Page 18 of Boss Daddy

Erin

One week later…

“Damn, Erin, you’re crushing that mint like it personally offended you,” Mark, the new guy, says as he passes me the whiskey sour he just finished making.

I laugh, shaking my head as I finish a mojito. “It’s all about the wrist,” I say. “Really gotta smash the hell out of it. The greater the smash, the better the taste of the mint. Simple.”

He winks. “Got it. But seriously, what did that poor mint ever do to you?”

I shrug. “Nothing, really. It’s all about asserting dominance. First thing you need to know about bartending—never let the garnishes boss you around.”

He laughs. “Pretty sure you’re the only one trying to intimidate your garnish.”

“Hey, whatever works.”

I’ve been working here for three weeks now, and I find myself a little more at ease with each passing day. The prick from last Saturday hasn’t come back, and I haven’t heard a peep from Misha.

Hopefully, I’m finally free of that nightmare.

For the first time since I quit Misha’s, I walked through the city on my way to work without glancing over my shoulder every ten seconds. Each step felt like shedding a hundred invisible chains. Even the club itself feels like a fortress where nothing can get to me. Between Samuel, James, and the rest of the bouncers, I couldn’t feel any safer.

The bass thrums as patrons fill the space, the air thick with excitement and the sound of customers having a good time.

I’ve got a perfect pace going—I’m making drinks, swiping cards, and shooting the shit without even thinking about it. I pass out drinks and shots, give recommendations when asked, all while enjoying watching the throngs of customers drink, talk, and dance.

Mark works well beside me. He’s in his mid-twenties, with shaggy blonde hair, a lopsided grin, and an easy confidence that fits right in.

“So, how am I doing? Be honest. Do I still have a job tomorrow?”

“You’re doing great, Mark,” I say with a genuine smile. “At this rate, you’ll be running the bar in no time.”

“Running it? Nah. I’ll leave the hard work to you.” He leans in, lowering his voice like he’s sharing a secret. “You’re kind of a badass, you know.”

I chuckle. “Don’t let that get around.”

“Too late,” he laughs. “But seriously, it’s cool working with you. You make it look easy.”

The compliment catches me off guard. “Thanks, Mark. Same to you.”

He flashes a grin and gets back to work. Despite the smooth flow of the evening, something’s missing. A spark. An edge.

With Mark, it’s easy. Comfortable.

It’s different from the night I worked with Samuel, though, with his quiet intensity and the way his body moved so close to mine behind the bar. With him it’s like standing at the edge of a cliff, the wind tugging me forward, daring me to fall. And I’m not sure I want to stop myself.

Samuel checks in, his dark eyes scanning the bar, making sure everything’s running smoothly.

“Yo, Erin.” He strolls up to the bar in one of his sharp, tailored suits that makes it clear he’s the man in charge.

“Yo, boss.” I give him a wink as I pour a couple of beers.

He says nothing, watching me carefully as I pour. When I’m done, he nods approvingly.

“All good, chief?” I ask.

“Yeah, all good. Just make sure to keep the heads low on those pours.” He turns and leaves before I can reply.

Each time he stops by, I feel a thrill, low in my belly. He doesn’t say much, just a few words here and there, but his gaze always lingers too long, causing my heart to beat a little faster every time.

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