Page 50 of Dirty Little Secrets
26
Walking up to the bar, I can tell something’s wrong. Julian looks pissed, pointing at the others, while the bartender shakes his head.
“What’s going on?” I ask, raising my voice above the music.
Julian turns to face me. “They won’t serve me.”
“Why not?”
Now I get why he was gesturing to everyone else nursing drinks. I check the time—last call isn’t for another two hours.
He points at the bartender—the one who put me and Kristina on the list. “He said they cut me off.”
I glance at the bartender. He looks young, barely twenty-one, but the narrowed expression he aims at Julian tells me he’s not budging. Maybe he just won’t serve Julian. No way he’ll refuse me, especially if he knows Kristina.
I squeeze between Julian and a man with his back to me. “Hi,” I say to the bartender, giving my most convincing smile. “Can I get two Mai Tais, please?”
His eyes soften a little, but his voice stays firm. “Sorry, I can’t serve you or Kristina for the rest of the night.”
“And why is that?”
“Boss’s orders.”
“See?” Julian says, annoyed. “I can’t believe this. Is there a manager?”
“I am the manager.”
I glance around the club, searching for a familiar pair of dark eyes, ready to give him a piece of my mind. But Xaiden is nowhere in sight under the shifting lights. I don’t even need another drink—I just hate that he’s controlling my night off. He has no right. I’m a big girl. He’s not my keeper.
I glance back at the bartender. “Can you call him?”
“I cannot.”
I roll my eyes and offer Julian an apologetic look. “I’m sorry.”
He checks his watch, an obvious excuse not to look at me. “Look, I gotta go. It was nice meeting you.”
I watch him walk toward his twin, who’s still dancing with Kristina. He says something, the twin nods, and then excuses himself, leaving her on the dance floor alone.
What a bunch of assholes.
I whirl around. “Tell your boss I said he’s an asshole.”
I’m not about to tell him Xaiden is technicallymyboss. But I need to say it—need to get it off my chest since he clearly doesn’t plan to show his face and probably told them not to call him… since he’s with hisdate.
“Why don’t you tell him yourself?” the bartender says, jutting his chin.
A jolt of electricity shoots up my spine.
I don’t need to turn around to know he’s standing right behind me. I swallow thickly and it’s not from the alcohol. I turn slowly and meet dark eyes, a sharp jaw, and every woman’s fantasy wrapped in a tailored suit. His black shirt is open at the throat, revealing the “X” tattoo I want to snake my tongue over. The fabric is tight across his muscled arms and chest, tuckedneatly into black designer slacks. There’s no question—he’s hot. And dangerous.
A real threat to any woman’s ovaries.
“You wanted to see me?” he says above the music.
“Why did you cut us off?”
He leans in, his cologne begging me to taste it, but I remind myself: he sees Nori, not Red. “Because you’ve had enough to drink.”
