Page 9 of Employing Patience

“I don’t think I’m the only one.”

Joey smirks. “You’re definitely not the only one.” Then he holds my stare and slowly drags his teeth over his bottom lip. It should look sleazy as hell, but my brain isn’t getting the message. Neither is my cock. It’s like the second I get that hint of bergamot, I’m immediately at half-mast.

“Get the man a sandwich,” I say.

“And for you?” Joey drops his voice. “Mr. de Almeida?”

The way he pronounces it perfectly, light accent and all, is too much. Every time my name comes from those sinful lips is another nail in my coffin.

Because Joey’s going to kill me.

“An employee who does his damn job?”

“Travis already has that covered.” The gorgeous bastard leaves with the final word.

“Well, that was interesting.” Orson turns to watch Joey walk away.

“No, it wasn’t.”

“Should we ask the group chat what they think?”

My hand flies out to cover his phone before he can pick it up. “Don’t you dare.”

He grins angelically at me, so I tell him the one thing that will get him to back off. “Joey’s straight.”

“I was straight. Can’t say I’ve ever flirted with a man like that before Ford.”

“No, you just did a lot more.”

Orson shrugs. ‘That was work.”

“So is this. He’s only flirting to get more shifts. They all do it. Think if I like them that I’ll start playing favorites.”

“And do you?”

At least that I can answer honestly. “I have favorites, but that doesn’t affect how I run my business. I make sure they’re all scheduled equally.”

“You know, some days I think you’re a complete dick, and other days you say things like that, and I know you mean it.”

Fair point. “I’m multifaceted.”

“You’re definitely something. Including into your bartender.”

“So what if I am? I can’t do anything about it.”

“Maybe not. But you owe it to yourself to know the truth. If he is only doing that for more shifts, you need to cut it off before it messes with your head.”

“Stop being logical.”

“Why? You do it to us all the time.”

When Joey comes back with Orson’s sandwich, Orson takes it and throws me a look as he stands up from the other side of the booth. I know what that look is. I give that look. It’s the “listen to me, for I am wise” look, and I don’t appreciate it being directed my way.

Still, when Orson leaves, I know he’s right.

There isn’t a single part of me that wants to get up and follow Joey, but I do it anyway.

He’s in a stockroom down the hall by the time I catch up with him, and I almost want to ask him to step back out into the hall to give us some more space. But at least in here, we have limited privacy—for when I’m about to make a fool of myself.

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