Page 19 of Boss Daddy

I know I need to be professional, but as I mix another cocktail and slide it across the bar, I realize it’s too late for that.

The hours fly by. Before I know it, the lights come up in the club, casting a harsh glow over the sticky floors and empty glasses littering the tables and bar.The thumping bass is finally quiet, replaced by the low hum of tired chatter from the last of the staff cleaning up. My shoulders ache and my feet throb, but there’s a calm satisfaction in the exhaustion. Another successful night down.

James strolls over with his usual easy grin, clipboard in hand. “How’d it go tonight?” He looks between Mark and me. “For both of you?”

Mark stretches his arms over his head, yawning. “Smooth. Almost too smooth. In fact, it was actually pretty easy. Think I might bring a book to read next shift.” He flashes a grin, making it clear he’s only messing around.

I chuckle, wiping down the bar. “You’re cocky now but wait until we have a really rough night. You’ll be crying for mommy.”

James laughs, shaking his head. “Don’t listen to her, kid. You’re doing fine.”

“Thanks,” Mark says. “But if I do end up crying on the job, I’ll make sure to do it in the walk-in fridge where no one can see me. Don’t want to mess with the vibe.”

That gets a laugh out of James and me. Mark really is a nice guy. No sleazy comments, no weird vibes. Just an easygoing presence that makes the long shifts bearable.

“Shots,” James announces. He reaches over the bar for a bottle of Maker’s Mark. “We did good tonight—lots of happycustomers, and I only had to break up two fights.”

“Shots it is,” I say.

I line up glasses for the staff, pour the bourbon, and together we throw them back. I make sure to never drink until after the shift is over, so the burn hits extra nice.

“Well, I’m out,” Mark says, wiping his mouth and tossing his rag into the laundry bin. “See you guys tomorrow.”

“Same her,” James says. “See you guys tomorrow.”

“See you guys,” I reply, waving as Mark heads toward the back door and James to the storeroom. The rest of the staff files out one-by-one, and before I know it, I’m all alone.The sound of the door clicking shut makes the space feel even emptier.

As I finish the last few tasks I feel it, that familiar, electric charge. I look up, and there he is.

Samuel walks toward the bar, his stride confident, his dark eyes locked on me. My stomach does its usual flutter-and-clench routine, and I have to remind myself to keep breathing.

“How’d the night go?”

I nod, swallowing hard. “It went great.”

He leans a hip against the bar. “How did Mark do? Did he work out well or do I need to send him out on his ass?”

“He did really good,” I say with a small chuckle. “He might be a little too nice for this place, but he fits in and it works.”

He nods. “That’s what I was hoping for. I figured we had enough hard asses working here.”

“Kind of a good-cop-bad-cop thing, right?”

Another nod. “Now you’re getting it. Mark is the son of an old friend of mine from a past life. He needs a little extra money, so I figured I’d help him out.”

“A past life?”

“Time before here.”

I chuckle and ask, “What, were you a professional hitman or something?”

He laughs. “Close. Finance guy.”

“For real? A Wall Street bro? No way. You’re kidding, right?”

“Not kidding at all.” He reaches over the bar and pours himself a glass of water. “But that’s a story for another night.” He drinks deeply, and I’m transfixed by the way his Adam’s Apple bobs up and down. There’s something hypnotic about it.

“Anyway, just wanted to make sure Mark wasn’t cramping your style.”

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