Page 30 of The Denver Alpha

“I didn’t get a chance to ask what I should wear,” I say, subtly tugging down on the hem of my too-short skirt.

Jason turns to look at me over his shoulder, his eyes dropping down my form and quickly pinging back up. “You look great,” he comments, retrieving something out of the drawer and tossing it in my direction.

I snatch it out of the air and unfurl it in front of myself, realizing that it’s a shirt. More specifically, it’s a black tank top with the outline of a purple glittery jester cap on the front.

“Go ahead and throw that on, Crystal’s on her way up to show you the lay of the land. You’re going to be working in the VIP section tonight.”

I look down at the shirt, then back up at Jason. “I… yeah, okay,” I stammer, spinning around and pulling my flowy gold top off overhead without another thought. I quickly replace it with the black uniform tank, smoothing my hair as I turn back around to face Jason.

“Could’ve used the bathroom to change,” he chuckles, throwing a thumb over his shoulder to indicate a door to his left.

My cheeks heat. “Could’ve told me that was an option,” I reply, jutting out my chin.

A knock comes at the door- not the one I entered from, but one that leads to the interior of the club- and Jason barks out for the person on the other side to come in. A curvy brunette steps inside, wearing a shirt that matches mine and immediately sizing me up with a once-over.

“You must be the new girl,” she breathes, crossing the room and sticking out a hand. “I’m Crystal.”

I take her hand, giving it a shake. “Juliet.”

“Nice to meet you,” she replies, stepping back and giving me another once-over, grinning in approval. “You’ve already got the right idea. The shorter the skirt, the better the tips.” She winks, spinning around in her own sinfully short skirt- a purple pleated number that screams schoolgirl fantasy- and beckoning me to follow her with the wave of a hand. “C’mon, I’ll take you over to the VIP section and help you get started.”

I stuff my shirt into my handbag and toss it over my shoulder, following Crystal out of the office and onto a catwalk overlooking the dance floor of the club. It’s already filling up with people, the music bumping, lights flashing. I try to tune all of that out and keep up with Crystal, hoping it’s not glaringly obvious that I’m out of my element here.

Instead of going downstairs to the main level of the club, Crystal leads me around to a large area in the balcony that boasts several crescent-shaped leather booths, each area cordoned off to be semi-private. There’s a sign at the entrance to the area indicating that it’s VIP and by reservation only, a bouncer posted up beside it with his arms folded.

“If any of the guys in VIP try to get handsy with you, be sure to let Ryan know,” Crystal says as we pass the bouncer, nodding to him in greeting. “He’ll be your best friend while you’re up here. You’d be surprised how many guys test their luck. If only they knew we could kick their asses.” She glances back at me over her shoulder, flashing me a devilish grin. “Of course, the name of the game here is to blend in, so we can’t actually beat the crap out of them for trying shit. But sometimes it’s tempting.”

No flexing shifter strength. Noted.

“While you’re working up here, try to treat every table you’re assigned to as if they’re your only table,” Crystal continues, gesturing to the empty booths as we pass. “They’re paying a lot for the VIP experience, so make them feel special. That’s what gets them to keep spending money and that’s what’ll earn you the big tips. If we book out all the tables, there’ll be two of us working up here, five tables each. We’re fully booked tonight, so I’ll be up here with you working and can answer any questions you may have.”

Crystal abruptly stops walking and I almost plow right into her. She doesn’t even seem to notice, though, remaining as cool as a cucumber and resting her hands on her hips as she turns to face me.

“The customers will offer you drinks throughout the night. Don’t decline, but don’t drink too much. If you’re drunk on the job, Jason will have to get rid of you. I know you’re probably used to metabolizing liquor fast, but this is top shelf shit we’re serving up here, so keep that in mind. Just politely take the drinks, take a sip or two, and leave the rest. No shots.”

“Got it,” I say, nodding my head confidently.

Crystal glances down at her watch, then back up at me. “The bartenders should be up here any minute with bottles so we can get the tables set up, then it’s showtime. You ready, blondie?”

I’m not sure if I am, but fake it till you make it, right?

I nod again, dragging in a deep breath and letting it out to calm my nerves. “Ready.”

As unsure as I was when the first VIP booths started filling up, I’ve quickly settled into a groove and now I’m pretty sure I’m killin’ it at this whole cocktail waitress thing. One of my tables is a group of girls out for a bachelorette party, and they’ve been content all night as long as I never let their bottles of liquor run out before I bring another. Another table is a bunch of rich kids that graduated from Denver U in the spring, and the amount of alcohol they’ve put down while still being able to stand is impressive. Not sure if they’ve all got a crazy tolerance to booze or if it has something to do with the white powdery residue I keep spotting on the glass tabletop. I’ve got a rowdy group of baseball players at another table who keep offering me drinks, but I’ve taken Crystal’s advice and only downed a few sips of each one.

My last two tables are still empty, but I’m totally getting the hang of juggling the three I have.

“Heads up, booth 9 just arrived,” Crystal warns me as she passes by with a chilled bottle of Grey Goose vodka in hand. “It’s the boss, don’t keep them waiting.”

I smile at her appreciatively, turning on a heel to head for the second to last booth. We split them up by number- she’s even numbers, I’m odd- and she’s been doing the lion’s share of the work tonight with all five of her tables occupied. I approach booth nine, fully expecting to see our boss, Jason, seated there.

It’s not Jason, though.

Cole’s gaze collides with mine, his lips parting slightly in surprise. He wasn’t expecting to see me, either, and from the way his eyes darken, he doesn’t look too happy about it. But the man is nothing if not professional. He quickly schools his expression, leaning back in the booth with his arms spread over the back and crossing an ankle over his knee.

Damn the man looks good. He’s wearing dark gray slacks and a black button up, the sleeves rolled to the elbows and those lickable forearms on display again. Why does he always look so good? He smells even better, and it’s a wonder that despite all of the competing scents around me, his is the one I pick up. I don’t know what soap he uses, but I can always smell it on him, mixed with his signature spicy scent and something woodsy and masculine.

Sam is seated to Cole’s left, his eyes pinging between the two of us with concern, while two men I’ve never seen before are seated in the booth across from them. They’re both dark haired, conventionally handsome, and a little older than Cole and Sam. Humans.

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