Page 8 of Claimed By the Boss

“You’re here all the time, lately,” I venture, wanting to draw out the moment. “Don’t you take days off?”

“Not when I have a business to run.” His eyes flick up to me and away in dismissal.

I swallow my disappointment, though I don’t know what I had hoped for.

Then his eyes snap back to my face and narrow. “Who did that?”

I clutch the tray tighter. “Sir?”

“Your face.” His nostrils flare. “Who hit you?”

My hand flutters toward my eye without touching it, afraid to smudge the makeup. “It’s nothing, sir. I just fell.”

“Bullshit.” I flinch at his sharp tone. “Was it Dick? Did he hurt you?”

Confused, I follow his gaze to the table where Rich has taken up residence.

Worried he’ll think I’m causing trouble for his business, I turn back to Nolan. “No, sir. It happened outside of work. I’ll do better?—”

“Who?” His hand tightens around his glass until his knuckles turn white. “Do you have a man at home?”

“N-no, sir.” Flustered by his attention, I take a step back and spot Tony watching us from the back. “I have other tables to serve. Please enjoy your drink.”

Turning on my heel, I hurry to a table with empty glasses and clear them. Heat suffuses my body, and hunger and exhaustion make my body heavy.

As I walk toward the bar to fetch their refills, my feet tangle together, and I trip. The empty glasses spill off my tray and crash to the ground, shattering.

Horrified, I stare at the broken glass, and anxiety twists through me.

Tony’s hand wraps around my bicep and yanks me to my feet. “That’s coming out of your tips.”

“I need my tips tonight.” The blood drains from my face, and I sway within his hold. “Can I just come in an hour earlier tomorrow to work it off?”

“No.” His hold tightens painfully. “If you want extra money, you can work in the back.”

My breaths quicken with panic, the pheromones in the club invading my lungs. “Please, Tony…”

He releases me. “Cash out and go home.”

The panic increases. “But I still have two hours.”

“You’re done for tonight.” He waves at the bartender. “Count out Leo’s tips. He’s leaving.”

The man’s brows lift, but he pops open the register and pulls out a handful of cash.

Tony takes them and flips through them before handing me a five-dollar bill.

I stare at it, my hand trembling. I busted my ass and got some good tips tonight. The glasses couldn’t have cost that much. I’ve seen the same ones at the Dollar Store.

But when I look back up at Tony, I know there’s no use arguing.

Tony tucks the rest of my tips into his pocket. “Have a good night, Leo. I hope you come to work tomorrow with a clearer head.”

Defeated, I pull off my apron and check it back in before heading to the employee room to grab my coat from my locker and toss my soggy mask into the trash next to the exit.

The heavy door resists as I shove my shoulder against it before opening with a groan, and I step out into the chilly night.

Police sirens scream in the distance, and only one functioning streetlight illuminates the back parking lot.

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