Her Dirty Bartenders (Men at Work #5) - Mika Lane Page 0,24

had a little insight into the drama in her life. She’d made a change—a big change—and had clearly left town without the funds to sustain herself. It wasn’t hard to put those things together.

And Robbie had done a number on her car, to further complicate things.

I wondered, could I help her somehow? She deserved it, facing a tough situation and making the best of it without complaining. Another woman might bellyache all day long, waiting for someone to save her.

I texted the guys that I wanted to find a way to help her. They might think I was crazy, but as hard as she was working for us, it was the least we could do.

And her being hot as shit, wearing little lacy thongs, had nothing to do with it.

At all.

Seriously.

Maybe she was interested in tending bar. She’d make more money, that was for sure. She had a tendency to blow up over small things but if she could learn to bite her tongue and handle difficult situations, she might be a good addition to my bartending school. And a new session was starting soon. I made a mental note to bring it up to her once she’d gotten over my latest insult—if she ever got over it.

As I sneaked glimpses of her working, I watched her wipe a bead of sweat off her temple with the back of her hand. And as she did, I could swear I saw another piece of silver in her hair. Funny. She’d said she’d gotten it in her hair at the gym, but I think we both knew that was bullshit.

But I did know, because it was high time to be honest with myself, that I was looking for ways to keep her around. It might not be wise, but it sure would be nice.

For us both.

17

Stell

Those guys, the hotshot owners of Tableau, didn’t know what a clean bar looked like before I came along and showed them.

Give me a male barback who could keep his work area so clean you couldn’t smell stale beer if it was poured over your head.

Because that would never happen.

No guy would ever do half the shit I did to keep this bar in such great shape.

And did anyone notice it?

Acknowledge it?

Thank me?

Hell no.

Because, of course.

Men just don’t see shit like that. At least none of the ones I’d ever known.

Unappreciated as I might have been, there was a serious upside to being a barback that I had not anticipated—it paid well. Who would have thought?

Sure, my hourly pay was something a couple pennies above minimum wage, but at the end of each night, the bartenders shared their tips with me. And on more than one occasion, I was pretty sure they were being a little more generous than they might have been with a guy. I wasn’t complaining though, sexist as it might sound. I needed the damn money.

Last night when I’d gotten home, I counted up the cash I had stuffed in a sock at Marni’s, and was thrilled to find that in a couple weeks’ time I’d collected nearly two thousand dollars. ‘Course I’d worked my ass off for that, but it felt damn empowering that I could raise money when I was in a bind, especially since Robbie the Wrecker’s insurance still hadn’t come through, and I was beginning to wonder if it ever would.

I mailed checks to pay my car registration and the ticket for blowing it off. That hurt.

Now to bail my car out of mechanic’s jail.

One problem though. I wasn’t ready to leave Denver.

The call of LA had gotten quieter in recent days. Maybe that’s why I was developing a fondness for the mile-high city.

I took an Uber to the mechanic, who rolled his eyes when I counted out the cash I owed him in wrinkled fives, tens, and twenties.

Too bad. He hadn’t done anything to make my life easier, having been unwilling to even start work on my car until he knew payment was forthcoming.

Regardless, he’d done a good job. My car looked great. Not like new, because it was about ten years old, but the evidence of Robbie’s damage was gone, as if it had never happened. I got behind the wheel of my trusty little Toyota, cranked up Beyoncé, and drove away, wracking my brains for a plan.

I’d said I’d leave Denver when my car was fixed. Only, now I didn’t want to.

Could I pretend my car was still in the shop?

How the hell would that work?