The darkness wraps around me like a familiar cloak as I step through the door, and I give my eyes a second to adjust.
Then I see a damn vision sitting at the bar, back straight, legs crossed, oozing confidence.
She’s wearing tight jeans that cling to toned legs, and athletic shoes that say she’s ready to bolt or fight, maybe both. My eyes drift up to the low-cut tank top, revealing just enough to make my jaw twitch. A smooth collarbone. Curves I can’t ignore.
My cock starts to stiffen in my pants. Goddamn, whoever this woman is, she’s already got a hold on me.
Her dark hair spills over her shoulders, framing a face that’s like something out of a dream. Her eyes are green, cool, and unwavering. They land on me like a challenge. There’s no hesitation, no flicker of fear.
She’s checking me out in equal measure, as if trying to figure out if I pass some sort of secret test.
A jolt of heat slams through me, shocking and unwelcome. I don’t do instant attraction. It complicates things, makes me reckless. But right now, my body doesn’t give a damn.
I grit my teeth, tamping down the urge to get closer.
Someone shuffles in behind me, mumbling. It’s Jerry, one of our regulars. His steps are unsteady, and he reeks of last night’s whiskey.
“Bathroom,” he says. “Gotta pee.”
Man’s already had his booze for the day. I barely look at him. “Go to the bathroom, Jerry, then go straight home. You’re not getting any drunker than you already are. At least not on my property.”
He nods like he understands, even though we both know he’s going to cause trouble before he leaves.
James, my second-in-command, walks over just as Jerry stumbles away, his smirk already in place. “Was that Jerry?”
“Yep. He’s taking a leak. Keep an eye on him, and make sure to let Ben know he’s not getting another drop of booze here. Call him a damn Uber if you have to.”
“Got it, boss.”
“What’s her story?” I ask, subtly nodding my head to the woman at the bar.
“That’s Erin. The bartender interviewee.”
I blink, the name hitting me like a bucket of cold water. Erin, not Aaron. I’d assumed she’d be a man. But she’s definitely not.
Something hot and sharp curls low in my chest. I let my gaze linger a second longer, taking in the way she holds herself—strong, steady, and completely unbothered by the fact that two men are eyeing her from across the room.
A flicker of something I can’t name slides beneath my skin. Maybe it’s the way she hasn’t fidgeted once, or how her eyes stay locked on mine, unblinking. She’s not easily intimidated.
I like that.
My eyes never leaving hers, I head over.
“Yes?” she asks. “Can I help you?”
“That’s what I’m here to find out, actually. Samuel Holt,” I introduce myself.
She nods and offers her hand. I take it. The electricity from our touch is impossible to ignore.
“Erin Russo,” she says. “Pleased to meet you.”
I slide onto the stool next to her. “I have to admit, you’re not what I expected.”
“Good,” she replies without missing a beat. “I hate being predictable.”
I let her words hang in the air between us. I hate being predictable. The way she says it, a sly glint in her eyes, makes me want to know everything she’s hiding beneath that cool exterior. I could spend hours unraveling that confidence, finding out what makes her break, what makes her beg. But right now, I need to focus on the interview.
“So, you’re looking for a bartending gig,” I start.
“That’s why I’m here.”
I nod toward the expanse of the club behind me. “You think you can handle this place?”
Her eyes flash, the challenge unmistakable. “I’ve handled worse.”
“Why here?” I ask. “Why this club? There are plenty of places in the city where you could work. Why are you interested in working at my joint?”
“Well, Steel’s the hottest new club in Denver. You’ve only been open for a few months and you’re already doing killer business. Figure this is the place to be if I want to make some money.”
“Is that all you’re looking for? Just making money?”
She casually shrugs a shoulder, but her eyes stay locked on mine. “That and I need a job where the boss isn’t a sleaze and the customers know better than to cross the line. This place has a reputation for fun, but also for not tolerating bullshit.”
“Your last boss was a sleaze?”
She tenses. For the first time since I sat down next to her, she appears uncomfortable.
“Yeah, he was. I didn’t care for it one bit, either.”
I don’t doubt it. There’s an edge to her voice, a toughness that’s been earned the hard way. It stirs my dark, protective nature in me.
Whatever she’s been through, I want to know. More than that, I want to make damn sure no one ever puts her through it again.
“Tell me about this last boss of yours.”
“Is it any of your business?”
“Yeah, actually it is. If you want to work here, I need to know your work history.”
She shifts in her seat, taking a sip of water. “You’re right. Sorry.”
Apologies don’t come easy to her.
“It’s fine. I don’t need the gory details, just a little bit about why it didn’t work out.”
Erin nods, glancing away for a moment, as if trying to find the right words. “My last boss was pushy with girls. Tried to get them to do things they hadn’t been hired to do. And he didn’t like it when women told him no.”
My jaw clenches, rage simmering low in my gut at the possibilities of what that could mean. The thought of anyone putting their hands on her in anger, or any woman for that matter, makes my blood boil.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Yeah, well, it is what it is. Or was what it was.”
“That’s not the kind of operation we run here. This is a bar, which means there’s a certain level of bullshit that comes with it, but we treat our staff with respect. And we expect our customers to do the same.”
“Good to hear.”
Before the interview can go on any further, Jerry stumbles out of the restroom, weaving toward the bar. He flags down Ben. “Yo, Benny-boy! How about a little Southern Comfort for your favorite customer?”
Ben flicks his eyes at me. I shake my head.
“The only thing you’re getting here is a ride home. Consider it a courtesy,” I tell him.
Jerry sighs, annoyed by that response. “Come on, Sam. I just want a little sip before I head back out into the cold. Sending me out on my ass thirsty… is that any way to treat one of your best customers?”
“You take a shot here,” I explain, “then head out and crash your car, or god forbid something worse, I’m on the hook for it. You want to get fucked up, do it at your place.”
“Yeah, yeah.” His eyes land on Erin, and a drunken grin spreads across his face. “Well, hello there, sweetheart.”
Every muscle in my body begins to tense. Erin’s gaze remains steady, but I notice her fingers twitch slightly on the bar. I’m actually glad this is happening. I want to see how she handles herself with a drunk regular. If he pulls anything, I’m right here. In the meantime, I consider it a test.
“Not interested,” she says flatly.
Jerry scoffs. “Come on. I can’t get a drink from Sam or a little smile from a pretty girl like you? What’s this world coming to?”
Erin’s posture remains straight and sure, her reply hard but professional. “If I were you,” she says, “I’d listen to Sam before you end up getting banned.”
Jerry sways closer, eyes glazed, lips curling into a sneer that makes my skin crawl. “Just being friendly, miss. No need to get all uptight,” he says as he reaches for her arm.
Test over.
In a flash I’m on my feet, my hand snapping around his wrist before he can make contact. The rage I kept buried roars to the surface, a tidal wave threatening to crash.
My voice drops, low and deadly. “You’re done, Jerry. Get out.”
He blinks, trying to process the shift in atmosphere. I squeeze his wrist just enough to make him wince.
“What?” he asks. “I… I wasn’t going to do anything, Sam!”
“I’m not repeating myself. Leave. And don’t come back until you learn some respect. You’re banned for the weekend—at least.”
He mutters something incoherent then backs away, stumbling toward the door. I watch until he’s gone, the tension in my shoulders refusing to ease.
When I turn back, Erin is watching me, her eyes unreadable. For a second, it’s quiet. Just the two of us in this charged silence.
“That wasn’t necessary,” she says, her voice soft.
I step closer, my eyes locked on hers. “It was.”
She searches my face, her gaze flickering over my jaw and my mouth. Her lips part slightly, and it takes everything I have not to close the distance, to taste that defiance.
I move back just enough to give her space though every instinct in my body screams to stay close.
She studies me, those green eyes sharp and guarded. “Seriously, you didn’t have to do that,” she says again, but there’s a small crack in her armor, a hairline fracture, like she doesn’t know what to do with someone stepping in for her.
“Yes, I did. I don’t let that kind of shit slide in my club.”
Her gaze flickers and she crosses her arms in a defensive gesture. “Guess I’m not used to basic manners,” she chuckles.
My gut twists. I wonder how many times she’s had to fend off guys like Jerry on her own, when no one stepped in to help.
“Well, get used to it. I don’t tolerate disrespect. Ever. If you become part of the staff—and that’s still an if—you can expect a certain level of respect, both from the customers and your coworkers.”
Her lips part slightly and her breath quickens. She doesn’t drop her gaze, doesn’t back down. If anything, the challenge in her eyes sharpens, and it’s like a shot of adrenaline straight to my bloodstream.
She shifts slightly, and my eyes catch the way her jeans hug her hips. She clears her throat, pulling me back up to meet her gaze.
“Do I have the job?” she asks.
I laugh. “I haven’t decided yet. I’d say we covered the ‘how to handle a drunk and disorderly customer’ part of the interview. Now it’s time to see if you can actually make something.”
She smirks. Damn, that smile’s already doing things to me.
“How about I step behind the bar, show you what I can do?”
