Page 85 of Made to Sin

That thought process was how I found myself standing behind a counter, serving liquor a few hours later. I realized I had no real talents to put on my resumé, so the best bet was somewhere like a dingy bar. The patrons would either be too drunk or too busy gawking at my cleavage to care about the quality of the drinks.

Another bonus about working at this bar was I got to keep the tips I made. Though I didn’t know how good of a thing that was when the men were as disgusting as pigs. I physically held in a gag when one of them suggested he would give me a large tip if I sucked his large tip. With a coy smile, I faked oblivion and went to serve the next customer.

Ugh, the sacrifices it took for a woman to get a job these days.

—

“What do you think you’re doing, Katarina?” Luciano’s cold voice scolded from across the bar.

I made it a record of three hours before Luciano came and ruined everything. I didn’t even want to know how he managed to find me out of all of New York. It was best if I remained in the dark about the tracking systems he potentially had on me before I became excessively paranoid.

Dressed in his impeccable three-piece suit, the boss stuck out like a sore thumb at this hole-in-the-wall. Other people thought so too as they started moving away from the bar and whispering amongst themselves.

God, he better not get me fired.

I gestured to my uniform. “You have eyes. What does it look like I’m doing?”

“You’re not working here.”

I rolled my eyes at the judgment in his harsh voice. Just because he had his life together didn’t mean he needed to look down on the one job I found for myself. It might not be the best job, but it trumped being jobless.

“What do you have against me working here?” I asked as I wiped down the counters.

“It’s not suited for you.”

I scowled. “Oh, please, you also said the club wasn’t suited for me, but I had lots of fun.”

“Really? Did you?”

The look on his face reminded us both of what happened that night. The boring VIP lounge, the threatening of the guy, the kitchen island…

My face tinged red.

I shook my head of the thought. “Still, I can work wherever I want. Like I said that night, you’re not the boss of me, Luciano.”

“Come here, Katarina,” he demanded in a deeper drawl.

I wanted to stand my ground, but the commotion had broughtout the manager. There was no point in making a scene, I was definitely getting fired. Throwing my apron on the freshly cleaned counter, I walked out without so much as looking in his direction.

Insufferable jerk.

Like a brat— rightfully so— I hopped into the car and slammed the door shut. There was no need to ask which car was his for me to hop into. The shiny piece stood apart from the rest of the grungy neighborhood.

He got in shortly after with his anger hanging in the air, and started the ignition. The engine roaring to life was the only sound heard in the car as he started driving in a suffocating silence.

Why was he upset? I should be the one upset.

I crossed my arms and turned toward my window. The starless skies and tall skyscrapers of New York were prettier than his bossy face. Or so I deluded myself in the time of anger.

At the twenty-minute mark, my overly active mind couldn’t take it any longer.

“Are you going to talk, or did you get me fired for fun?”

“What were you thinking to get a job at a place like that?” He appeared as disinterested as ever, but his jaw was clenched so hard, it seemed painful.

“A place like what?”

The place was gross and slimy, but it still was a place of business.

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