Page 33 of Fire

Also, the interior wasn’t its usual dark. Lights, that Gwen hadn’t even known existed, lit the whole club. The splashes of red throughout were more vibrant, and she could now distinguish they were different shades, ranging from deep burgundy to fire-engine red.

And last, with no music blaring and no clientele there to compete with said music, the place was eerily quiet and empty but for a few staff members who flittered about, disappearing and reappearing from back rooms.

They were approached by a man who Gwen soon learned was Blake’s manager, Matt. Average height and average build was where his averageness stopped. He was very good looking in an edgy sort of way and add to that the clear and concise report he gave—filling Blake in on the happenings in his absence—made it clear why he was the manager of a trendy club.

She also met Reggie, Blake’s head of security. He didn’t have an average anything. The best word to describe him was big. Tall and wide—his muscles had muscles. It also appeared as though his nose had been broken—maybe more than once. Gwen envisioned he’d been a boxer in his former life, but she didn’t have the nerve to ask. Something to ask Blake later.

All caught up with business, Blake led her to the bar where he planted her on a stool. “Order whatever you’d like. I’m going to run upstairs to shower and change before we open.”

The same blond bartender she’d seen on her first visit to Fire was manning the bar, and he came over to them as soon as Gwen had taken a seat.

Blake’s hand landed on her nape. “Ricky, this is Gwen. Take good care of her, but not too good, if you know what I mean.”

The clichéd line that was usually used in a playful manner, was anything but when spouted from Blake’s lips. She couldn’t see his face, standing behind and to the side of her as he was, but she could see Ricky’s.

Expression serious, he gave Blake a chin tilt. “I hear ya, boss.”

“Good.” He leaned down and kissed her temple. “Be right back.”

Gwen turned her head to watch him as he moved through the club until he disappeared down the hall that led to his office. There was a grace to his movements, fluid and casual yet with a purpose and a command that was hard to miss.

“You were here a few weeks ago.” Ricky drew her attention, wiping the spot of the bar right in front of her with a damp rag.

Gwen raised her brows, surprised he remembered with the sea of faces he must see every week. “Good memory.”

He shook his head and gave her a playful grin. “Nah, just don’t forget the pretty ones.”

Ricky was cute and a flirt. The perfect equation for a good bartender. Seemed Blake really knew his stuff and was probably one of the main reasons his club was so successful.

“Can I get you anything? I make a mean mai tai.”

She had a feeling she was in for a long night and knew she wouldn’t make it if she started it off with liquor. “I’ll have water.”

Ricky smacked the edge of the bar with his rag and made his way down it to a cooler. Leaning over, he nabbed a bottle then returned, opening it and setting it on the bar in front of her.

She took a sip, noticing he watched her with a look on his face like he wanted to say something. She set the bottle down and asked, “What’s on your mind, Ricky.”

He chuckled, blushing at getting caught. “That’s usually my line.”

Gwen smiled. He was younger than she’d first thought—twenty-one or twenty-two maybe. He hesitated so she prompted, “It’s okay, just say it.”

“It’s just that I’ve never seen Mr. Stone bring a woman to the club before. Pick them up from here, sure, but—” He paused, looking apologetic. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

She gave him a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, you didn’t let any cats out of any bags.” Though she wasn’t thrilled by the number of women he’d probably had traipse through his office. “Everyone has a past. No use dwelling over it.”

His shoulders relax and he threw her a cocky smile. “Doesn’t matter who’s the first as long as you’re the last?”

Gwen picked up her water. “Something like that,” she said before taking a sip. Though she had no illusions she’d be Blake’s last. But it was nice getting a confirmation that what Blake had told her was true—he’d never been in a relationship before—at least so far as Ricky had seen.

That thought had her asking, “How long have you worked here?”

“A little over two years now. Mr. Stone hired me straight from bartending school. I got lucky.”

“He’s a nice boss to work for?”

“I can’t complain. Pays more than minimum and Mr. Stone gives us three weeks paid vacation.”

Not too shabby. Even working for five years at Coleman’s, Gwen still only got two.

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