They don't.
"Yeah, well, sometimes you make concessions. I already told Pres and he's good with it. Just admit you're more pissed off that I made you serve them after you stomped your foot and said no." I cock an eyebrow and watch her eyes narrow.
"I don't like you." She crosses her arms, but the corner of her lip twitches.
"Lie." I smile and she laughs. "Now go back out there and chew some poor guy's head off to make you feel better."
"Yeah, the asshole that has caused trouble in here twice before is in tonight. He gets his third strike, he's banned."
"Don't take so much joy in playing dictator, Hitler."
She flips me off, before walking out the door.
I chuckle to myself and settle behind the desk. It's going to take hours to get through what needs doing, and that's before I even look at shit for the MC. I question why I agreed to take this all on, and it isn't the first time.
Elbow deep in invoices and pay slips, I jump when the door opens again and Whip saunters in. He takes the seat in front of the desk, spinning it and resting his arms on the back. I know Pres has a mountain of shit going on, so him sending our sergeant at arms to check in isn't a surprise. "Pres send you here because of the Hell Raisers?"
"I was out anyway." His hand runs through his hair, pushing it back off his face as he looks around the office. "You get the assistant?"
I nod, tossing Jasmine's application at him. He catches it in one hand. Quick fucker. "Here's her file. Have Wrench run a background check."
"Brick said he saw the pretty little thing leave. Called her a mouse." He runs the file back and forth between his fingers, eyes on me. I know he's thinking the same thing I am.
Will she be able to handle it here?
I ignore the fact that Brick noticing her pisses me off. He's right about her demeanor, though. Jasmine is nothing like the other women we have here. I don't know anything about Jasmine Burke, but I have a feeling . . .
Something I have to act on.
I just have no fucking idea what it is.
***
Traffic at this time of the morning sucks. I've got that much shit to do, I wanted to be here earlier. Now it's ten to nine and I'm only just walking through the doors. I hate being late. It pisses me off.
I find Jasmine sitting on a chair at one of the tables, her back stiff, her gaze zeroing in on the pole in the center of the stage. God, she's beautiful. Her dark hair is pulled back into a ponytail, her skin glowing under the dim lighting of the room. Her brown eyes shine with a sadness that makes me want to know more about her.
She's clearly been here a while. Early for her first shift. Beautiful and punctual.
My kind of woman.
Clearing my throat, I make my way toward her slowly, so as not to spook her. She's looking around, eyes darting all over the place, her foot tapping, wringing her hands. Her shoulders are stiff. I can sense the fight or flight response in her. One wrong move from me, she'll be up and out of here in no time.
I cough and she looks over at me, standing up and brushing her hands over her button-up shirt and skirt.
Before I can say anything, Tracie's voice fills the room. She's on the phone, yelling about a shipment being wrong, and this is Tracie somewhat calm. The mouth on that woman. I shake my head.
Jasmine's eyes track Tracie to the bar. They're wide and her mouth has dropped. She turns away, wrapping her arms around her chest. "Maybe . . . maybe this was a bad idea."
I hold up a hand. "Your shift hasn't even started. Don't give up yet." I nod toward the bar. "Tracie is all bark. And besides, you'll be in the back with me."
Chewing her bottom lip, she looks around before her eyes land on me. She waits, frozen in place while she stares at me. A lock of her hair falls against her cheek and she jumps, her face flushing as a shaking hand darts up to tuck the wayward strand behind her ear.
"Have you ever worked in an office?" I ask, crossing my arms.
She shakes her head, and the light bounces off the wetness that has appeared in the corner of her eyes.
"Come," I say, heading down the hallway. Her heels click close behind me as we make our way toward the office and an image of her legs over my shoulders still wearing those heels comes into my head. I swallow deeply, trying to ease my impending hard-on.
I am so fucked.
"I need your help with paperwork. As you can see, I have a shit-ton and no idea what the hell to do with it." I wave my hand toward the desk, gesturing to the mess that looks no more organized than it did yesterday, despite hours of work.