Page 15 of Boss Daddy

I shake my head, muttering to myself.“Dumbass.”

The first woman who sparks anything real in me and I go and hire her. Of all the boneheaded decisions I’ve made, this one takes the cake.

I drain the last of my whiskey. The smart move would be to keep my distance, keep things professional. But the way my body reacted to her, the way my mind keeps drifting back to those defiant eyes and that sassy, sexy mouth…

That’s going to be a hell of a lot easier said than done.

Chapter 6

Erin

Two weeks later…

“Three whiskey sours, down the line!”

I love this place.

The pulsing bass, the hum of conversation, the clinking of glasses all blends into a chaotic symphony that makes me feel alive. The crowd never stops, a constant flow of bodies pressed together under flashing lights, but the pace is a thrill, a rush I didn’t know I needed.

From the moment I step behind the bar at eight, I don’t stop moving, and I love it.

It doesn’t hurt that the tips are damn good. By the end of my shift, my pocket is stuffed with more cash than I ever made at Misha’s. The other big difference? My new boss isn’t trying to shove me into the back room for extra profit.

It’s my second Friday here, and the kid who couldn’t make a Manhattan to save his life quit last night without notice. Ben’s out of town for the weekend, so we’re shorthanded. Lucky forme, Samuel is behind the bar helping out. Or maybe that’s unlucky, considering the way my body reacts to him. I don’t need the distraction.

“Pardon me, Erin.” He slides past me, his crotch grinding against my ass as he moves to the other side of the bar in the tight space.

It’s a totally unintended movement, but damn if the thought of him pressing against me doesn’t get me thinking things I shouldn’t.

Samuel’s a wall of dark heat and raw strength, moving behind the bar with a grace that shouldn’t belong to a man his size.Tonight he’s ditched the suit and is wearing a simple black T-shirt and dark jeans, a pair of black boots on his feet.

His shirt hugs his broad chest and thick biceps. His sleeves are rolled up almost to his shoulders, his tanned arms dusted with dark hair. When he shakes a cocktail, the muscles in his forearms flex and tighten, and I have to bite my lip to keep from staring.

I’m starting to wish I’d brought an extra pair of panties.

As he leans down to grab a bottle of whiskey from the lower shelf, his dark hair, streaked with silver, falls across his forehead. The sharp lines of his jaw, the slight shadow of stubble… it all makes my mouth go dry.

We’re constantly moving, sliding past each other in the cramped space behind the bar. Each time his arm brushes mine or his hand skims my waist, a jolt of heat races through me.

“You alright, there?” he asks. He pulls the metal pour tip off an empty bottle, then tosses the bottle into the trash.

“Uh, just trying to plan out my next few moves,” I say, the excuse totally lame. “You know, to stay a few steps ahead of the customers.”

“You meanthosecustomers?” he asks. He nods to the very long line of folks waiting for one of us to get to them.

My cheeks grow hot. “Yep, those are the ones.”

He laughs, stepping over to the rail and pouring a few shots for the girls across the bar—girls who are obviously very interested in Samuel.

“First move? Make the drinks. Then make the next ones. Repeat until close.”

He pushes the shots toward the girls, who eagerly toss them back. Their eyes stay on him as they pay, flicking glances in his direction as they melt into the crowd. Samuel doesn’t seem to even notice.

“Yeah. Thanks,” I mumble. I feel like an idiot as I turn to the next customer in line. “What can I get you?”

“Gin and soda. Extra lime.”

I nod and turn, reaching for a bottle of gin. Sam reaches at the same time and our fingers collide. I pull in a breath, the contact sending sparks racing up my arm.

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