1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Rissa

“Hello? Miss? Over here!” As if the shouting wasn’t enough, there were fingers snapping in the air. Rissa turned to see the three guys in business attire at table four looking annoyed. One of them was holding his hand up, still snapping for her attention.

She wanted to grab those snapping fingers and bend them the wrong way until she heard a crack. Instead, she plastered on a smile and changed course. Three strides brought her to the table. “What can I do for you?”

“You can start by being quicker with the refills,” the guy with the snapping fingers said. “I’m out, and Ted and Doug are almost out. Are you new here or something?”

She managed to keep her smile in place, but only barely. “Sorry about that. What were you all drinking?”

“You don’t know?” the guy asked with a smirk. “Do I have to do your job for you?”

“I believe you got these drinks at the bar,” she pointed out. “You didn’t order them from me.”

“I guess you better go talk to the bartender then,” he said, making a waving motion. “And make mine a double this time.”

Why did people insist on being assholes? It wasn’t a question she needed an answer to, though. What she really wanted was the legal right to beat people up for being twats.

“I’ll check in with Barb and Jeff to find out what you ordered. Do you want to order food while I’m here?” she asked.

To her relief, the three men ordered copious amounts of food. That, along with the alcohol, would drive their bill to one of the highest of the night so far. The tip from them would mean she should be able to make rent. Or at least pay the past due and not get evicted. Not getting evicted was always nice, especially around the holidays. Putting up a Christmas tree in an ancient four-door sedan didn’t really work.

She wished she didn’t know that firsthand.

After taking down their order, she checked in with table six, then headed to the back to put everything in the system. A trip to the bar got her their drinks, which she dropped off on her way to take table three more bread.

Even though it was the day after Thanksgiving and all these people should be home eating leftovers, everyone had decided to spend Friday in the Gaslamp Quarter of downtown San Diego. It almost felt like half of everyone was in the Stuffed Pig. She’d been thrilled to get the job, even if it meant dealing with pricks like the ones at table four. Thankfully, most customers were there to have some fun and were minimally annoying.

For some unknown reason, this was the busiest Friday she’d worked since getting hired eight months ago. Customers started arriving at four and hadn’t let up since. It was wall-to-wall people and now that it was drawing towards eleven at night, they were getting into groups that had already had a few drinks in their system. Things were starting to get rowdy as more obnoxious customers arrived.

Because Rissa’s manager knew he could, he’d given her a split schedule. She’d opened that morning, had to take off for the middle of the day, and now she was set to close. She’d gone home and taken a three-hour nap, but that wasn’t enough to combat the lack of sleep that was currently shortening her temper to only a few millimeters long.

“I hope you don’t expect a tip,” snapping fingers said when she dropped off their drinks. “If you're this bad with everyone, you’re probably used to not getting tipped.”

Make that a single millimeter and this guy was singeing both ends.

His friends laughed as she gave up on smiling and simply walked away. Something grabbed the back of her half apron and jerked, forcing her to stumble a step before catching her balance.

“I wasn’t done talking to you,” snapping fingers said. “You shouldn’t walk away like that. It’s bad manners. You should ask me how you can make it up to me or how you can make me happy.”

Rissa pulled out of his grip and twirled around, breathing heavily. “Don’t touch me.”

“Calm the fuck down! I grabbed your apron, not you,” the guy retorted.

The other men cackled, and one asked her if it was “that time of the month.”

Backing up a few steps, she focused on not giving into any violent impulses. Once she was out of reach, she turned and walked away. Stomping to the back, she slammed her serving tray down on the counter.

Ned gave her a sympathetic look. “I’ll trade table twelve for that one,” he offered.

She nodded her head, not trusting herself to speak. Ned went off to check in with his other tables when she saw her manager talking to the men at table four. Steve had on his smarmy smile as he nodded his head vigorously at whatever the guys were saying to him. Then he looked up and caught her eye. He pointed to his tiny office, a clear indication he wanted to meet her there.

Great.

The moment he stepped in behind her, he started yelling.

“You can’t treat customers that way. We aren’t the local dive bar where the guys expect to be harassed. You have to be polite to everyone, Rissa!”

“They’re assholes,” she countered.

“The customer is always right,” he retorted. “You’re going to march your fat ass over to their table, apologize, and tell them their drinks are on the house because it’s coming out of your pay.”

Rissa blinked at Steve. “You can’t do that.”

When he smirked, she had her answer. Right. That was it. The last little bit of her ability to care about consequences was officially gone.

“Fuck you!” she yelled, enjoying the way Steve’s mouth dropped open. She stepped closer to him. He might be taller, but there was no way he wasn’t intimidated by the rage radiating off her. “My ass isn’t fat. It’s fierce, and you were blessed to have me working here for as long as I did!”

With that, she turned and threw open the office door, enjoying the way it slammed into the wall. Talking quieted and eyes turned to her. Holding her head up high, she walked to the section of the counter where employees were allowed to store purses and lunch boxes. After grabbing her bag, she pulled her apron off and tossed it on the counter.

“Sorry, Ned,” she called out as she headed to the door.

“Was it something I said?” snapping fingers joked loudly. His taunting voice and the sound of his friends' raucous laughter filled the almost silent restaurant. “Women are so sensitive these days. Oops, did I use the wrong pronouns? That body is so fucking fat, there might be a dick hiding in those pants. Wanna show me what you’re packin’?”

Nope, she couldn’t let that go.

Rissa didn’t break stride as she grabbed Dori’s empty tray out of her hands and swung it at snapping fingers’ head. The hit was solid, and his head flew back. After a stunned second, he covered his bleeding nose with his hands and started howling in pain.

“If you’re gonna be stupid, you better be tough,” she said, tossing the tray at his feet and walking away. People were shouting, and Steve even yelled at someone to detain her, but no one touched her. It was best they didn’t; she would’ve loved another excuse for violence.

Once outside, she angry walked east. Her car was parked half a mile away, and she needed to get there before Steve found one of the cops always roaming the Gaslamp Quarter and sent them after her.

Snapping-fingers guy would probably file an assault report on her, but if she could get out of the area, she might be able to avoid any legal entanglement. The address Steve had on file was from three moves ago. The cops wouldn’t be knocking on her door tonight.

Despite the rage flowing through her body, she noticed a sign she could’ve sworn wasn’t there when she’d walked to work earlier in the day. The large hand-carved wooden sign made her stop in her tracks.

Sanguine

We have the perfect drink

for every client

Huh, that was interesting. She should be marching her size sixteen booty to her car, but instead, she was drawn to pull the heavy, ornate door open and step inside. One drink wouldn’t hurt, and after what had just happened, she deserved something tasty.

Unlike the bustling street outside, the place was only half full and surprisingly quiet. There was jazz music coming from artfully hidden speakers, but the volume was so low she could barely hear it. It was also shockingly dark, with only pools of light illuminating individual tables and the short mahogany bar.

There was one patron at the bar, and he was fiddling with his phone. Taking the farthest seat from him, Rissa dropped her purse on the bar top and waited for the single bartender to finish pouring a glass of red wine.

She took the opportunity to study the guy. He was average height, probably around five foot ten or eleven. He had thin lips, high sharp cheekbones, and a slightly hooked nose. It would’ve looked ugly on anyone else, but it worked for him. He looked exotic and noble instead of awkward. The arrogant tilt of his mouth and well-groomed, slicked-back hair made her think of the Italian mafia.

If she was in a better mood, she’d definitely try flirting with him.

To her surprise, after he carefully poured his wine, he didn’t set it down in front of the other guy at the bar. Instead, he sipped it himself, then grimaced.

“Vinegar?” she asked.

He panned his gaze to her, slow and deliberate. His expression shifted from disdain to mild interest as he set the glass down. “That’s an odd drink request.”

She chuckled and pointed to his discarded wine glass. “Sometimes old wines turn to vinegar. You didn’t seem to like the taste, so I thought maybe that’s what happened.”

“It’s not vinegar, but the vintage isn’t quite what I wanted,” he explained, pausing on the word vintage as if he wanted to use a different noun.

“Will your boss be angry if he finds out you’re sampling stuff while working?” she asked. Some bars encouraged their staff to drink a little with the customers, but this place seemed too fancy for that.

“I’m sure my boss will be lenient with me,” he said. Again he paused at the words my boss , as if debating his word choice. “What would you like to drink?”

Rissa eyed the collection of expensive liquors lining the wall behind him. She wasn’t an expert, but she was guessing nothing there went for under twenty-five a pour. Grabbing her purse, she pulled out her remaining twenty dollars and offered it to him.

“I’d like whatever this can get me,” she said. “I like smooth and smoky, but I won’t be picky if it’s got a good kick.”

He eyed the twenty, one of his thick black eyebrows winging up. She got the impression he wasn’t impressed with her crumpled bill. Suddenly feeling underdressed in her old black slacks, nondescript black shirt, and practical black tennis shoes, Rissa started withdrawing the twenty. If she wanted a drink, she should be buying a bottle of something and taking it home, not spending the last of her cash at an overpriced bar.

“Never mind,” she grumped. Before she could withdraw the bill, he plucked it from her hand with startling speed.

“No need to go anywhere,” the guy said. “This is plenty. We’re having a special today. This will get you several drinks of my choice.”

Was he messing with her? “This place doesn't look like it has specials.”

“Tonight we do,” he responded. Turning, he looked through the bottles on the wall until he found the one he wanted. Plucking it off a top shelf, he reached for a tumbler and poured her a generous amount. She was surprised at how clumsy the pour was; he even spilled a little when tipping the bottle. Was this guy a new hire? Usually, places didn’t let brand-new bartenders work alone. Then again, in a bar this fancy, he was probably valued for his knowledge of esoteric alcohols instead of practical skills.

Turning back to her, he set the glass down with a clink.

“This should fit all your requirements.” He retrieved his own wineglass. Leaning a hip against the counter, he tipped his glass at her. “Na’Zdorovie!”

“Cheers,” she responded and picked up the glass. The moment the amber liquid hit her tongue, it was obvious she was drinking something expensive and exclusive. The rich flavor filled her mouth and flowed smoothly down her throat.

She might have moaned.

“You approve?” he asked with a chuckle.

“Worth every asshole I had to put up with to earn that twenty,” she agreed.

A sexy scowl formed on the man's face. “Tell me about them, and I’ll present you their skulls as gifts.”

“Aww, that’s sweet,” she cooed. “But I already hit one in the face hard enough to hopefully break his nose.” She held up the drink. “And this is going a long way to making me forget all about it.”

“Then I’m pleased to be of service,” he said. He offered her his hand. “I’m Anatoly Novak.”

She reached across the bar. “Larissa Jones, but call me Rissa.”

Their hands met, and she could’ve sworn she felt a jolt of electricity jump between them. His eyes sharpened, and his hand tightened around hers, making it impossible to pull away.

“Rissa,” he whispered. “Your name flows across my tongue like honey.”

It wasn’t often she was caught by surprise, but the combination of Anatoly’s words and electrifying touch lit up the part of her brain that wanted to purr and rub against him.

Keeping her hand trapped in his, Anatoly leaned over the bar top and put his face close to hers. “I’m going to kiss you, human.”

Her response was to press her lips to his. Then she lost herself in the kiss. Heat flowed across her skin as Anatoly claimed her mouth. His hand cupped her cheek, sending more sparks skittering down her spine.

She heard a moan and was startled to realize it was coming from her. Blindly, she reached until her hand found Anatoly’s shoulder. She could feel hard muscle under the soft fabric of the shirt and had the almost irresistible urge to tug the fabric until the buttons gave up, and she could touch his flesh.

Anatoly ended the kiss and shifted his lips to kiss her jaw, then down her neck. She gasped and moved her head back to give him better access.

Rissa could count on zero fingers the number of times she’d gotten carried away by a kiss. It was an absolute shock for her to open her eyes to realize she was still in a very public bar. She started to sit back, but Anatoly grabbed the back of her head to hold her in place.

“I’m not done yet.”

His growled words should’ve been threatening, but they weren’t. Heat flushed her skin and excitement pooled in her belly. She didn’t fight him when he slotted his mouth over hers again.

She wasn’t usually one for forceful lovers, but this guy was the exception. Putting both hands on the counter, she stretched closer, desperate to have more of him.

A throat cleared, making Anatoly jerk and pull away. Startled by his movement, she overbalanced and tipped forward. Everything happened so fast, Rissa didn’t have time to react. She saw the edge of the floor rushing toward her face. Her fingers scrabbled to find something to grab, but there was nothing but the smooth bar top under her hands.

She closed her eyes to brace for impact, but strong hands grabbed her and lifted her in the air as if she weighed no more than a child.

The world flipped around, and she was set on her feet. The grip on her softened but didn’t let go as she stumbled a little. Opening her eyes, she found herself behind the bar. A stranger stood on the other side of the bar top.

His dark, sinful brown eyes caught her first. It took a while for her to take in the rest of his classically handsome face, shoulder-length, curly hair, and muscled build. It made her breath catch.

He was gorgeous.

“I didn’t expect you back so soon,” Anatoly said from behind her. He sounded… embarrassed? Who was this stranger to Anatoly? His boss?

Worried about getting him in trouble, she pulled out of his grip and moved away from him, toward the pass-through at the end of the bar.

The gorgeous stranger was staring at her with narrowed eyes. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Leaving,” she said, pulling up the pass-through. What a perfect end to the day. She’d gotten fired and might have gotten this poor guy fired. Fuck!

“Zan, she’s—” Anatoly started to say, but Zan held up a hand and cut him off.

“No, Anatoly! What the hell? She’s hu–a stranger, and you don’t make her stop when she gets pushy? I’d never do that to you!”

Rissa froze, noticing a wedding ring on Zan’s left hand. Whipping her head around, she saw a heavy signet ring on Anatoly’s left hand. She couldn’t be blamed for not realizing he was married. This was all on Anatoly.

Righteous anger filled her.

“You’re married?” she shouted at Anatoly. Rage reignited in her, and she smashed the pass-through against the wall, putting it into the drywall and bending one of the hinges.

Without giving herself time to think, she stomped over to him and slammed her fist into his nose. He let out a startled gasp and rocked back, covering his nose with both hands.

“Rissa, no this isn’t—”

She wasn’t interested in his excuses. Turning on her heels, she strode out from behind the bar. She heard footsteps behind her, but Zan slid up, blocking the other man from getting to her.

“Let her leave so we can chat,” he growled.

“Gods be damned!” Anatoly cursed, his voice sounding nasally. Rissa didn’t hear Zan’s response because she was already out the door.