Page 69 of Never Date A Player
The man blinks, his gaze cutting to his wife before he clears his throat. “My wife will have the house white and I’ll have the special on tap.”
Okay, maybe not celebrities. The VIPs order top-shelf, not house wine.
“I’ll be right back with that.” I lay cocktail napkins on the table and spin around.
My breath catches and my feet falter. Drake is standing in front of me, inches from my face.
“Genevieve,” he says. “I need you in one of the suites.”
Throat clenching, pulse kicking into a sprint, it takes me a few seconds to find my voice. “Can’t, I’m swamped.”
He smiles blandly, wraps his long, thin fingers around my arm in a bruising grip, and proceeds to drag me from the table. “Let’s talk over?—”
“Is there a problem?” The man at my table stands. He’s a foot taller than Drake.
“Of course not,” Drake intones, his voice a cultured murmur as he casually releases me. “How are you tonight, Mr. Kendrick?”
The man’s expression is tight. “Good, until you tried to take our server.”
“Well.” Drake’s cold eyes flicker to me. “I wouldn’t want to diminish your experience at Blue.” He bows shallowly, his shoulders taut along with his smile. He turns so the customer can’t see the glare he cuts me. “I’ll find another waitress. Enjoy your stay, Mr. and Mrs. Kendrick.”
I glance awkwardly at the couple and take off for the bar.
I’ve heard crickets from management about the sexual harassment claim. Filing the report didn’t stop Drake from grabbing me just now, and that’s bad. Very, very bad. He hasn’t touched me since his threats near the elevator, but tonight he tried to get me alone in another suite. Why would he do that after I told management about him?
Because he is in charge.
He’s testing me to see how far I’ll push back. If I push too much, I might lose my job. This mountain town is filled with people waiting for lucrative casino jobs to open up. The only reason Cali and I got in was because of Maddie’s connection. I’ll be back to relying on my mom and her money if they fire me.
I hate that. Hate that relying on my mom is my only option, but I despise Drake more. He seems to thrive on pushing me, testing me—scaring me. Should I go to the police?
I return with the wine and beer, my smile less carefree.
“Everything okay?” the customer asks, a concerned look on his handsome face.
“Yeah.” I swallow the lie. “Gets a little crazy on busy weekends.”
He glances at his wife, who returns his look with an encouraging smile. “Your name is Genevieve?”
I flinch at the use of my formal name. Fucking Drake. I hate that he did that to me. “Yes, but most people call me Gen.”
The man nods, pausing as if he wants to say something, but is unsure. “Have you worked here long?”
“Only the summer. I’m returning to school in the fall for a graduate program.”
His Adam’s apple bobs, his face otherwise expressionless. Too expressionless. Actually, he looks pale for a guy with black hair—and light skin. We have the same unusual coloring.
“What did you say your last name was, Gen?”
Wait, why is he asking these personal questions? I stare without answering, my brain attempting to process something niggling the back of my mind.
The woman smiles warmly. “You look like the daughter of someone we know. You wouldn’t happen to be related to an Elizabeth Tierney?”
My mother’s birth name.
Most people aren’t aware of my mom’s real name, unless they knew her from around the time I was born—when she decided to reinvent herself. How do they know her? I’ve never met these people.
The man looks like he’s about to pass out. His mouth is tight, a low indentation on the left side standing out in relief. It’s not a traditional dimple. It’s subtle, as if only visible under extreme happiness or stress. I have one too. In the exact same spot.
