April
“Well…” I drop my shoulders and stand tall, as I try to act cool. “How can I help you?”
Amusement flashes across his face. “I’ll have a double macchiato, please.”
“Of course.” I type it into the computer then glance up at him. “Will that be all?”
His eyes hold mine. “For now.”
I roll my lips as I try to hide my smile. Why does everything that comes out of his mouth sound sexy?
For now isn’t theoretically a hot sentence.
Lance looks over my shoulder to see the screen. “It’s okay, Lance, Mr. Garcia likes it when I make his coffee,” I say as I try to stay straight faced.
Sebastian’s forehead wrinkles, and I know he’s inwardly cringing inside. Ha-ha, this is classic. Oh well. That will teach him for throwing away my coffee yesterday.
“Okay, okay,” Lance says, taking over from me at the register.
I turn to the coffee machine, and I really want to burst out laughing. I’m so shit at this, it isn’t funny. Right. What do I do again? This coffee machine is so confusing.
I glance over my shoulder to see Mr. Garcia waiting patiently as he watches me. His hands are tucked into the pants pockets of his grey suit. He’s wearing a cream shirt today, and it really makes his dark hair pop.
He gives me a soft smile, and I smile back.
He really is dreamy.
I make his coffee and turn back to him. “Here you go.”
“Thank you.” He takes it and dips his head. “Have a nice day.”
I will, now that I’ve seen you.
“You, too,” I beam.
He turns and walks out of the store. I pick up a cleaning cloth and practically run to the front of the café to spy on him through the window. He walks out into the street and crosses the road. I watch on as he takes a sip, winces, and screws his face up.
He hates it.
I giggle.
He takes another sip, and then with a shake of his head, he throws it in the bin.
I burst out laughing and return to the cashiers’ desk.
“What’s so funny?” Lance asks.
“That guy.”
“Who, the Italian dude?”
“Yeah, the gorgeous one. I don’t think he’s Italian, though.”
“He’s a bit old for you, isn’t he? What about him?”
“He is not too old for me, and he hates my coffee.”
“And?”
“He hates my coffee and yet, he came back.”
Lance frowns. “I don’t get it.”
I widen my eyes, Lance can’t be this clueless. “Well, if he doesn’t like my coffee and he came back, it means he’s coming to see me, doesn’t it?”
“Perhaps he just works close, and this place is convenient.”
“Maybe.” I smile as I wipe the counter. “We’ll see tomorrow, won’t we?” I smile as I reorganize the menus. “If he comes back tomorrow, it’s definite confirmation that he’s coming to see me.”
“You women and your mind fucks.” Lance rolls his eyes. “If you like him, why don’t you just ask him out? You don’t have to make the poor bastard drink your petrol coffee.”
I giggle as I remember the disgust on his face.
I really am a funny bitch.
I exhale heavily and look up at the sign over the door.
C L U B
E X O T I C
I can’t believe I’m actually doing this. I’ve never even been to a gentlemen’s club before, let alone considered working in one.
It’s fine. It’s totally fucking fine.
It’s not-not by a long shot-but I can’t live where I am for much longer. Penelope and her Rave Cave have me going insane. I push on the large brass knob on the heavy black door, and I walk in.
Instantly, my senses are overloaded with luxury, dark charcoal walls, huge chandeliers, and incredible gilded mirrors that are hanging as artwork.
“Hello,” a pretty blonde girl says with a smile. “I’m Anne-Marie.”
“Hi.” I grip my resume folder with white-knuckle force.
Run. Run the fuck away, right now.
Oh, hell, what am I doing here? I think I’m going to throw up.
I swallow the lump in my throat to try and push some sort of sentence past my lips. “H-hi. I’m April. I’m here for an interview.”
Anne-Marie looks down at her clipboard and ticks off my name. “Great. Just this way, please, April.”
She turns and walks off across the club. I follow, looking her up and down.
She’s gorgeous and looks so glamorous in her black, knitted, turtleneck, tight dress. Like a sexy, smart businesswoman or something. How does she walk in shoes that high?
She opens a door to a waiting room of some kind. There’s a girl sitting alone in the corner, and she looks up at us with a timid smile.
“Just take a seat here. Porsha will be with you shortly,” Anne-Marie smiles.
“Thank you.”
I sit down in the closest seat, and Anne-Marie disappears, the door clicking closed behind her. The room falls silent, and I drag my eyes up to the other girl who is waiting. She gives me a lopsided smile.
“Hi,” I say softly.
“Hi.”
We fall silent again, and finally she whispers, “What the hell am I doing here?”
“I know. Me, too.”
She moves to sit beside me so that nobody can hear us. “You need to tell me to leave. This shit is crazy.”
“If you tell me first,” I whisper back. “Are you here for the bar job?”
“Yeah.”
“Me, too. I’m broke.”
“Same. I’m studying. I’m Kayla, by the way.”
“Same.” I smile. “I’m April.”
“What are you studying?”
“Law.” I look around nervously. “Is this place even legal?”
“Who knows?” Kayla shrugs. “I’m studying medicine. In my third year.”
I smile, feeling a little at ease. Kayla is attractive and obviously intelligent. “Apparently, they pay seventy pounds an hour, and you work ten-hour shifts.” She whispers.
“Shit, really? God, I could do with that.”
“Me, too. I’m living in the biggest dump on Earth.”
“Well, I’m on campus, and it is literally Hell.”
“I did that my first year. Never again. Let’s hope we both get the job so that we at least know one person.”
The door opens, and a beautiful woman with a black bob comes into view. “Hello.” She smiles and looks between us. She’s gorgeous, made up to the nines with a full face of makeup and red lipstick. “My name is Porsha. I’m the manager here.”
“Hello.” We both smile.
Porsha looks between us with calculating eyes. This woman is no pushover. I can tell already.
“Who was first here?” she asks.
“Me,” Kayla says nervously, standing. “I’m Kayla.”
“Hello, Kayla.” Porsha smiles. “This way.” She turns and walks into the office, and Kayla gives me a nervous shake of her head.
“Good luck,” I mouth.
“Thanks,” she mouths back before disappearing into the office and closing the door behind her.
I tip my head back and stare at the ceiling. There are old-fashioned paintings on it, as if it’s the Sistine Chapel.
Wow… weird.