4. A Girl’s Got To Eat

Chapter 4

A Girl's Got To Eat

HUNTER

W hen I bought The Blue Whiskey, the first thing I did was tear down the original building and rebuild it. It seemed like the perfect place to set up my operations. I needed a home base for my network in Los Angeles, and a club was the best front.

Despite being a nightclub, the building is built like a fortress for my protection. The whole club is sectioned into different portions. The ground floor contains the bar and the dance floor, while there are private rooms on the first floor that are paid for by the hour. My office is on the second floor in the back of the club, next to the offices for my bodyguards and other side ventures.

LA is a party city, but all that glitters is also tainted by dirt. The number of gangs and criminal factions in the city has grown at an exponential rate. Havens like The Blue Whiskey allow members of those groups to meet openly with an unspoken rule of no bloodshed. The few times that rule has been broken, the consequences have been dire for those individuals.

I have been sure to be ruthless in enforcing the rules, which is why most will always toe the line. After all, I have a reputation to uphold as Los Angeles's underworld mediator. The sole man who can help negotiate disputes or help make a problem disappear.

Because that's what I do.

I fix problems and make them go away by using whatever means necessary. However, while I play the role of the puppeteer in the underground world, I have my own set of rules and morals that I live by.

The people who work in any of my establishments are under my protection. I also have strict rules in place about how the staff is supposed to be treated. The Blue Whiskey is my base of operations in LA, but I don't interfere in the running of the place. I trust the people I hire. So, to see the way the manager that I hired personally, refusing to step in when a server was being assaulted out of fear for his own safety had my blood boiling. I gave him ample time to step in, but it was the hissing kitten who did so, fangs bared, armed with expensive wine.

Obviously, Steve has to go, but I need to hire a replacement for him before I get rid of him. Fortunately for me, I have my eye on a petite woman with deep, honey-kissed skin and a penchant for justice and violence.

As people dance and grind against each other, I make my way around the dance floor toward one of the open-mouthed booths. I can see my security team mix into the crowd and take up discreet places around me. However, I'm not interested in them.

I have a clear view of the bar, and just as I had predicted, Megan slips in to relieve the bartender they call Harry. From across the room, I watch her chatting with the clientele, smiling at them as they keep finding excuses to talk to her. But I can see how tired she looks. Her eyes give it away. I'm learning that Megan's eyes may always tell me the truth.

I track her every movement, and I notice one of the customers getting a little fresh with her as she turns around to prepare his drink. My eyes narrow, and my body is automatically moving toward them when I go still. She's stepped away in a deliberate act and slides his drink across the counter to him. While it's smart of her to remove herself from the situation, it bothers me to see her have to smile at that little fucker.

I glance towards Lars, who's sitting at a table close to me. He's worked with me the longest and understands my non-verbal gestures. He immediately stands and strides over to the bar.

Megan sees him and blinks.

Her eyes widen as he grabs the customer, who had been trying to feel her up, by his collar and throws him at the bouncer's feet. The bouncer is quick to respond as he further drags the man outside. The whole thing happens in under five seconds, and Megan is left staring.

Lars returns to his seat, and I see Megan looking around the room. Suddenly, as if she senses my gaze, she meets my eyes.

The color drains from her face once she recognizes who I am.

I lift my hand and crook a finger in her direction, silently ordering her to come here. The flash of quick defiance in her eyes is so fascinating to watch, and then her jaw tightens before she deliberately looks away. It's been years since somebody turned down an order from me. Under the flicker of anger that flares within me, there's also a subtle curiosity.

She's really going to make me go over to her.

When I stand up, my team looks confused. They're not used to me approaching a woman or an employee in my club...ever. I typically wait for people to come to me. I shake my head at them discreetly before making my way over to the bar. Megan is serving a skinny-looking man with tattoos all over his face when she looks at me and freezes.

"When I tell a woman to come over to me, she usually obeys," I say to her.

Although the music is deafening, she hears my words, and her pretty eyes turn into slits, "Congratulations, that's quite an achievement."

The corner of my lips quirks at her response. "I see you've decided to come back to work."

Her face turns stiff at my casual statement, and she gives me a wary look. "Yeah, well, a girl's gotta eat."

She clearly doesn't want to engage with me, so I don't force her. Taking up a seat at the bar, I just watch her work. However, her movements have become somewhat stilted, and she keeps throwing nervous glances in my direction. I just order my usual whisky and sip it occasionally, watching her. The people sitting around me move away, giving me wary looks, and I'm left alone at the end of the bar.

There's a rhythm to her movement, and when she realizes that I have no intention of bothering her, she begins to relax. The crowd at the bar grows thinner as the music slows down, and when Megan is between orders, I ask, "What do you think of my suit?"

She gives me a wary look. "Why?"

I shrug, bringing the glass of whiskey to my lips, my eyes on her. "You had such strong opinions on my last one. So, I thought I'd ask."

Her face flushes as she sucks her teeth. "You know that was an accident. And your henchmen, I mean friends, pointed guns at me. I'd say we're pretty even at this point."

My lips twitch as I shrug. "Maybe. So tell me," I tilt my head towards the club dance floor. "Why work the late night shift at a club? It's not like you don't know the kind of crowd that comes here."

She picks up a large bar rag and starts wiping down the marble bar top. "Are you including yourself in that?"

"You seem to have a lack of self-awareness," I muse, my eyes taking in the angry glitter in her eyes. "I haven't seen you here for the past few days. I thought you quit."

"I didn't quit!" She snaps at me in a low voice. "I thought they fired me after the fiasco with you."

"Were you told that you were fired?" I ask, curious.

"No," she mutters, and I hear a hint of guilt in her voice. "But I was sure they would, so I didn't show up."

When she looks up at me, her eyes are all fired up, "The only reason they didn't fire me is that I have a good boss."

"You mean, Steve?" I ask in a stilted tone.

"No." Her movements are becoming more aggressive as she wipes the counter with an intensity as if she's determined to remove every stain there's ever been from it. "Mr. Middleton. He personally sent people to check if I was okay. One of them is here tonight. I only came back because of him. He's a decent boss."

My hand is limp as I stare at her, baffled by her misdirected praise. My orders had been to make sure she came back willingly or to drag her back here kicking and screaming. It's probably better that she doesn't know the last half of it unless I want to remove the proud glint in her eyes.

It's difficult not to smirk as I ask, "Have you ever met Mr. Middleton?"

"No," she mumbles. "There's no need for all of that."

"No need?" I respond. "If he's such a great employer, do you not plan on thanking him?"

She gives me an incredulous look. "Why would I put my hand in the lion's mouth?"

I chuckle softly. "I thought he was a wonderful boss."

Megan stops what she's doing and frowns at me. "Why am I even talking to you about this? You nearly got me fired. Go away."

She finishes wiping down the counter, and I watch her as she throws the cloth away, wash her hands, and dry the batch of freshly washed glasses.

"You look like a college student," I say as if I hadn't just read her entire file a few hours ago.

"I am," she says tersely. "So, stop talking to me. It's a waste of your time."

With that, she moves away, and for the rest of the shift, she makes sure to stay at the other end of the bar.

I'm not insulted.

I have to admire a woman who trusts her instincts because I am definitely someone to stay away from.

The advantage of having her back to me for most of the shift is being able to watch her pear-shaped ass move at warp speed. She waits on customers, pours the drinks, rings them up at the register, and cleans up the bar top in record time. She knows what she's doing. She's good at it.

I don't usually date women. My style is more along the lines of fucking them until they can't walk and then having my driver take them wherever they want to go next. But my usual pool is filled with simpering women who are satisfied with the jewelry and branded gifts as a thank you for their time. They praise me in an attempt to stroke my ego, fuck me for a night, and then usually try their best to get my attention during the rest of the week while I ignore them. To be honest, I'm bored with the whole routine. But never have I come across a mouthy little thing like Megan. So far, she amuses me.

In another world, she might be a woman I'd be interested in seeing for more than one night, but I don't have the patience or interest in something that complicated. Instead, I'm thinking Megan might just be management material and the perfect person to replace Steve at least for the time being.

The fact that she hasn't realized who I am is probably going to work in my favor. It'll give me the time to observe her so that I don't make the same mistake I made with the dimwit.

Plus, I have to admit, it's kind of fun to play with her like this. I'm starting to think that she's the most interesting person I've met in a long while, and in my business, that's saying a whole hell of a lot.

I don't typically have…a lot of fun.