“You can’t treat customers that way!” Theresa snarled back, her temper every bit a match for Layla’s. “Especially ones that are thesonof the man who owns this building! We could get kicked out of our location, Layla!”
“Doesn’t make it right, his lack of manners.” Layla crossed her arms, still searing with fury.
“This is the fourth time you’ve sassed off at customers, or abused them – physically – in the last month alone.” Theresa was working herself up to her entire five-foot-nothing now, a fine froth building at the corners of her rosebud mouth. “I don’t know how many other warnings I can give you, Layla! You were a great employee until three months ago, but recently I’ve been thinking you’re a liability here rather than an asset. Ever since your job offer at the U.N. went sideways, you’ve been a mess. Clean up your act, get it together, or I just might have to let you go.”
Rage steamed from Layla at the injustice; she could practically feel it rolling off of her in waves. Fury burned through her that Theresa would take an entitled asshole’s side rather than hers. On her wrist, the hamsa-burn started tingling again, searing like it could feel her blistering anger. One moment, Layla was simmering, and the next – she erupted.
“So fucking can me already!” Layla shouted, turning heads in the packed bar, customers who had a view to the server’s area. “I’m sick of your bullshit, I’m sick of this bar, I’m sick of being treated like my value is only what someone willpayfor me! Fuck you, Theresa! Taking his side rather than mine! Shitty management like you is what’s wrong with this whole goddamn industry!”
“Wow. Oh, just – wow.” Theresa’s brown eyes bulged, a vein standing out in her forehead. “You aresodone here. Now. Get out. Your attitude this last three months was bad, but you are off the hook now. You can pick up the last of your pay from Enrique on Monday, but that’s it. I don’t need a temper like yours in this bar. Take your shit and go, Layla Price. Just go.”
“Fine. That’s just fine!” Layla stiffened; fierce tears stung her eyes but she didn’t let them fall. No way was she going to let them fall here. Turning on her slim black heels, Layla fetched her purse from the server’s cubbies and gave Theresa a one-fingered salute, then marched through the crowd. Pushing her way through the busy bar, she was soon at the entrance and moving through, out onto the street.
People moved by in the lamp-bright streets, cars cruising the side-avenue for the rare Capitol Hill parking spot. Gasping breaths as she held back burning tears and fury, Layla stepped aside from the restaurant entrance and flopped back against the brick wall of the building. Rage coursed through her veins; furious, washing through her from the hamsa-mark and up through her body until she seared from the heat.
Digging short nails into her palm, Layla screamed. Anything to release this furious energy roaring through her; a temper she’d always had but was triple now, quadruple what it had ever been. She felt like she was going crazy suddenly. Violent heat raced through her; her left arm burned in a wash of fury and Layla screamed again, letting it out. She didn’t care how many people turned to look. She could feel her rage surging in a miasma like a sand-funnel in the sahara. People dodged away, eyes wide, as if they could feel the pressure and heat of Layla’s rage. Hammering her fist against the brick, Layla set her teeth and growled, and the sound it made was inhumane. Someone had stepped out of the restaurant entrance, lingering nearby. Layla’s gaze seared over, piercing him like talons.
He held up both hands fast – shaggy-haired, lean Tom Collins from the bar, his hazel eyes wide. “Whoa! Easy. Are you ok?”
“What does it look like?” Layla snarled. “Who the fuck treats women like that?”
“That’s Josh,” Tom Collins sighed, a sorry smile lifting his lips. “He’s an asshat. I amsosorry about what happened. I heard your – conversation – with your manager. Can I buy you a drink? Somewhere else?”
Inhaling through her nose, Layla set her jaw as she desperately tried to calm herself. Her mind felt like it was whirling again far above her body, as if she was outside herself and spinning in a vortex high above the evening scene. If she hadn’t been resting against the brick wall, she might have reeled. It must have shown on her face, because Tom Collins’ brows knit in concern.
“Would you like a ride home, actually? You don’t seem well…”
Heaving a sigh, Layla blew out through pursed lips, a tactic she’d learned to get her through endless nights of study at UW and vicious evenings at the bar. And fights with Gavin; and worse fights with Luke. Suddenly, her life seemed all wrong. Suddenly, she wanted nothing more than to get out of it – to get out of Seattle, to get out of bartending.
To get out of it all.
Eyeballing Tom Collins, who was lean and sexy in a ruffian sort of way, Layla gave a small smile. But he wasn’t what she burned for tonight. Aqua eyes seared in Layla’s vision, and she shivered against the brick wall, feeling like her mystery guy was somehow there – somehow watching her fury. Watching her heat, digging his energy inside of her as she blistered and raged. A vague cinnamon scent lifted in the air, but it was burned with orange-peel and Layla thought it must have just been the smell of her hands from twisting citrus for drinks all night.
Pushing off the brick wall and finding herself steady, Layla contemplated Tom Collins. The burn mark on her wrist throbbed like it encouraged what she was thinking. She saw his cheeks redden and his hazel eyes get wide, as if he could feel her thoughts. A searing heat flooded from Layla and his lips fell open as if entranced, watching her with a spark of lust now in his kind hazel eyes.
But that was wrong. Tom Collins wasn’thim. He wasn’t her mystery man, and Layla took a deep breath, trying to get some kind of control over her crazy rage and lust – so much stronger than it had ever been.
“No,” she spoke at last. “I can get myself home. Thanks for the offer, though.”
“Are you sure? It’s not a problem. Really.”
She contemplated him, seeing a good face, a fit body, and a shyly sexy demeanor. He was the type of guy Layla was looking for as a remedy for rich assholes, but it didn’t feel right. With a wry smile, she shook her head, taking out her phone. “No, it’s fine. I’ll call my housemate for a pickup.” Turning away, she didn’t even let him respond. She at last felt him move away, as her phone rang on the other end.
“Yeah, Luke here.” Luke was always strangely professional on the phone, even though he knew it was Layla calling, her number programmed in long ago.
“Hey Luke. Can I get a pickup from the bar?”
“What?” His voice sounded confused. “But your shift isn’t over until two a.m.”
“I got canned. Can you come pick me up?”
There was silence on the other end. Layla held her breath, trying to think past the searing heat that still flooded her. She was expecting Luke to start berating her, but he sighed and simply said, “Sure. Be there in five.”
“Thanks.” Layla heard him hang up and she did also. Turning, she found Tom Collins long gone, the sidewalk in front of the building meandering with evening traffic now. Settling back against the wall, Layla closed her eyes, doing some deep yoga breathing she’d learned to process her grief after her grandmother Mimi had died, then used again a year later for her parents. It was beginning to work when she heard a car pull up to the curb with a honk. Opening her eyes, she saw Luke beckon from his forest-green Subaru hatchback with the red bike rack on top. Pushing from the wall, Layla moved to the car and hopped in, Luke pulling away from the curb as traffic began to honk behind him.
“Hey.” Luke glanced over, watching her, though he had to go back to watching the stop-and-go traffic. Signaling, he turned west, heading to Republican Street and their neighborhood. “You ok?”
“No. Not really.” Layla was blunt, still feeling that strange heat roaring through her. She felt her wrist throb again and looked down, seeing the red hamsa-mark standing out upon her arm. Luke saw it also, giving a scowl before returning his attention to traffic.
