Beautiful Boss (Beautiful #9) - Christina Lauren Page 0,36

tonight. You two could have had the place to yourselves.”

“You’re working again tonight?” Lola fills her glass and props a hip against the counter. “You’ve closed every night this week.”

I shrug. “Fred needed someone and the extra hours don’t hurt.” I dry my bowl and reach to put it away. “Don’t you have panels to finish, anyway?”

“I do, but I’d love to hang out . . . You’re always at the beach or working a—”

“And you’ve got a fuckhot boyfriend and a blazing career,” I say. Lola is probably the busiest person I know. When she isn’t editing her new graphic novel, Junebug, or visiting the set for the film adaptation of her first book, Razor Fish, she’s jetting off to L.A. or New York or wherever the studio and her publisher want her. “I knew you were working today and would probably spend the night with Oliver.” Squeezing her shoulder, I add, “Besides, what else is there to do on a beautiful day like this but surf?”

She grins at me over the rim of her cup. “I don’t know . . . maybe go out on a date?”

I snort as I shut the cupboard door. “You’re cute.”

“London,” she says, pinning me with a serious expression.

“Lola,” I volley back.

“Oliver mentioned he has a friend coming in from home, maybe we could all get together.” She looks down, feigning fascination with something on her fingernail. “See a movie or something?”

“No setups,” I say. “My darling of darlings, we’ve had this conversation at least ten times.”

Lola smiles sheepishly again and I laugh, turning to walk out of the kitchen. But she’s there, hot on my heels.

“You can’t fault me for worrying about you a little,” she says. “You’re alone all the time and—”

I wave a flippant hand. “Alone is not the same as lonely.” Because as appealing as the idea of sex with an actual person is, the drama that inevitably comes along with it is not. I’ve got enough on my social plate trying to keep up with Lola and her tight-knit and ever-expanding group of friends and their significant others. I’m barely past the Learning Their Last Names stage. “Stop channeling

Harlow.”

Lola frowns as I lean forward to kiss her cheek.

“You don’t have to worry about me,” I tell her, then check the time. “Gotta go, mid-tide in twenty.”

* * *

AFTER A LONG day on the water, I step behind the counter of Fred’s—the place nearly everyone lovingly calls “the Regal Beagle” due to the name of its owner, Fred Furley—and tie an apron around my waist.

The tip jar is just over half-full, which means it’s been pretty steady, but not so crazy that Fred will have to call in an extra hand. There’s a couple talking quietly at one end of the bar, half-empty wineglasses in front of them. They’re deep in conversation and barely look up when I step into view; they won’t need much. Four older women sit at the other end. Nice clothes, I notice, even nicer handbags. They’re laughing and possibly here to celebrate something, which means they’ll probably be entertaining and great tippers. I make a mental note to check on them in a few minutes.

Raucous laughter and the sound of cheering draw my attention toward the back, and I spot Fred delivering beers to a group of guys circled around the pool table. Satisfied he’s got them covered, I begin checking inventory.

I’ve only been at Fred’s about a month, but it’s a bar like any other and the routine has been easy enough to pick up. It has stained glass lights, warm wood, and round leather booths, and is a lot less seedy than the dance club where I worked my last two years of college. Still, it has its share of creeps, an inevitable drawback to this kind of job. It’s not that I’m particularly attractive, or even the best-looking woman in the place, but there’s something about seeing a female on this side of the counter that sometimes leads even the most well-intentioned men to forget their manners. With no barback here, I have to do a lot of the running and prep myself, but Fred is a great boss and fun to joke around with. He’s also better at spotting the creeps than I am.

Which is why he’s dealing with the guys in the back, and I am not.

I’m pretty particular when it comes to setup, and start my shift by arranging everything behind the bar exactly the way I like: