Page 16 of Boss Daddy

“Excuse me,” he says.

I force a laugh, trying to sound casual. “No problem, boss.”

His eyes flick to mine, and for a second, I forget how to breathe. The way he looks at me, his gaze hooded and dark, makes me wonder if he’s been imagining the same things I have. Things that have nothing to do with drinks or customers.

I pivot to grab a shaker and his chest brushes my back. I freeze, my pulse pounding in my ears. He doesn’t move right away, his breath warm against the back of my neck. My skin prickles, a wave of heat pooling low in my belly.

“You good?” he asks, his voice a rough whisper.

No, I’m not good.I’m one accidental touch away from needing to change my clothes.

“Yeah, fine,” I manage to say. I step forward, putting space between us before I do something stupid, like turn around and kiss him.

The night is long and the space behind the bar is small. Each time we pass each other, the tension coils tighter, until I’m practically vibrating with it. My cheeks are flushed, my breathing shallow, and it has nothing to do with the heat of the club.

“Focus, Erin,” he says as he moves past me, his delicious scent lingering in his wake.

I try, but I can’t help but continue to glance at Samuel out of the corner of my eye, watching the way his shirt stretches across his back as he reaches for a bottle on the top shelf.My fingers itch to slide under the fabric, to feel the body beneath. The thought sends a rush of heat straight between my legs, my pussy clenching.

“Yo! I’m heading to the back to get another crate of Titos!” Miguel, the barback, breaks me out of my reverie.

I shake my head, focusing on the task at hand.I fall back into the groove, the actions of the job feeling like an extension of me, the bottles and shakers in my hands moving without thought.Soon, Samuel and I fall into a rhythm. He passes me a fresh glass before I even ask, and I slide a garnish tray toward him without a word when I see him reach for lemons. It’s seamless, like we’ve done this a hundred times before.

The silent cadence builds, the two of us weaving around each other in the cramped space like a well-rehearsed dance. And God help me, I can’t stop thinking about how easily this rhythm could transfer to other places.

Like his bed. Or mine.

The image hits hard—his body pressing against mine, moving with the same effortless precision, his hands finding all the right places. My cheeks flush, and I shake the thought away.

Focus, Erin. He’s your boss. You can’t afford to lose this job over a stupid fantasy.

The desire is relentless and I can’t shake it. Not when he’s standing so close I can feel the heat radiating off him. Not when his scent—clean, woodsy, masculine—wraps around me every time we pass.

I force myself to focus on the next customer in front of me when a man further down the bar lifts a finger, catching my eye. My stomach drops. He’s familiar,toofamiliar. I recognize him from Misha’s club. He’s one of the regulars who always lingered too long, drank too much, and stared too hard.

My first instinct is to let Samuel handle it, but he’s busy with another customer. The man’s eyes are locked on me, a smirk playing on his lips. There’s no avoiding it.

After pouring a quick beer for the customer immediately in front of me, I paste on my best fake smile and step in front of him.“What can I get you?”

He leans against the bar, his eyes dragging over me in a way that makes my skin crawl. “Erin. I didn’t expect to see you here. When did you start?”

The place is too busy, too insane for small talk.

“Couple weeks ago,” I reply, pretending I don’t recognize him. “What can I get you to drink?”

He ignores the question, his smirk widening. “Sure wish you were still at Misha’s. Wish I would’ve been able to see you get naked.”

The words hit like a slap, but I don’t flinch. My smile is fixed as my voice hardens. “Because I’m nice, I’m going to give you two choices: either you tell me what you want to drink, or I’ll reach across this bar and smack the shit out of you. Got it?”

His eyes darken, and he leans closer, his breath hot and reeking of alcohol. “Forget the drink. I’d rather just fuck you.”

The air between us shifts, heavy and suffocating. My heart pounds, my fists clenching under the bar as I fight the urge to lash out. Every nerve in my body screams for me to step back, to put distance between us. But I don’t.

I stare him down instead, my voice calm and cutting as I reply, “Not gonna happen.”

Before another word is said, Samuel is at my side, his presence a wall of solid, unyielding heat. His eyes are cold, dark, and lethal.

There’s no way he could have heard what the guy said over the pounding bass and the roar of the music, but I’m guessing he was reading my body language. I’m grateful to have him besideme.

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