Page 68 of Boss Daddy

“See if we can get the shifts covered.” I sit back down. “We’ve got a few former employees who might be willing to come in and pick up some work.”

“Got it. And I know there’s a few guys on staff who wouldn’t mind the extra hours.”

“Also, keep your ear to the ground. If anyone so much as breathes Misha’s name near this place, I want to know.”

“You got it,” James says, straightening, then standing. As he heads for the door, he pauses and looks back. “We’ll get through this, boss. One way or another.”

“You’re goddamn right.”

One way or another, Misha’s going to learn what happens when he comes for what’s mine.

I spend a little more time in the office taking care of business matters. I keep thinking about Erin, about Tiffany and Misha. I’d been a goddamn fool to think he’d leave her alone. Now he’s coming for everything.

When I’m done in the office, I throw back a shot of whiskey and head to the front.

The club feels different tonight, and it sets me on edge. It’s a Saturday, and by this time, the place should be packed—music thumping, glasses clinking—the kind of energy that keeps the bar staff on their toes.

Instead, it’s quiet and the floor’s thinly populated. I’m guessing we’ve barely hit two hundred patrons, which is half of what we usually draw by this time of the night.

I stand at the bar, surveying the room. Erin and Mark are serving drinks and working the bar, along with the barback that actually came into work.

God, she looks fucking good. She’s wearing a tight white T-shirt that doesn’t totally cover her stomach, the fabric thin enough to make out the dark red bra she’s got on underneath. The sight of her is almost enough to make me want to schedule another one of our supply room meetings.

She catches sight of me and leans against the bar. She doesn’t look happy.

“How’s the night going?” I ask.

“Not great. I’ve spent more time standing around than mixing drinks,” she replies.

Mark, cleaning glasses at the far end of the bar, chimes in. “Same here. It’s weird, right? Like... where is everyone?”

I already have a good idea. Erin does too, judging by the worried glance she shoots my way.

“It’s Misha,” she says, quietly enough so only I can hear.

It’s his MO. Intimidation, subtle at first, but just enough to rattle. And it’s working.

Before I can respond to either of them, my phone buzzes.It’s a text from James.

Come out to the front. You’ll want to see this.

I straighten, slipping the phone into my pocket. “I’ll be right back,” I tell Erin. She nods as I hurry off.

As I step outside, the cool night air hits me. James is standing near the entrance, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. He juts his chin out, and I turn my head and see three large men, dressed in dark clothes, standing off to the side of the club’s entrance.

“What the hell is this?” I ask as I approach James.

He tilts his head toward the trio. “These assholes,” he says, “have been standing here all night, telling people the club’s full and sending them away.”

Fury spikes through me like a shot of adrenaline. I stride toward the men. They see me coming, their postures shifting slightly, but they don’t move.

“Hey, assholes!”

That gets their attention. All three are tall, and they stand like a brick wall. They look at me as I approach.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I demand.

The man in the center—clearly the leader—smirks. “We’re just standing here,” he says in a careless tone. “Last I checked, it’s not illegal to stand on a sidewalk.”

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