Page 10 of Devil's Tulip

Except…

Except when else will another god in a suit hit on me like this? Fuck it. I’m leaving tomorrow anyway. Might as well have some fun on my way out.

I put on my best coy smile. “Trust me, baby. You wouldn’t be able to handle me.”

3

GIANNA

He chuckles huskily, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe, transfixed by how his mirth transforms his face. “That’s it. You’re officially banned from laughing in front of me, ever.” The words slip out before I can stop them. His chuckle deepens, and I swear it vibrates through my entire body.

I lock my knees to keep from melting into a puddle of lust-addled goo. Shit.Abort mission, abort mission!I can’t flirt with him. I’m leaving tonight, and a man like him? Yeah, he only flirts with a very specific endgame in mind. One I definitely cannot indulge. No matter how badly I want to.

Clearing my throat, I spin away from those arctic eyes and go on my tiptoes to grab the quality Jameson from the upper shelf. The familiar weight of the bottle steadies me as I pour a generous splash of the golden liquid into a clean tumbler.

When I slide it to him, he raises a single brow at me, his expression unreadable, but accepts the drink nonetheless. The diamond ring on his index finger winks under the bar lights as he takes a sip, and gives a nod of approval that sends electric warmth rushing through me. I like his approval very much.Maybe a littletoomuch. Because my brain is already racing, trying to figure out how to earn that approval again.

“Bree!”

I snap out of my thoughts and turn gratefully to Vince, who waves me over to his side of the bar, pointing at some last-minute patrons who just walked in. I check the time and groan—ten minutes until closing time. Fantastic.

Plastering on my best customer service smile, I head over to take their orders. Through it all, I swear I can feel the tattooed stranger's gaze boring a hole into the back of my skull. But every time I glance his way, he’s looking elsewhere.

Am I going crazy?

Shaking it off, I keep busy, cleaning up the bar as the new patrons sip their drinks. Thankfully, they only order one round, and by the time I get to them, they’re on their feet. I follow them to the front door and flip the sign to ‘Closed’ with a relieved exhale.

When I get back to the bar, the stranger has finished his whiskey. I pick up the tumbler, avoiding eye contact. “We’re closed now,” I inform him, giving the bar top an unnecessary wipe-down.

“So you’re kicking me out?” That almost-smile returns, sending my heart into overdrive.

I attempt a casual shrug, but it probably looks more awkward than anything. Not that it matters. Nothing can happen here—nothingshouldhappen here. I try to convince myself as I walk to the back of the bar where Vince is perched, watching me like a hawk. “I’m done. I’m leaving now.”

He hands me a bunch of bills—my pay for the night. After making sure nothing is missing, I pocket it and nod towards the tip jar in his hand.

Vince operates on a strict 50/50 tip-splitting system, which means we divide whatever we make during the shift equally.Never mind that he barely gets any tips himself and that I’m the one schlepping my ass all night getting groped and hollered at.

“Don’t be late tomorrow, or else,” he warns as he begrudgingly opens the jar to count out my share.

I hesitate, debating if it’s even worth telling him. “I’m not coming in tomorrow. Actually, this is my last night. Take this as my notice.”

He stops mid-count and glares at me like I just spit on his shoe. “No.”

“No?” I ask incredulously. “What do you mean no?”

“You can’t just quit. You started two weeks ago—you need to work for a minimum of two months andthengive me a month's notice to find a replacement before you can quit.”

My eyes nearly pop out of my head. “What the hell are you talking about? That’s not how this works.” But he just sets his jaw stubbornly, and I’m too fucking tired to argue with this prick. “Fine, whatever. Just give me my tips.” I stretch my hand out.

“Will you arrive on time tomorrow?”

I smile sweetly. “Of course. I wouldn’t dream of being late.” Late to get the hell out of this city that is. If he doesn’t see me tomorrow, he’ll figure out that I’m serious, and that he doesn’t control me. Nobody does. Not anymore.

His eyes narrow like he’s trying to decode my thoughts, then he shoves the money back into the jar and twists the lid shut. “When you arrive on time tomorrow, you’ll get your tips.”

“What?!” The growl rips out louder than intended. “That’s bullshit,” I add more quietly, cringing when I remember we have an audience. How embarrassing.

“No, not bullshit. Insurance. To make sure you show up for work tomorrow. You can’t just leave me in a lurch, Bree. These are hard times.”

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