Page 35 of Obsession

The man with icy cold eyes at Table 21. A man who makes other grown men shiver in fear. Hell, I just witnessed it. The smart thing for me to do would be to quit this job. I’ve been the new manager for literally twenty-four hours, and already, I’ve seen this man more than I ever have in my six monthsof working there. What does he want from me? What does he expect?

I don’t know, and I’m not sure I want to find out.

But, of course, things never go the way I plan.

It must be in my DNA.

Chapter 12

Is This A Seduction?

MEGAN

There’s another new bartender when I arrive at work. I suppose they brought him in to replace one of the part-timers who left to move to New York. I had no idea he was coming, but I’m learning that if I’m going to survive in this new position, I will have to learn how to go with the flow.

“Gage Clayton.” He shakes my hand, a quiet smile on his lips. “I transferred from the Chicago location.”

The shift hasn’t started yet, so I ask a question that I feel I should have already known the answer to.

“There are other locations?”

“It’s not quite up and running yet.”

“So Mr. Middleton brought you here instead? I already have a new bartender.”

“And now you have another.”

Gage is an attractive man with sandy blonde hair and gentle brown eyes. He reminds me of a younger Brad Pitt, and I know for a fact that the servers are going to be swooning over him.

“You look a little put off,” he tells me as I watch him rearrange bottles behind the bar as if he's had the job for years.

“Sorry,” I shake my head. “Mr. Middleton didn’t tell me anything about you, and I just hired a bartender the other day. I’m going to have to ask him what’s going on. I hope you don't mind.”

“Sure, go ahead,” Gage beams at me. He’s so friendly that it’s impossible to dislike him... or trust him. Ugh, I’ve become so jaded.

As I make my way to Mr. Middleton’s office, I struggle with the buttons of my new silk blouse. For a two-hundred-dollar shirt, I don’t know why they keep slipping open. I hiss in frustration when they don’t shut, and I layer the cloth over them before knocking on the door.

“Come in.”

When I enter, my boss is leaning against the edge of the desk, his tie lying on the couch, his sleeves rolled up to expose strongly muscled forearms with one definitive tattoo on the left one. It reads: PRESSURE.

My mouth goes dry at the sight.

After silently gawking for God knows how long, he finally murmurs, “Miss Taylor, you should stop looking at me like that.”

There’s something dark in his voice, almost hungry, and I snap back to reality.

“What? Oh, I wasn’t looking at anything. I just came here to ask you something.”

“It’s funny how just a few weeks ago, you didn’t even know I was in this office, and now you’re just dropping by whenever you please, huh?”

He’s holding a file in his hand, and I see his eyes raking over me from top to bottom. When he sets down the file and moves from around the desk, I freeze. How am I supposed to say anything in response when he’s stalking toward me like this?His movements are controlled and deliberate, like the stealth of a great predator.

The whole atmosphere suddenly shifts, and my heart is pounding as he approaches me.Get a grip, a small voice screams at me from inside my head, but I can’t move.

He’s right in front of me now, and when his large, firm hand slides around my waist, near the top of where my brand-new pencil skirt begins, my eyes squeeze shut.

Then I hear something rip, and my eyes shoot open.

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