Chapter 8 : Workplace Surprise

Haven’s POV

“Two whisky cokes, long island tea, and white tea shots all around,” I say with a smile, snagging the credit card with my ring and pinky finger as I whisk the tray away and head off to the well to charge the card. My heels click against the slightly damp floor where Diamond spilled a tray of cherry limeades earlier.

Why hasn’t it been mopped up yet?

I remind myself to scold the barbacks and door guys in keeping this place tidy as I punch in the tab and swipe the card. The printer beeps annoyingly at me, signaling another paper jam. I clear the wrinkled paper, pull off the receipt, and hurry back to the table for the guy to sign his name away.

I see a couple of the guys stare at me, eyes wandering down to my black lace tutu which barely covers my ass, as I walk past them.

Their eyes remind me of the eyes of Cruz’s family — predatory. They look at me like a piece of meat, and based on the way they lean over the railing they are definitely starving for “someone like me”.

I watch the guy lazily write his name on the receipt, a name barely recognizable, and something that looks like a tip.

Finally!

I snag the receipt back from him and hurry back to the well to punch in my tips for the evening. It’s been a terribly slow night and I can use all of the tips I can get. I stare at the blurry number and feel my heart sink.

You have got to be kidding me!

Two bucks on a nearly eighty-dollar tab.

I have been hustling all night for all of my tables and I get an extra two bucks for my time. Fourteen dollars and fifty cents an hour plus tips and I get two bucks on such nice service.

Gosh.

This is miserable!

I roll my neck back and forth, trying to stretch out a nasty kink that developed after carrying so many trays of booze back and forth, before typing in my tips for the evening. I wince at the unbearably low number of tips I will be taking home later tonight and ultimately sigh in frustration.

I mean, there is absolutely nothing I can do about it now. All of my tables are pretty much clear.

I stare at the number and, sadly, realize that it is just enough to cover the cost of the dress I wore to that crazy event the other night with Cruz.

What was up with his family anyway? I thought I looked really good and there they were calling me cheap. Well, maybe I am cheap! Maybe I don’t need to be surrounded by lavish things to make me happy.

I know who I am, and I refuse to let myself dwell on all of the unhappy thoughts I had throughout that night.

Shoving my serving book into the front of my apron, I decided to take a moment to myself, though not in the back. Last time I checked, one of the girls was having a massive wardrobe malfunction and I do not want to bother them while they are in the middle of coaxing the fabric back into place; at least, what little fabric is left.

I reach up to one of the shelves in the well and use the drink hose to fill up my cup with some cranberry juice, but I nearly gag on the drink when I take a sip and look out across the bar.

For a moment, I think the flashing lights are playing tricks on me. My heart suddenly pounding against my chest, I look around the well to a seat at the end of the bar on the opposite side of the club.

Sure enough, I am not mistaken.

It’s him.

Cruz Martinez.

I swallow dryly, knowing full well the cotton-mouthed feeling currently parching my mouth is not because of the cranberry juice, and stare at the piercing blue eyes that seem to illuminate in the darkness. The lights flash across the dance floor, casting odd shadows and illuminating the corner Cruz is in with every third or fourth flash, giving him a mysterious presence.

I know better than that now.

He spots me and, immediately, straightens up and makes direct eye contact with me.

Why is he back?

Is he here to raise a complaint about his service? It looks like he has not been waited on yet. Then again, he is sitting in my area.

Did he do that on purpose? Sit in my area so that I would have to talk to him.

My heart races faster, making me straighten up a little.

Is he here to pay up? I was not sure if he was serious about paying up before, but a girl can dream.

Downing my juice and taking a couple of sips of water to dilute the taste, I step out of the well and walk toward him. Every step makes me feel shaky in my stiletto heels. I feel like I’m walking on air as I cross the slippery floor toward him, smiling bashfully as I approach.

Gosh!

I need to not act so girly and timid!

We have a deal and he needs to pay up. At the very least, I go in with the mentality that I am going to get part of what I am owed. I deserve it after the embarrassing night I endured and the service I’m about to shower him with.

“Good evening,” I say with a smile.

His calculating eyes stare at me hungrily, which makes me squirm. It didn’t bother me when those jocks did it. Why was he making me feel like this?

“It is indeed, now that you’re here,” says Cruz, a sly smirk on his face. Does he think this is charming? Too bad for him! I refuse to acknowledge it, even if that smile did make my breath hitch in my throat. He leans back, eyes slowly examining my frame.

“What can I get started for you? Whisky coke? Wine? Shot for you and your…” I glance up and see two shadowy eyes of a man who is undoubtedly Cruz’s bodyguard. The guy looks like a “knuckles” kind of guy, but I keep the nickname to myself. “Friend.”

Cruz smiles, biting his lower lip and eyes narrowing as if he is getting a read off me, before leaning forward.

“I don’t suppose you have any Smirnoff Gold, do you?” asks Cruz. I have heard of the brand. They have actual gold flecks in the vodka. It’s super expensive and, sadly, out of our bar’s price range.

“Unfortunately, no we do not have any. We do have some other vodkas as well as some cinnamon schnapps which I hear is delightful. We also have…”

I am cut off from my spiel by Cruz laughing, chuckling, and leaning back in his seat.

“I must say, my dear, that I am impressed. You started serving me without even the slightest hesitation and, despite the unfortunate evening we shared minus our… encounter with one another’s lips, which I must say was extremely pleasant, you are still able to smile,” says Cruz.

Years of waitressing experience have taught me how to bite my tongue, and I barely manage to keep my words to myself when he makes this little comment. Was it an actual compliment? Or was it a jab?

Instead, I redirect his focus.

“Is that why a prince like you came back?” I ask. “To see if I was holding a grudge?” Cruz’s piercing blue eyes widen as he reaches up and brushes back his perfectly gelled hair, disregarding my prince comment.

“Not at all,” he replies. “By my recollection, we have not completed our arrangement. You are owed payment, and I believe our evening was taken from us and, therefore, we should reschedule to make the deal fair.”

My skin is burning. Is it blushing? Is it because he actually expects me to go on another outing with him after the way I was treated? I lean back on my heel and hone in on the main crux of our agreement. I mean, I don’t have much of a choice when part of the agreement is that I accompany him to events while he’s in town.

“I did go with you for the evening,” I say shortly. “You said that you would pay in exchange for my accompaniment to this event, and others to follow. Considering I was ridiculed by your family and criticized up one side and down the other, I think that you have received part of what you wanted and I haven’t received anything of what I wanted.”

“Payment,” concludes Cruz. “Precisely. I wouldn’t want you to feel shorted. It’s one of the reasons why I came — to make an exchange.” I feel a partial growl rise in my throat.

“Another deal?” I ask.

“Yes, I hear this club does private dances,” says Cruz. This is getting ridiculous. I have other tables to wait on. A private dance?

I have had enough.

“Sorry, but you might want to consider asking one of the other girls. I know Silky is experienced and will be well worth your time,” I say. I turn to walk back to the bartender who is flagging me down, making sure that I am okay when I feel pressure surround my hand.

Cruz’s hand has gently grabbed mine and he is on his feet.

I eye his perfectly pressed suit with some of the top buttons of the white button-up popped open, revealing part of the smooth skin hidden beneath the fabric. I gulp when I see the ridges of his toned chest staring back at me.

Now I remember why I agreed to the deal we made. This man is so attractive that I find myself getting swept away by him and his words. Sometimes, it’s hard to keep afloat.

“If I wanted them, I would have them, but they are not who I want. They’re not you,” states Cruz. “Will you do one for me, Haven?” There is a predatory growl in his tone, his accent only enhancing his intimidation factor. His piercing eyes are only illuminated by the strobe lights in the room, making them appear dark and hungry.

Hungry for one thing. Me.

The cotton-mouthed feeling returns in an instant. I swallow dryly and pull my hand away, which is easier than I thought it would be.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “But I don’t…”

“Maybe this will convince you?” suggests Cruz, holding out what looks like a black leather serving book, which is ten times nicer than mine. “Consider it as an apology as well as a sign of good intent between us and our agreement.”

I barely peer into the black serving book before I spot multiple hundred-dollar bills. I snap it shut and, weak in the knees, sit down in the chair.

What on earth is this?

“Partial payment,” he says. “Consider part of this an advance plus a little something extra to entertain my desire to watch you dance. You are at liberty to verify, but you’ll find ten thousand of your American dollars tucked inside.”

Ten thousand dollars!

I feel my head swirl uncomfortably, nausea churning my insides. Did I hear him correctly? There was no way. I definitely don’t want to seem rude, but I quickly thumb through one of the stacks and count ten one hundred dollar bills, and a quick glance reveals ten of these stacks.

“Of course, we can sever our agreement for this… sum… but I will have you know that I would still very much enjoy your company,” he says eloquently. The words practically drip from his lips, showering me with a tingling warmth that makes my skin shiver pleasantly.

I think about the bills on my kitchen table. This would take care of a significant portion of those bills.

It could end now.

But…

“Haven,” says Cruz softly. When did he sit down across from me? When did he lean so close? What on earth was that cologne he was wearing? Was it the pheromone stuff the girls were talking about because it is intoxicating. “What do you say?”