Page 17 of Boss Daddy

“You’re done here,” he says. “Get out. You’re no longer welcome.”

The man sneers, his expression twisting into something ugly and defiant. “It’s a public place, buddy. I can stand wherever the hell I want.”

Samuel doesn’t flinch. He simply tilts his head toward the sign behind the bar that reads: We Reserve the Right to Refuse Service, his jaw tightening. “See that? It means I get to decide who stays and who goes. And my decision is that you’re going. Now.”

The man’s eyes narrow, his bravado faltering for a split second. “I want to talk to the owner.”

Samuel’s smile is icy and humorless. “You’re talking to him.”

The guy’s eyes widen a fraction, but before he can say anything, James and another bouncer, a mountain of a man named Reggie, appear at the guy’s back. They don’t say a word, their expressions cold and expectant, their bodies tense and ready.

The man lifts his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. No need to get worked up. Just having a little fun with an old friend.”

“We’re not friends. We don’t even know each other.”

He smiles as if he knows something I don’t. But I refuse to let him see any flicker of fear. I cringe as he takes a step back.

“Misha won’t be happy to know you’re working here.”

Shit.

My stomach drops, ice replacing the heat in my veins. I don’t let it show, though, my expression neutral. The man turns and weaves through the crowd, disappearing into the night, his words lingering like an icy draft.

My hands start shaking. I can feel Samuel’s eyes on me. I don’t want to look at him, but I do it anyway.

“You okay?” he asks.

I shove my shaking hands quickly into my pockets. His eyes follow my movements, and I’m sure he saw me trembling.

I nod, forcing a smile I don’t feel. “Yeah. He’s just a dick with a bad sense of humor.”

Samuel’s eyes stay locked on mine. “Who’s Misha?”

I force myself to breathe, my pulse hammering in my ears. I can’t lie—not to him. “My old boss from my last job.”

Samuel’s eyes narrow as he scans my face. “Are you in danger?”

I shake my head, plastering on a smile I hope looks convincing. “No. The guy was just being an asshole, that’s all. No worries.”

The vein in his forehead twitches as he works his jaw. He doesn’t believe me. I can see it in the way his eyes darken, how his fingers curl into fists at his sides. But the bar is slammed, and there’s no time to press the issue. A group of customers is waving for attention, demanding our focus.

“We’ll talk about this later,” he says sternly as he turns toward the customers and gets back to it.

I nod, my stomach in knots. I don’t want to talk about it later. I don’t want to talk about it at all.

As soon as Samuel’s back is turned, I let out a shaky breath and glance toward the door. The man is gone, disappeared into the night, but the damage is done. He’ll tell Misha where I’m working, and the idea makes my skin crawl.

I can only hope Misha’s too busy with his other girls, too occupied with running his filthy empire to care about the one who slipped away. It’s been two weeks. You’d think he’d have found someone else to obsess over by now.

But that’s the thing about Misha—he doesn’t let things go. And from the look in that customer’s eyes and the way he said Misha’s name, it’s clear I’m not off his radar just yet.

I take a deep breath and square my shoulders. I’ve gotten this far on my own; I’m not about to let ghosts from my past ruin what I’ve built here.

Focus on the job, Erin.

One night at a time.

Chapter 7

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