Page 9 of Her Possessive Daddies

My hands are shaking as I grip the steering wheel, but now it's from anticipation rather than nerves. New job, new life.

5

ABBIE

The Velvet Room pulses with energy as I walk in, my gaze sweeping the room. Bodies pack the space that was empty just hours ago, the air thick with perfume and cologne. Jazz music flows from hidden speakers, barely audible over the din of conversation.

"You made it." Michael materializes beside me, his commanding presence parting the crowd like Moses at the Red Sea. "Follow me."

He leads me to the bar where a breathtaking tall blonde mixes drinks with fluid grace, her movements quick and precise. She flashes a bright smile without pausing her pour.

"Lacey, this is Abbie. Please show her the ropes."

"On it, boss." Lacey slides two martinis across the bar and pockets her tips. "Stick close, newbie. Tonight's gonna be fun."

Michael vanishes into the crowd, leaving me with my new mentor. The bar stretches before us like an altar, bottles gleaming under soft lighting.

"First rule - don't let them see you sweat." Lacey grabs a shaker. "Second rule - smile like you know what you're doing even when you don't."

"What's the third rule?"

"Don't sleep with the customers." She winks. "Though that one's more of a loose suggestion than a rule. Lord knows I've broken that one a few times. Now, watch and learn."

A group crowds the bar, waving bills. Lacey's smile never wavers as she takes their orders, her hands a blur of motion between bottles and ice.

"Your turn. Take the guy in the blue shirt. He looks harmless enough."

I step forward, channeling some sense of inner confidence. "What are we drinking?"

"Whatever you recommend, beautiful."

"Careful there, Romeo." Lacey slides past me with a fresh tray of glasses. "She's still in training I’ll grab you a Whiskey Sour.”

I prop myself against the back counter, watching Lacey work her magic. She's like a conductor orchestrating a symphony of cocktails and charm. Every movement deliberate, every smile calculated to perfection.

"What's your poison, handsome?" She tosses the question to a suited executive who's been eye-fucking her for the past ten minutes.

"Surprise me." He practically purrs the words. I can hear the blood rush to his groin underneath the bartop.

"Dangerous request." Lacey's hands dance over bottles. "But I like a man who lives on the edge."

The way she commands attention is mesmerizing. Men trip over themselves just to get close to her, throwing down twenties like they're singles at a strip club.

"Take notes, sweetie." She slides past me with a wink. "Half this job is theater. Watch this."

She flips a bottle behind her back, catches it without looking, and pours a perfect shot. The bar erupts in applause. Another hundred dollars hits her tip jar.

"That's amazing," I say, trying not to sound as awestruck as I feel. "Did it take long to learn?"

"The tricks? Sure. The confidence?" She shrugs, already mixing three drinks at once. "That's all natural, baby. You've got it too, just need to let it out."

I snort. "Right. I can barely make eye contact with customers."

"Please. Look at you - those curves, those eyes. You're gorgeous. Own it." She hip-checks me playfully. "Stop hiding behind the counter and show these boys what you've got."

My cheeks burn. If only I had an ounce of her self-assurance. But after watching Lacey work, I finally understand what they mean. It's not about looks - it's about presence.

"Trust me," She says, reading my mind. "By the time I'm done with you, you'll be running this place."

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