That left Lam all but empty save for the regulars and Vin's usual Sunday night meeting in the back of the bar at his normal table- sitting right in front of the door to the panic room. His party was big that night, leading her to worry again about that odd feeling she was having about something being off.
But all seemed par for the course. They all settled in, had a round, ordered a late dinner, and were bullshitting. Well, they looked like they were bullshitting. She knew from experience that a lot of it had to do with work.
Which was part of the reason she was tense.
The other part was it was quiet and she had absolutely no excuse to not talk to Danny.
"So what's your story, Faith?" he asked, looking comically like a bartender as he dried a shaker with a towel, leaning back against the wall of liquor bottles.
"My story?"
"Let's start with how you came to work here," he offered.
Faith tried to not stiffen and was pretty sure she accomplished the task. "I was eighteen and I needed a job. Having no work history kind of leaves you working at a store or in the hospitality business. I can't deal with people in stores so I opted for hospitality. Even if I do have all the charm of a honey badger," she added with a smirk that he smiled in response too, warm, making the skin next to his eyes crinkle in a far too appealing way.
"And Vin hired you with no experience?"
He didn't really have a choice. But she wasn't telling him that.
"Even at eighteen, I had these tits," she said instead, trying to keep things light. She was always tossing around flippant comments about her boobs, used to the bar clientele who did so as well. But it was always light and teasing. The second she said it to him, though, his eyes dipped to her chest and she felt a familiar swelling of her breasts, a telltale sign of arousal.
"And you liked it enough to stay for ten years?" he asked, surprising her when his gaze lifted much faster than most mens' would.
"I found I'm good at it. I don't frazzle easily. Once you learn the drinks, this is a pretty stress-free career to be in. And the tips are good. What about your story?"
Danny shrugged, looking up as the door opened and people moved in, making him stiffen. She figured it was Anthony that made him tense, seeing as the two had that little altercation his first night on the job. The guy he was with she didn't recognize. And, well, she would have remembered a man like him.
He was a giant and a solid wall of muscle with some indeterminate heritage that she thought was at least in part Puerto Rican given his perfect skin tone and warm brown eyes, several shades lighter than Danny's. He, like was expected in Vin's business partners, was dressed in a suit- deep gray, expensive, perfectly tailored.
Oh, yeah. She'd have remembered him alright.
Apparently there was a new player in town.
Maybe that was all there was to the weird feeling she had been having. Maybe Vin and the others were stressed about some new deal with the hot Puerto Rican guy in the nice suit. It could have really been that simple.
Somehow even just thinking it had her shoulders relaxing slightly.
So it managed to escape her that where she had relaxed, Danny had tensed up.
"Hey, baby-doll," a deep, gravely, hot as all get out masculine voice asked, making her turn to face the bar and find the sexy stranger standing there, giving her a charming perfect-toothed smile that made a dimple press into his cheek. A dimple. Of all the ridiculous but somehow perfect things on a man as impressive as him.
"Hey there," she said, giving him a smile. "What can I get you?"
"Since it would be cheesy to say your number, I'll take Balvenie 40."
Faith's brow lifted at that. Being in the business as long as she had been, she had come to accept one universal truth: you could tell a lot about a man by the way he ordered a drink.
That awkward 'what do you suggest' said he was long overdue for a lay and mistakingly thought he was charming.
The guys who ordered well-level mixed drinks were your average joes.
The ones who ordered drinks straight: scotch, whiskey, vodka, etc., but didn't specify a brand were heavy drinkers who didn't care about quality.
Men who trippingly ordered good brands were usually just trying to impress you, their date, or their work buddies.
But the men who cooly and confidently ordered something like Balvenie 40, a single malt that cost upward of three-grand per bottle, oh yeah, they were something special.
"That is some discerning taste you have there," she said, turning away and reaching for the bottle on the top shelf.