Page 5 of Wild Child
My glance goes to the doorway, but Quentin isn’t out of the meeting yet. If he saw one of these guys touching me, he’d flip.
He’s been watching me like a hawk and he’ll never admit it, but it’s obvious Dad asked him to look out for me while he’saway. And Quentin is a man who takes his duties seriously. Far too seriously.
I thought he was going to blow a gasket when I turned up in a short skirt the other day. Talk about an overreaction. He refused to let me work until I changed. Like I’m a sixteen-year-old going on a first date and not a twenty-two-year-old woman who can wear whatever the hell she wants.
I step away from the men at the bar and grab an empty drinks tray.
Davis raises his eyebrows at me.
“No more tequila.”
I roll my eyes at him. “Are you telling me what to do now too?”
He chuckles. “I wouldn’t dare, but Barrels will kick my ass if he knows I let you have that shot.”
Davis is only a few years older than me, and nowhere near as intimidating as my father or his best friend, who still runs this place like he’s the staff sergeant he was in the military.
“There are a lot of men around here who think they can tell me what to do.”
A rebellious fire sparks inside me. Now Davis, who I consider a friend, is keeping an eye on me because Quentin asked him to, because Dad asked Quentin to. It makes me want to do something they’ll all disapprove of just to get them to back off.
I spin around and head back to the other side of the bar.
Spiderman grins when I sidle up next to him.
“I will have another shot.”
“That’s my girl!” he crows. “Another round of shots, boys!”
There’s a cheer from the group of men, and Davis scowls at me.
I smile at him sweetly, and his scowl deepens. I’ve just brought in another round of tequila shots, so I’m good for business.
At that moment Quentin strides in, and I try not to notice the way the hairs on the back of my neck bristle as his gaze scans the crowd and rests on me.
He holds my gaze for an intense beat. That one tequila shot must have affected me more than I know, because my breathing gets shallow and my pulse quickens.
Then he frowns and strides across the room, pushing between men until he reaches me.
“You okay?” He scans my face, and the concern in his eyes surprises me.
I give him a bright smile. “Just hanging out with the customers.”
The scowl returns, and he glances at the men surrounding me.
“Not anymore. Your shift’s finished.”
My mouth drops open. He thinks I can’t handle myself among a group of customers. But these men, while drunk, have been nothing but respectful.
“We were just about to get another round of tequila,” Spiderman cuts in.
I wince, because it’s the wrong thing to say.
Quentin fixes him with a steely staff sergeant stare. “No more shots.”
Spiderman screws up his face and is about to complain when a less drunk friend pulls him back by the elbow. This man’s dressed in a top hat and looks older than the others. Someone’s older brother maybe, and the sensible one of the group.
He gives a curt nod to Quentin. “I’ll get these guys out of your hair.”
