“Not to me, dickhead. To her.”
I can’t help smiling as Suit Bro cowers, unable to meet my eyes. “Yeah. Sorry.”
“Good,” Davis says. “Now get out of here before I crack your skull.”
The guy stumbles away, head down.
“Asshole,” Davis mutters, his eyes flaming as he watches him go. “Sorry, Cece. Should’ve had my eyes on him.”
“That’s okay,” I squeak.
Davis turns to me, and my cheeks burn. I know why he just called me his girlfriend. He’sneverused that approach with a customer before. “Um, thanks. Can I, um, get you a Coke Zero or something?”
“Sure.”
I pour his drink and watch, transfixed at the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows.
“Thanks.” He wipes his mouth with the back of his free hand. Errant soda droplets cling to his skin, and I wonder how I’ve never noticed that his upper lip is almost as full as the bottom one.
It’s fine. I’m just looking. Girls look at Davis all the time.
True, but the vodka keeps my gazeon his mouth for a little too long.
He leans forward across the bar, the holes where his sleeves should be gaping, and I see his tattoos end on his broad chest. Everything below that ink is pure, untouched, olive skin.
“You shouldn’t let customers talk to you like that,” he says. “Even if they’re wearing suits and spending money.”
“I don’tlet them. It comes with the gig. And I was about to say something to him before you showed up.”
“So, I should have left you to it?”
“No, but I would have handled it. And anyway, don’tyouwear a suit to work?”
He gives me a look.
“To your finance gig, I mean?” Without thought, I step toward him. “It doesn’t matter. I’m here to give people what they want.”
“And who gives you what you want?”
My breath snags like I’m being forced back inside my gold dress. I drop my gaze, unable to handle the intensity in his hazel eyes.
“I don’t know what I want,” I mumble and instantly regret it. It’s not true. I do know what I want: Will Sharpe, a wholesome relationship, a successful business and a social media account full of pictures of me thriving under good lighting...
But then why did I say that?
“Maybe you should think on it,” Davis says quietly. “Might be surprised what you find?”
The noise of the bar has all but disappeared. I lift my eyes. He’s closer now, too, and I stare at his mouth, mere inches away. Why aren’t I moving? Davis isn’t grinning anymore. His face is hard, his full lips part?—
“Excuse me, Miss? Could I, uh, please get a drink?”
I back away from Davis at the speed of light.
“Hello!” I say, my voice an octave higher than it should be. “What would you like?”
I feel Davis watching as I fix the guy a rum and coke, but I’m careful not to look until I’m sure he’s back by the door and safely out of range. I snatch a glimpse in his direction, finding small comfort that he’s chatting to Cameron.
Who gives you what you want?
