The O Intention
Chapter One
Alix
I blow air out of my cheeks. It’s just another day at work, a typical, quiet Monday night with nothing to do. I inch up my black skirt and adjust my thigh-highs. Had I known they were going to roll down my legs all night, I would have worn full pantyhose. It’s not all bad, working at the lavish Tempt Hotel in California, but on Monday nights, it sucks. I glance at the clock and I’m unable to help the wide grin that spreads over my lips. Eleven p.m.
Knock off time!
“I’m outta here!” I shout to the new girl who’s working behind the bar.
I don’t know her name, which is really slack on my part. I’ve been at work with her since three p.m. and not once have I asked for her name. It’s just one of those days. You know, the ones where you don’t care quite enough to do anything other than what you normally do, even if that means getting to know the new employee?
Yep. One of those.
I bend low and pull my hand bag out from underneath the bar. We’re not allowed handbags by the bar or register, but when I get really bored, I like to play games on my phone. I turn to the new girl who watches me with that ‘we’re not allowed to do that’ look and I press my index finger to my lips. I hope she doesn’t tell my boss—then again, I suppose it doesn’t matter. Mr. O’Ryan is never around. Ever. I’ve worked here for two years and only once have I caught a glimpse of him—or more accurately—the back of his bald head.
As fast as my fingers will let me, I undo the buttons of my black and red blouse and stuff my work shirt into my handbag. The air-conditioning blows across the skin my tank top exposes, leaving goosebumps in its wake. With a shiver, I drag out my small, white coat and pull it on over my shoulders.
“See you,” the new girl mutters, twirling her blonde ponytail around her index finger.
I give her a quick wave and then stop in my tracks as the urge for a nice cold, strong beverage tickles my tongue. I’m catching a taxi home so I’m sure it won’t hurt to have a quick drink before I leave. Maybe it’ll help me sleep when I get home to my empty apartment. It wasn’t always empty. A month ago, I lived with my boyfriend. A month ago, I’d go home to a cooked meal, a good book and awesome orgasms. A month ago, my boyfriend told me to quit my job so we could settle down and get married and have children. A month ago… I broke up with him and kicked him out because he wanted all of the things I didn’t—all of the things I couldn’t give him. I’m not the settle down type. I never have been and I doubt I ever will be. I like my job. I like working late and drinking when my day is over. I like not having to worry about my weight just so that I can fit into a dress I’m only going to wear once. And I like not having to worry about stretching my vagina or baby proofing my house. It’s not who I am.
I turn back to the bar. “Can I get a vodka on ice?”
She blinks her big blue eyes and glances over her shoulder. “Straight?”
“Is there any other way?” I smile and lean lazily against the bar surface made of Agarwood.
I’m ashamed I know that. A few weeks back, I had sex with a guy who spent the evening telling me about the expensive timber. He claimed ‘wood was his thing’ and that was enough foreplay for me. In my defense, he had really nice eyes, but he was a really lousy lay. I think I’ve had sneezes longer than the one night in hell with that guy.
With a tight, judgy smile, she turns and prepares my drink. While I wait, I tap my fingers against the surface and glance around the room. Maybe I don’t want to go straight after my drink, either. There’s nothing for me there, so I might as well have a little fun here before I go. The alcohol is needed because no fun adventure starts off with me being sober.
Ever.
And maybe, if I’m lucky, I can stumble home not believing that, a month ago, I made a horrible mistake.
The girl comes back with my drink and slides it across the bar. “That’ll be—”
“On the house,” I tell her with a wink. I don’t think I’ve ever paid for a drink here. Not in the last month anyway.
She glances around the bar again. “Are you sure?”
I remember when I had the ‘new employee’ fear. I shrug and draw the glass to my mouth. “No, but I won’t tell if you don’t.”
I turn away from the new girl and head for the lounge bar. They have TV’s in there—with cable too—and at this time of night on a weekday, only young, young girls and rich, lonely men hang out in the lounge. Oh, and me, I suppose. A twenty nine year old bartender with no college qualifications, no husband, no kids and nothing better to do on a Monday night after her shift. With a heavy sigh, I drop into a soft, low seat by a small round table and begin people watching. Almost immediately, I can tell who is here to relax and who is on the prowl.