Seized Mafia Bride by Mae Doyle
Mia
Iswear that if have to take one more step in these stupid high heels that my ankles might break. When I was little and would look at magazines with pictures of women in incredibly high heels, nobody ever hold me that the girls in the magazine probably wanted to kill herself for having to wear them.
Then again, women in photoshoots are probably only wearing their high heels for a few hours at a time. I’ve been in mine for eight and counting and I know that I will not get out of them for a while yet. That’s what happens when you end up working a double and don’t have a choice of footwear.
The sound of the club is so loud that I wish I could wear those little earbuds that squish and then slip into your ear. I’m sure that I could get a pack of them for pretty cheap, but there’s no way that I’d be allowed to wear them. Danny doesn’t like any of the girls to look at all unappealing.
Since he’s not cool with anyone who has braces, freckles, or that doesn’t look like they could walk on a catwalk, I’m sure that something that looks like cotton balls wadded up and stuffed in my ears wouldn’t fly.
Groaning, I press my hands against my ears to try to drown out the sound of the music and people behind me. This was supposed to be an easy job. Working the front door at the club and helping people find a place to sit if they wanted a private dance wasn’t supposed to be something that drove me up the wall, but here I am.
I’m ready to walk out and quit, and I might, except for the fact that it’s almost impossible to find any jobs around here. They’re all taken, all by women just as desperate as I am. Even though I’m working a double, I’m still going to scrimp to make sure that I have enough for rent this month.
It’s due in just two days and if I don’t give my part to Jessica, my roommate, before then, then I might be fucked out of a place to live.
A group of six men walk in the door. They’re all dressed in suits, custom suits, ones that fit every line of their bodies, and I can’t help but raise my eyebrows a little when I see them. I’m used to men who look like models coming in here, but these guys are dangerous, I can tell.
When you’ve lived in a city like this for as long as I have then you learn to sense the danger. That’s the best way to make sure that you stay away from them. If you don’t know what’s dangerous then you’ll walk to it and end up dead.
And people said that the south was friendly. Hell, no, it’s not. The people here will still chew you up and spit you out, they’ll just do it while drinking sweet tea.
“Can I help you guys?” I ask, popping my hip out to my side while I check them out. Four of them have wedding rings, but two don’t, and those two eyeball me a little. One turns away, but the younger one leans on the podium I’m tucked behind, his eyes dragging up and down my body.
“I’m sure that you can, darling,” he says, and my stomach flips a little at the sound of his voice. I swear, something about him looks familiar, but I can’t put a finger on what it is. Before I can try to figure it out, he continues, and I realize that I’m completely hypnotized by the sound of his voice.
“The six of us are out celebrating. No girls needed, but we want a private room.”
“I can do that,” I say, dragging my finger down the laminated sheet in front of me. It lets me know, at a glance, which of our private rooms are free. Groups like this always want a room.
Couples tend to want to get into an alcove, where they can see and be seen as they pleasure each other. It’s not my thing, but it pays the bills. Barely.
“I might want a girl.” The other man without a ring speaks up, coming to stand next to his friend. Brother? No, not brothers, they don’t look that much alike, although all six of them look like they could be related somehow. “Are you stuck working up here tonight or do you dance, too?”
I blush. “I don’t dance,” I say, not wanting to add that I’d probably break an ankle if I tried and that it would be too embarrassing for me to ever recover from. “I’m the front door girl.”
“Shame.” The second man lets his eyes linger on my face before giving me a little shrug like it really wasn’t a big deal to him either way. “Let me know if you change your mind.”
There’s a voice in the back of my head screaming at me that these men ooze danger, but I ignore it. It’s stupid, and I know that. I should listen to that voice, should take them to their private room and then beat a quick retreat out of there.
“You guys can come with me,” I say, leading the way into the dark club without looking behind me to make sure that they’re all following. I don’t need to look. I can practically feel their gazes on my back as I walk away.
Well, one gaze, at least. The second guy. When he approached me at the podium, it was like all the air in the room had been sucked out and replaced with electricity. I felt it. He felt it. I’m pretty sure that any astronauts circling the earth right now felt it.
So that explains the stupid grin on my face but I have a very strict rule just in case something like this ever came up. I don’t date men from work. One time I did, and that definitely didn’t end well, so it’s a rule now.
It doesn’t matter that the man behind me sends shivers up my spine when I look at him. It doesn’t matter that, for the first time since I broke up with my boyfriend a few months ago, looking at a man makes my stomach tighten.
He was pissed because I wouldn’t sleep with him. I was pissed because he wouldn’t back the hell off. Doesn’t matter now. I just have to stick with my mantra.
No. Dating. Men. From. Work.
“Here’s your room,” I say, walking in the door and turning on the light. I scoot out of the way to let them all come in, trying to smile through the screaming pain of my ankle. It hurts like hell but I do a good job of keeping a grin plastered on my face as they all file in.
It’s not our largest room, because they only have six people, but it’s still my favorite. There’s a fireplace on the wall, the only one in the club, and a group of leather chairs around it. A private bar is on one side of the room and I’ll go get a bartender to work it for them in just a minute.
The chandelier is larger than my old Civic and can be dimmed if the guests in the room want a bit more privacy. With the door shut, the loud music from the club will become nothing more than a memory unless they want to crack it and listen to the excitement from the dance floor.
One look at these six guys though, and I’m pretty sure that they’ll leave the door shut. The way they dress and act screams money and real money doesn’t usually go grind it up on the dance floor.
“This looks great.” Five of the men file past me but the one who asked me if I was a dancer pauses to talk to me. This close to him, without the podium for security between us, I can smell his amazing cologne. It’s musky and deep and I stupidly lean a little closer to him to get a better sniff.
“Like what you smell?” He asks, and I feel my face flame bright red. Taking a step back, I try to compose myself, but before I can say anything, he speaks again. “You’ll be our bartender.”
It’s not a question. It’s a command, but I shake my head anyway. “That’s not my job,” I say, then catch the dark look on his face. “I mean, I’m not trained. I don’t know how to do anything other than pour some whiskey in a glass.”
“Perfect. That’s what I’m drinking.” He reaches past me and closes the door, his eyes still locked on my face.
“Um, I really need to get back out front,” I tell him, shifting my weight on my feet to try to stop the terrible burning and pinching going on down there. “I’ll lose my job if I’m not back up there in a minute. If another client needs help then I’m screwed.”
His dark gaze makes me realize what I just said and I swallow hard. Great. Now I’m thinking about other ways that I could be screwed and while it’s definitely pleasant, that train of thought isn’t going to help me walk out of this room.
“What’s your name?” He asks, reaching out and lightly putting his hand on my back. I don’t realize that he’s guiding me to the bar until we’re halfway across the room.
“Mia,” I say, reaching for a rocks glass. It honestly feels like there’s someone else controlling my body right now. I shouldn’t be pouring him a drink, but I do, and a jolt of electricity shoots through me when he reaches out and takes the glass from me. His eyes never leave mine as he takes a sip.
“Mia. I’m Lorenzo.”
I want to repeat his name just so I can feel what it’s like to roll it around in my mouth. The desire to taste his name on my tongue is so strong that I have to clamp my teeth together to keep from speaking to him.
Not that it would matter anyway, not really. A man like him doesn’t want anything long-term from me. He could walk into a room and choose anyone he wanted, and I have no reason at all to believe that it would be me.
“Drinks all around,” one of the other men calls, and I give a stiff nod, tearing my eyes away from Lorenzo.
“I’ll go get a bartender,” I mutter, stepping out from behind the bar. He moves in front of me, blocking me so that I can’t scoot past him. If I want to escape this room I’m going to have to touch him, and I don’t think that I can do that and keep my head on straight.
“You’re our bartender,” he tells me.
“I’ll get fired. No can do,” I say, trying to keep my voice light. I’ve seen men get like this before in the club. They think people owe them things just because they’re rich or good looking, but I will not play that game.
Sure, he is rich, and he is definitely good looking, but I need this job or I’m going to be sleeping in my car.
“I don’t think you understand,” he says, as I try to slip past him. “I told you that you’re going to be our bartender.” He moves faster than I would have expected, reaching out and grabbing my wrist before I can escape from the room.
Now I have a decision to make, but it’s really hard to think straight with his fingers burning my skin.
