8. Background Check

Chapter 8

Background Check

HUNTER

I t was my lack of supervision that allowed a man like Steve to mismanage my club. I got too relaxed, which is why I won't be making the same mistake with Megan.

The private booth on this floor has a clear view through the glass window, although it's tinted glass meant for people inside to view the entire club, but not the other way around. On the other side, it looks like a mirror.

I make a few calls as I often do in my office, but I spend much of the evening watching Megan show the new bartender the ropes. She looks nothing short of professional, but I keep recalling what she felt like pressed against me.

There had been this confused heat in her eyes as if she didn't quite know how to handle her own emotions. That served as my first indication that my mouthy little kitten isn't very experienced. She's too young for my taste. I prefer women my own age who know their way around a dick and how to please a man in bed without much instruction.

Megan would need to be taught.

I gently rub my bottom lip with my thumb as I gaze at her figure. It might not be a completely unenjoyable experience teaching her. I have to wonder what she'd be like with my cock inside of her.

Will her prickly attitude fade when I feed it to her?

Will she be demanding in bed or totally submissive?

My new manager is quite the little puzzle. It's a pity I can't check and see. All I'd need is one night, but romantic relationships of any kind with each other are off-limits to employees of the club. It's my own rule, which I have no intention of breaking. What example would I be setting if I did?

I see her leave her post to go back to the kitchen, and curiosity has me following her when she doesn't return. And that's when I overhear the words ‘...made me beg on my knees.'

The words before and after register for me as well, but imagining Megan, fiery, smart-mouthed Megan, having her self-respect stripped from her at any age makes me grind my jaw for some reason.

It's an unsettling image.

It's the cook who notices me first, and I can see the shock on his face as he recognizes me. At one time, I thought my identity was a complete secret from all that work here, but I guess I'm not surprised that he knows. He's been working here for a couple of years now. He'd be an idiot not to have figured it out by now.

However, when Megan looks over to see me standing there, I can see a wave of nausea covering her face.

"What? Why are you here? This isn't your office."

Like most of our interactions, the inappropriate words just burst out of her, but I don't respond. I have to get my temper under control. I cannot believe what I just heard, and it's in my DNA to want to do something about it, mainly because it's...her.

The cook slinks off, leaving her alone with me. He knows his place, which is probably why he's been working here so long.

"I was updating the shifts," she says, her voice cautious. "Billy needs some extra work."

When I say nothing, she looks alarmed. "If I did something wrong, just tell me. Don't just stand there glaring like you want to reprimand me."

It's the abrupt response that drags me back to reality. Megan has respect for process but not for authority, and that shit isn't going to fly.

I force my voice to be normal. "You keep forgetting that I'm your employer."

"No, I don't. How can I? You and your minions remind me everywhere I turn."

I ignore her rebuttal and focus my attention on her clothes. It's the easiest thing to focus on since I don't want to address the real issue. She's not dressed like she normally would be for work. She's a laid-back kind of girl who tends to wear jeans that fit her ass like a glove and slightly distressed tees. Tonight, though, her outfit is more like a sexy secretary. She's wearing a fitted collared top and pencil skirt and has on much more makeup than I've ever seen her wear. It doesn't seem like a look she would put together. It's as if someone dressed her up like their own personal Barbie doll.

"I told you to wear something appropriate for your new position."

She looks down at her blue button-up blouse and black pencil skirt.

"What's wrong with this? It's professional."

I walk over to her and reach out to touch the fabric of her blouse. "It's too tight, and it's tacky."

When her eyes widen, I wonder if she's going to have a snarky comeback, but she snaps her mouth shut and glares at me.

At least she's learning.

"Why didn't you buy something new and branded?"

An outfit more befitting of you.

"Because designer brands cost money," she says slowly as if talking to a five-year-old.

I should be offended.

"And I don't have money," she continues.

She's enunciating each word down to the syllable.

Brat.

The urge to pull her over my knee is overwhelming, and I have to curl my fist and remind myself that she's only a college kid who works for me. I need to be careful.

"Tomorrow afternoon you're going shopping. There's a look I want Blue Whiskey management to have, and you don't have it."

"Uh, there's a Blue Whiskey look?" Her eyes turn wide as saucers, and she sputters. "What does that even mean? Half the clientele here are drunks, and the other half are criminals. It's not like they're going to check the collar of my shirt for the brand name. All they want is the alcohol and the shitty bar food."

I'm still disturbed by her earlier childhood revelation, and when she defies me so openly, I step towards her, my voice prickly. "I think I've made myself clear. I'll see you tomorrow at the club in the afternoon."

The flash of her sulky expression tightens my jaw. I'm glad there are witnesses around to prevent me from grabbing her by a fistful of her hair and slamming my mouth down on hers. That slight pout that vanishes just as soon as it appears is etched into my brain for the rest of the night.

"I have classes until four," she counters. "And I can't afford branded clothes, sir."

The brat almost curtsies when she refers to me as sir. Interesting how my dick likes it. I've never met a woman who gets under my skin as quickly as she does.

"Did you just call me sir?"

"Would you prefer, mister?"

"After your classes then," I tell her sternly, refusing to look at her sassy, painted mouth, which is a vibrant red. "And you might want to control that cheekiness, or I might just forget that you work for me. If you want to act like a brat, I know how to deal with one."

Her lips part in shock with that same confused desire, but I leave, my blood humming in need. This time, I go straight to my office, my pants feeling uncomfortably tight, and I choose not to lay eyes on her for the rest of the night...for her sake and mine.

Lars shows up after Megan's shift is over. I'm not sure whether I'm annoyed or relieved that the file he hands me is light.

"There's not much on her," he shrugs. "She was fired from the last two places she worked because a man showed up. He kept harassing her there until the workplaces let her go, but they confirmed that prior to those incidents, she was a good worker."

"Who's the man?"

"Could be an ex-boyfriend or something, but the description I got was of a man much older than that."

"What did you find about her family background?"

"Once again, not that much. Her father had an affair, and then her mother was out of the picture. Father married his mistress, and they had a child together. The kid lived with them."

"The kid?" I say with a warning, not because Lars is wrong, but because I don't want to hear it. I don't need to hear that I've had a hard-on for a kid all fucking night.

Lars corrects himself. "The young lady lived with them until she was eighteen but was in and out of the hospital until then. Her father has a ton of gambling debts, though, and her younger half-sister is eighteen now. It doesn't seem as if she's not in touch with any of them."

I open the file and skim the medical reports attached.

"Abuse," I murmur. "They abused her in that house."

I glance at Lars, who looks unaffected, but his eyes hold a wealth of anger. He doesn't talk about it much, but I know that Lars came from an abusive household back in his country. If I suspected this was her background, I would have made Parker look into Megan instead.

"She got a scholarship at State Arts College," I say loudly, my lips curving. "How interesting."

Lars knows why I'm amused, but he doesn't comment on it.

"You think that's why she came here?" he finally asks.

"I doubt it," I respond. "She doesn't know anything about me."

The file shows that Megan doesn't have much of a social life.

"There is one thing," Lars says hesitantly. "It seems that Miss Taylor came close twice to losing that scholarship. It might not be relevant, but the first time was the first week she started here. There was a shooting in the club, and she called the police."

I remember that incident. It was about six months ago, and at the time, Megan's name had come up, but I'd been too busy doing damage control to worry about one lone bartender. I had been under the impression that Steve had fired the person who called the police.

So, it was this troublemaker.

Why am I not surprised?

"For somebody who keeps her head down, she sure gets dragged into a lot of things," I comment. "What about the second time?"

Lars hesitates to tell me the next thing. "I don't have any hard evidence of this, but I believe just before Miss Taylor joined us, there was an incident at her school."

"What kind of incident?"

"A video got leaked of her. Word reached the administration, and they wanted to expel her. But from what I've gathered, the boy involved in that video is a Senator's nephew. So, the video remained in private circles, and the university let it go."

"What kind of video?" I ask cooly.

Lars doesn't know or doesn't want to say, but I have an idea. It seems that Megan's trust issues are not baseless at all, and now I have a better understanding of why she ignored Isaiah's body in the alley. Our deep dive into her life hasn't revealed anything remotely suspicious, so I close the file.

"Well, it doesn't matter," I set the file down. "She seems smart."

"You're thinking of recruiting her permanently?" Lars questions, looking surprised. "Doesn't she seem a bit young?"

"I could have made the same argument for Parker years ago," I smile sharply. "I just want to test her first. She uses her wits, and I need somebody like that on the floor when I conduct the real business of this club."

When Lars leaves, I pick up a different file that has been on my desk for a while.

It's a ‘request'.

I study the picture of a broad-shouldered, fully tattooed man with a mean look in his eyes. The White Snakes have been looking for him for a while. Figures they would come to me.

"You're in trouble, Marco." I tap the table lightly.

Picking up the phone, I dial a familiar number. The person on the other end who picks up after two rings answers.

" Exalt Logic. Who can I connect you to?"

"The blue room."

There's a pause on the other end and then the cheerfulness of the receptionist changes and her voice turns terse. "Understood."

I'm connected to another person who asks, "Who are you looking for?"

"Marco Delan from the White Snakes. I need all sightings, all online activities, and phone records."

"Understood. We'll have them delivered to you in two days, Mr. Middleton."

I cut the call and put Marco's file aside. Taking this job could go completely left for me, but this is what I do. If I don't handle it, then there's chaos on the streets.

I stare at the beady eyes in the photo before I stack it on top of my ‘handle' pile.

"You'll get what's coming to you soon, Marco. Hope you're ready."