toes in occasionally, but the thrill isn’t there.
Jude.
I blame him for whatever it is that’s going on with me, and all it does is make me double my efforts.