Mine to Keep (NOLA Knights #3) - Rhenna Morgan Page 0,51
Or that you caught the hearts of the lot of them?”
The answer was instant and ripped right from her soul. “Both.”
Ninette inhaled deep and let it out slowly, the empathetic sound of a woman who’d felt such emotions for herself. “You know, once upon a time in my life, I struggled almost every day to make two dimes equal ten dollars. Back then, I never dreamed I’d have a nice home full of men I call my sons and be flying to even nicer estates on private jets.”
Leaning forward, Ninette stubbed out her cigarette. “Been around a long time and seen all kinds of people. If there’s one thing I’ve learned with absolute certainty it’s that when life gives you a chance at happiness, you grab onto the gift with both hands and hang on with all you’ve got.” She stood and rested her hand on Bonnie’s shoulder. “Fear is the worst bitch I know and will rob you fucking blind every single time. You’ve got a good thing. My advice—one street-smart woman to another? Hold on with all you’ve got.”
With that, she patted Bonnie’s shoulder and ambled toward the pool and the wonderful people that waited.
A light breeze lifted the hair away from Bonnie’s face, the touch of it cool in the shade, but not unpleasant like the days before had been. More of a gentle caress from nature. Like a mother’s soothing touch that seemed to echo the wisdom of Ninette’s words.
In the ashtray, the discarded cigarette sat amidst the ashes.
Thought you’d sworn off cigarettes.
Funny, now that Bonnie thought about it, Ninette hadn’t taken one drag off the thing once she’d fired it up. And even then it’d only been enough to get it lit.
Sneaky woman.
She hadn’t wanted a smoke. She’d wanted to talk and to do it without a table of ears to hear what she had to share.
The space around her heart grew tight, and a comforting warmth blossomed beneath her skin. Yes, she was in the middle of her own personal shitstorm—at least so far as her dad and brother were concerned. But Ninette was right.
For the first time in her life, she had some really nice freaking people rallied around to help her. And maybe—just maybe—had a man who was actually decent interested in her.
Fear was a cold and calculating bitch. One that had stolen more than her share off Bonnie’s plate already.
She stood and headed back toward the party. Fear could kiss her ass. This time she was going to hang the fuck on.
Chapter Eleven
Bonnie was a good teacher. Patient and methodical in how she went about showing her new charge the basics of tending bar. The realization didn’t shock Roman in the least, but definitely bolstered his appreciation of her skills. Especially considering how challenging Roman had found it himself to keep Jacob focused on learning anything.
Via the cameras aimed at the bar area for his André’s branch, Roman watched from his office monitors as Bonnie patiently demonstrated yet again how to ring up a drink order.
Jacob spent half as much time appreciating Bonnie’s ass as he did paying attention to her instructions, but at least he seemed to be grasping the basics for a change. At nineteen years old, the young man who’d grown up in orphanages and foster homes his whole life had lost all access to government assistance and was floundering to find a niche to support himself—a common theme he’d encountered far too often mentoring boys raised without benefit of a steady family. What was worse, Jacob had a hard time focusing and lacked the physical strength to be successful at the more physical options available within Roman’s businesses. Perhaps with Bonnie’s help, he’d be able to hold a steady job tending bar.
“You’re brooding, moy brat.”
So deep in his musings, Kir’s voice from the doorway caught him completely unaware. He masked the jolt to his thoughts, though, and swiveled to meet his brother’s stare. “Not brooding. Observing.”
Kir grinned and strolled toward one of the chairs in front of Roman’s desk. He carried a thin plain file folder in one hand. “Is that so? Because the look on your face would send most of your customers screaming for the front door.” He sat, crossed one leg over the other and perched the folder on his thigh. “It wouldn’t have anything to do with the new fiery-haired bartender I passed on the way in, or how her new trainee keeps admiring her figure. Would it?”