The O Intention(7)

Go figure.





Chapter Two





Alix



I open my eyes and immediately hate myself. What the hell was I thinking last night? Expensive suit, nice hair, and smooth voice does not guarantee a good time. I roll over and shield my face with a fluffy, pink cushion. Though I came home late, feeling tired as hell, I didn’t sleep well. I spent eighty percent of the night/morning tossing, turning and cussing myself out, ten percent reading and rolling my eyes at the oh-so convenient smutty sexy times, and the last ten percent actually sleeping. Now, with only three hours sleep under my belt, I’ve got to go back to work. The good news is my shift is short—brunch to four p.m. I’d call in sick, but it’s my favorite shift. It’s quiet, but not completely dead, and my friend, Sadie, is working. She’s married with four children, so she usually only works the day shifts. When she’s not working, she’s too busy with her family, so the only time I get to see her pretty face is on shifts like these.

With a huff, I throw off my pillow and kick off my blankets. Sadie is going to get such a kick out of last night when I tell her what happened. She’s always telling me I should keep my nose out of books. She claims the kind I read are bad for my brain and that they’re unrealistic and unhealthy. Maybe she’s right… maybe my expectations are a little ‘unrealistic’. I peer at my paperback copy of ‘Bared to You’ that lies on my bedside table and snort. Sadie has no idea what she’s talking about. She willingly had four kids, so her judgment has to be a little obscured. If Sadie met Gideon Cross, I’m certain she’d ditch the kids and fall for the same suit and tie act I did last night. Or not. She’s always preferred tight jeans and a cowboy hat on a man.

I swing my legs off the edge of the bed and sink my toes into the fluffy, plum colored carpet. A second later, I hear a low rumble at my door and I smile. Sure enough, the door slowly inches open and in stumbles Four, my fat Persian cat. I watch as he stretches his paws out in front of him and straightens his spine.

“Mo,” he complains, his voice barely heard.

Four has laryngeal paralysis, a condition that’s quite rare in cats. Because of it, his voice sounds more like an old man crying ‘no’ than a cat meowing. I found him by the Ferris wheel when I was in Long Beach two years ago and aptly chose his name. His caramel fur was matted and dry, feeling more like dreadlocks than fur. I’m still not sure if I stole Four or rescued him. Either way, he’s mine now.

With a husky ‘mo’, Four drags his large, round body over to me and nudges my shin with his round head. As I stare down at him, he peers up at me with his golden eyes. I wonder if all Persian cats have eyes adjacent to their nose. I wonder if all cats sleep all day and night and still look like they haven’t slept a day in their life.

“Hungry?” I ask him, reaching down to give him a hard scratch behind his ear.

“Mo.”

I rake my fingers through my hair and sigh before pushing myself off the bed. In a hurry, Four rushes out the door and I trail sleepily behind him.

Today, work is going to suck.



***



“Wait!” Sadie demands, slapping me on the arm. The sudden movement causes the head of the beer I’m pouring to flow over the edge and run down the glass. “You did what?”

I glare sideways at her and let go of the tap.

“You know what I did.” I say, not wanting to repeat myself in front of the gentleman waiting for his beer. I slide the beer across the bar and the man taps his credit card against the pay block. It clears instantly.

Approved.

Without a thank you, he takes his beer and goes back to his table, so to avoid eye contact with Sadie, I grab the nearest towel and begin wiping down the bar.

“You have no shame.” She teases, folding her arms tightly over her stupidly large chest. “At your place of work? You’re lucky you didn’t get caught! You know you’re not allowed to fuck the customers.”

I roll my eyes. “Who’s going to know? Mr. O’Ryan is never here and I know you’re not going to tell him.”

“You two talking about Mr. O’Ryan?” Marise asks as he walks by with a tray full of clean glasses. “His son recently moved into the penthouse suite.”

Sadie and I watch as he dumps the tray on the back bench. Then, he turns around and flicks his long, black bangs out of his face. “He’s selling the hotel and wants to keep a close eye on things.”

“Good, maybe having him around is incentive for Alix to keep her legs closed.”

Marise chuckles as I scoff and ball the tea towel up in my hands.

“Screw you.” I say, not nearly as offended as I should be. “You make me sound like some kind of nympho. Out of the thousands of customers I’ve served, I’ve only done three of them, not including the man last night. Technically, he doesn’t count. I found him when my shift was finished.”