“I’m sorry, Mr. Graves. We’re short staffed.”
“I’m aware,” I grit out, polishing off the glass and ringing it like a bell so she gets the hint.
“I have a friend,” she says as she wipes the table, “looking for a job. She used to work at the Bordeaux. She’s a good–”
“I’m not supposed to be on the receiving end of other people’s charity. Of second choices. I am Damien Graves. I should not have to beg people to work for me!”
My words are harsh. Slurred. Enough to make her blink. She is one of my best bartenders, and I shouldn’t be taking my anger out on her. If I were anyone else, she would have cut me off bynow. But I am her boss, and she can’t. So, she goes to the bar and makes me another drink.
I wipe my hand down my face. I run a tight ship, but not usually with an iron fist. There is usually no need. Yet right now, it would be perceivable that I am a monster. Maybe I am…
“Rough night?” Jocelyn pulls up a chair next to me before I can tell her to get lost.
“I am really not in the mood, Jocelyn,” I say. The bartender sets down another drink, and I get after it.
“Clearly,” Jocelyn snorts. “What happened? You look like hell.”
My eyes rake over her. She’s all dolled up tonight. Blonde hair curled in a sorry excuse to look like Marilyn Monroe. Sparkly black dress that cuts low in the front and barely covers her ass. Sky high stilettos…wait.
“Where’d you get that dress?” I nod over at her.
Jocelyn looks down with a pout. “It was left behind in Ellie’s office. I just assumed after your little blowout today that–”
“You assumed wrong,” I cut her off. “That’s not your dress.”
But Jocelyn just bats her fake eyelashes and takes a sip of her martini. “It doesn’t look good,” she whispers. “Your being here alone.”
She’s not wrong. Everyone is trying not to stare at me. They’re afraid to. But I’m not stupid. I know they’re all talking about me. And that talk will spread to the hotels. First to mine, then to the neighbors, stretching all the way down the strip until Decker himself hears about my demise with his morning coffee.
“I trusted her,” I say.
“That’s unfortunate.”
“I was…she seemed…different.”
Jocelyn blinks. “Different than who?”
“Everyone,” I admit.
“I suppose we are all capable of being blinded when we have sequins in our eyes,” she says, and I swing my attention over to her. She’s drinking a pink cocktail. With a pear.
I snag it off the rim and pop it in my mouth, instantly regretting it. I’ll never get her taste off my lips now.
“What is that supposed to mean?” I ask.
“You know I didn’t want to be right? But I am, aren’t I? Right about Ellie, I mean.”
I open my mouth and hold my breath a moment before responding. I’m not usually this open. But I’m also not usually this drunk. “I trusted her,” I finally let out.
Jocelyn reaches across the table and clasps my hand in hers. “I’m sorry, Damien. She doesn’t deserve you. It’s better this way. With her gone, so much will be better. So much will be the way it’s supposed to be…”
Unease crawls up my spine, and I narrow my eyes at her hand as her finger caresses mine. Suddenly, a girl rushes over to our table.
“Jocelyn! I was hoping I’d find you here!”
“Kristi…it’s not a good time,” Jocelyn says, but the girl, a redhead with overdone eyeshadow, fake tits and way too much blush, doesn’t know when to take a hint.
“I filled out an application, you know, for the Opal Room. But then I took your advice! That new place has a sign on bonus! And…” she leans in. “No physical. Not for drugs, not for STDs, nothing. It’s pretty great considering, well, you know.”
