Page 9 of Crash and Burn
"Hey, Mason?" I asked. "Can you give me some help out here?"
Mason, the bar's manager, looked up from his laptop where he was doing something with spreadsheets.
"Sure, what's up?" he asked, then winced. "Ouch. Spilled a drink?"
"I need to go see if I can wash this off," I replied. "Do you mind getting a Chocolatini for the woman with the brown, tiger-print purse and red heels?"
"I'm on it," Mason said, pushing his chair out from under the desk.
Mason was a good manager, always willing to help out on the floor. He didn't think he was too good to act as a server, and never failed to help us clean up after a long night. He even closed the bar early on Sundays and completely shut down on Mondays to make sure we all got at least one consistent day and a half off every week.
I didn't envy his job, what with all the numbers and paperwork and spreadsheets. My dad was an accountant and I'd watched him bring his work home sometimes. I knew enough about it to know I'd never want to do it. All I had to do was deliver drinks. Compared to Mason, I had it easy.
I made my way down the hallway to the small kitchen. There weren't too many extra rooms at the back of the bar. The place wasn't all that big. There was one door at the very end of the hallway with an electronic lock on it that I never went into.
Behind that door was the secret bar owned by Walt, the guy who'd bought out Manny's so we could turn it into Sin and Tonic. When Manny's had still been open, Walt's more well-known, celebrity clientele had gotten to the bar using the secret doorway.
Now that Sin and Tonic was popular, that doorway was locked and Walt's bar patrons used the door in the back alley. So although the two bars were connected, only the people with a special keycard could unlock the door.
Unfortunately, I wasn't one of them.
I got to the kitchen and rummaged around for one of those instant stain remover pens. I double checked to make sure the door was closed before I tugged off my shirt and dabbed at the stain with the pen, being careful not to rub it in even more.
I scowled down at the shirt as I dabbed. I'd only just finished putting the finishing touches on it yesterday. I'd been really proud of this one. When I'd found two different blouses at the local second hand shop I'd immediately imagined how I could repurpose them into a single awesome piece.
I'd spent days hunched over my sewing machine and in the end I'd been right. The final product was super cute, and perfectly complemented the skirt I'd worn today.
Now the whole thing was ruined because I'd tripped over a stupid chair.
I stared at the stain. I laid the stick down on the table so I could hold out the shirt in front of me.
Maybe it wasn't ruined after all. If I trimmed off this piece and sewed on a new section from that one scrap of fabric I had lying around, I could probably work around the smear of chocolate. In fact, the shirt might end up looking even better—
The kitchen door flew open. I whirled around and squeaked.
Grant was standing in the doorway.
And I was half-naked, with only my skirt and my white lace bra.
"Uhh—" Grant's single syllable died in his throat.
I still had the shirt clenched in my hand, the material bunching up in my fist. I brought it to my chest, but it didn't hide everything.
Grant's eyes were wide, and his lips were parted. He took a breath, as if to say something, then held it, broad chest heaving up. The flush in my cheeks traveled down my neck, no doubt turning my skin splotchy red.
His gaze was fixated on my breasts, those eyes simmering with a muted thirst.
That heat found its way further downward, until my nipples burned, turning into stiff peaks through the thin bra.
Grant's tongue darted out, wetting his lips.
My stomach quivered.
He took a step toward me.
The stain remover stick rolled off the table, hitting the floor with a loudsmack.
The spell broke.
