Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 65987 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65987 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
At the main bar, I set down my tray of empties and placed the new order. While the bartender worked, I scanned the room, taking in the glittering scene. The dance floor pulsed with beautiful bodies moving in time to the beat. The minute it took the bartenders to get my orders together was the only time I got to look at the place since I had no desire to spell another month's salary. Or break any more glasses. The VIP section glowed with amber lights. Along the walls, security personnel stood at discrete intervals.
"You're on fire tonight," said the bartender, sliding the first of my drinks across the polished surface. "The blue table asked for you specifically."
I felt a flush of pride. The blue table was a group of finance guys who tipped exceptionally well and weren't handsy like some customers. "Must be my charming personality," I joked.
"Must be," he agreed with a wink. "Or the fact that you and Sophia are the only two who remember which one is allergic to lime and I saw you first. Congrats.”
I laughed, feeling a lightness in my chest that had been missing for years. The anxiety that had followed me through most jobs had begun to fade, replaced by a steady confidence that I could handle whatever the night threw at me, despite the previous night’s fiasco. But live and learn. I loved working here even if there had been a few bumps.
Across the room, I spotted Sophia behind the second bar, her dark hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail. When she caught my eye, she grinned and gave me a discreet thumbs-up. I returned the gesture, grateful for her friendship. She'd taken me under her wing from my first day, informing me of the unwritten rules of The Gray, helping me navigate both the physical space and the complex social hierarchies. I'd brought her cookies this afternoon too, her favorite peanut butter chocolate chip. She'd declared them "better than sex," then amended to "better than bad sex, anyway."
With my tray newly loaded, I made my way back to deliver the drinks. As I passed the entrance to the VIP section, I caught a glimpse of dark hair and broad shoulders. Dario Luca. My pulse jumped, but I kept my eyes forward, pretending I hadn't noticed him. You know. Again. I’d managed to avoid him most of the night, though sometimes I thought I felt his gaze following me across the room. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking. Either way, I'd been careful to keep my distance, remembering Mr. Longmire’s warning about fraternization with the owners. Especially Dario.
After delivering the drinks and delivering the first drink order from the blue table, I headed toward the service corridor that would lead me back to the kitchen to take a quick break. I figured five minutes would be good to stretch my back and re-bandage my hand. The hallway was dimly lit compared to the main floor, offering a brief respite from the sensory overload of the club. I pushed through the swinging door, letting it close behind me, muffling the music to a distant throb.
I'd taken only a few steps when a figure stepped out from a shadowed alcove, blocking my path. The woman wore a clingy gray dress that hugged every perfect curve, her honey-blonde styled perfectly, highlighting her aristocratic features. Diamonds glittered at her throat and wrists, catching the low light. Valentina Reeves in the fucking flesh.
My steps faltered as I registered her presence, my knuckles whitening around the tray I clutched to my chest. Something in her posture, in the cold assessment of her gaze, set off warning bells in my head.
"So you're the new toy everyone's talking about," she said, her voice smooth as expensive liquor but with a bitter aftertaste. She looked me up and down, taking in my simple black uniform with obvious disdain. "Not what I expected."
I swallowed, trying to maintain my professional composure despite the sudden dryness in my mouth. "I don't believe we've met," I said, attempting a polite smile. "I'm—"
"Blue Belle," she cut me off, making my name sound like a joke. "Yes, I know who you are. The whole club knows who you are after Dario's little display." Her perfectly manicured fingers toyed with the diamond pendant at her throat. "Tell me, what's your secret? How did you get Dario Luca on his knees in spilled whiskey?"
Heat flooded my face. "I-I didn’t do anything," I said quietly. "It was just an accident—"
"Don't play innocent," she interrupted, stepping closer. The corridor suddenly felt too narrow and almost suffocating. Valentina’s obvious disdain seemed to lower the temperature a few degrees. "I've seen how you look at Dario."
My cheeks burned hotter. "I don't look at Mr. Luca in any special way," I protested, hearing the defensive note in my voice. "He's the boss. That's all."