For 100 Days(27)

“Okay,” I relent because she’s not going to let it go anyway. “It was really great sex. And . . . not that random.”

“Meaning, someone we know?” When I shrug coyly, her face compresses into a frown. “If you tell me that in a moment of weakness, you and Joel—”

“What? Hell no!”

I bark out a laugh at the ridiculousness of the idea, and, as if our thoughts have summoned the beast, I see Joel’s brunette head swivel in our direction from the other side of the restaurant. He narrows a scowl on us from where he’s standing at a four-top, playing the gregarious host alongside Kimmie, the one server who can tolerate his overbearing management style and lack of basic humanity.

Then again, Kimmie’s not much better herself. The petite blonde has had her lips permanently affixed to our manager’s ass since he hired her.

“Definitely not Joel,” I assure Tasha as we both get busy filling drink orders while we continue to talk.

“But I’ve met this guy?”

I nod. “More or less.”

She considers me for a moment, then shakes her head as if dismissing one guess for another. It only takes her a second longer before her expression lights up in disbelief. “No. No, you did not.” She drops her bar cloth in the small sink and rounds on me, both hands fisted on her hips. “That guy from the building? The one who almost ran us over at the elevator?”

“To be fair, I was the one who almost ran him over,” I offer lamely.

Tasha gapes. “We’re talking about that guy—tall, dark, totally arrogant. Acted like he owned the damn building or something. We’re talking about the superior prick?”

Oh, God. She has no idea how superior. “That’s him.”

“Avery Ross, you little slut!” she gasps, grinning like a loon. “Tell me everything.” I giggle and she smacks me lightly in the bicep. “I’m not kidding. You know how I spent most of last night? Watching TV in Antonio’s ratty sweats with dried baby formula in my hair. I want details. I need details. Let me live vicariously, at least.”

I laugh, then start telling her about meeting Nick at the art gallery, but I’ve hardly spoken three sentences before we hear Joel pointedly clear his throat behind us on our side of the bar. He crowds right in, obviously intending to break up our brief conversation.

“Tasha. Gimme four shots of whiskey for table nine.” No please. No thank you. But that’s Joel.

“Sure thing,” she says, rolling her eyes at me as she pivots out of his shadow to take care of his order. “You want top shelf for those?”

He huffs out an impatient breath. “Do I look like I give a shit?” I don’t escape his glower, either. “Kimmie says you left her hanging fifteen minutes for a flight of tequila shots earlier tonight.”

“What? That’s not true.”

In fact, it’s a bald-faced lie. I glance past Joel’s round shoulder to where his little pet is giving one of her tables a prolonged view of her cleavage in her low-cut black shirt. I’m not sure who is the one trying to jerk me around, but Joel is quick to make his point.

“You’ve been here a long time, Avery. Don’t start messing that up now.” He wags his finger between Tasha and me. “I see any more slacking off back here, I’ll dock you both an hour. Don’t think I won’t do it.”

I want to tell him to get screwed so bad, the words are jumping on the tip of my tongue. But I can’t afford to lose the hour’s pay, let alone this job.

Tasha sees my struggle for restraint and rescues me by drawing Joel’s attention away. “Here you go. Four shots of Glenlivet, ready to roll.”

Without so much as a word of acknowledgment, he snatches the tray of drinks and carries it out to the table.





Chapter 13



It’s nearly midnight by the time Joel sends me on break. Subtlety is not his forte, but he’s not even attempting it when he finally comes over to the bar to announce it’s my turn to grab a quick bite before we head toward closing time. The fact that he makes a point of checking his watch as he grants my fifteen minutes only sets my teeth further on edge.

Tasha gives me a dramatic eye-roll as he struts away from the bar. “I can’t believe he made you wait until everyone else went first. What an asshole.”

I shrug as I finish running a customer’s card. “He’s got issues, obviously.”

Tasha snorts. “And a very small dick, I’m sure.”

“Ew. Let’s not even try to imagine, shall we?”

She laughs and grabs the tab from my fingers. “Go on. I got this for you.”