My shift started at nine and for a Saturday night, it should’ve been bumping but when I entered the bar, it was oddly quiet.

“Oh, my God,” I murmured in despair. Had we been shut down again? Of all the times for the alcohol police to get persnickety, it would have to be the night where I absolutely had to pull mega tips.

But as I made my way to the back office, I realized, the bar didn’t look closed, just empty.

I found Manny, the owner, relieved to see him smiling behind his desk as if he’d just won the lottery. I was confused but tentatively relieved.

“Is everything okay?” I ventured, wondering if I should grab my cocktail apron or consider stripping. I’d heard the Pink Lady was hiring. “What's going on? Why is the bar empty?”

Manny shook his head as if he couldn't quite believe his luck. “This guy,” he said, his thick Jersey accent incredulous “called me up and said he wanted to rent the bar for the night. At first I thought he was just yanking my chain but he threw down a shitwad of cash to prove that he was legit and damn, I ain’t seen this much cash in my whole life owning this shit bar.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?” Manny countered, pulling a thick wad free from his desk drawer to let it drop with a thunk to the scarred desk surface. “There’s easily ten grand right there.”

A weird feeling started to rumble in my stomach. “Who would pay that kind of money for this place?” I tried not to eye the money too hard. God, even half of that wad would solve most of my immediate problems but I held no illusions that Manny was going to share his good fortune.

“So…am I working tonight or not?” I asked, dragging my gaze away from the money. “I could stock the shelves or something, sweep the back room…whatever you need.”

Manny tucked his money back into the drawer. “Oh, you’re working, sugar. He asked for you specifically. Wants to have a drink with you.”

Oh, God. It was him. “Me?”

“Yeah, you. I was just as shocked,” Manny answered, shaking his head. “I would’ve put my money on Sasha or Vicks but he was adamant, it had to be you.” Suddenly, Manny remembered his humanity and added as a courtesy, “You okay wit dat?”

What was I supposed to say? I needed this job. If I did anything to ruin this for Manny, he’d fire me in a second. “I guess?”

“Nobody’s askin’ you do to any funny business,” Manny assured me. “He just wants to have a drink and get to know you. Seems like an okay fella, you know?”

“You don’t think it’s a little weird that he is buying out the bar for the night to have a drink with me?”

“Hey, I ain’t judgin’ as long as he’s not a pervert or nothin’. I don’t want no trouble but if he tries anythin’, just holler and I’ll take care of things.” Manny said as if he were prepared to be a hero, that is until he added, “But you’re a good girl, right? Ain’t nothing gonna happen. Just be nice and he’ll be gone before you know it.”

Be nice.

I was pretty sure that was code for: do whatever the rich guy wanted.

My mind swam. Suddenly, stripping didn’t sound like a crazy idea to make a living. At least in a strip club, the dancer got a cut of the cash forked out for private dances.

“Manny, what if he's crazy and he wants to wear my face or something?”

“Don’t be so dramatic. No one wants to wear your face.”

Ouch.

Manny said, “Look, so this crazy rich guy wants to rent out my bar and have a drink with one of my waitresses. Weird, sure, but dangerous? Nahhhh, he seems harmless enough but if I were him I’d spend my cash on something other than this place.”

I nodded, completely lost.

“C’mon, it’s not the end of the world. What’s it going to hurt to have a drink with the guy?”

Jesus, I had no choice but to go through with this crazy night. With any luck, the guy would lose interest fast and leave.

I started to reach for my apron but Manny stopped me. “No apron tonight. You look cute the way you are.

My nose wrinkled. “Manny," I protested, feeling boxed in. “This makes my skin crawl. I feel like a prostitute or something.”

Manny shrugged. “Times are hard, sweetheart. No judgment here.”

Manny was too happy with not having to deal with a full bar drunk and disorderly assholes to give a second thought to my discomfort. By Manny’s way of thinking, all I had to do was have a drink with this guy and be nice. Not so difficult, right?

I glared at Manny. “Fine. Is he here?”

“Yeah, in the VIP room.”

The VIP room at Jimmy's was an inside joke. “So, he's in the back room where you hold poker night.”

I drew a deep breath and prepared to log one of the oddest nights of my life. Maybe someday, I’d retell this story and laugh. But not tonight. No, tonight…I wanted to puke.

I walked into the VIP room, the room smelling of stale cigar smoke, spilled whiskey and musty carpet. There he was, waiting for me with a bottle of whiskey and two shot glasses, once again dressed down in worn jeans, a T-shirt molded to his fine physique.

The guy was built. So what? He probably had the personality of a toad. Dark hair, ice-blue eyes and full sensual lips. If the guy was a serial killer I imagine most of his victims went willingly.

“Well, you sure have a way of getting someone's attention,” I said. “What are you doing?”

He smiled, his gaze never leaving mine. “Well, you wouldn't accept my offer of a drink and you wouldn't let me give you a ride home personally so I had to improvise.”

“A little extreme don’t you think?” I said, gesturing to the empty bar.

“If I’d given you my phone number, would you have called?” My silence was answer enough and he smirked with knowing. “I didn’t think so. Rarely do I waste effort on doomed ventures. I prefer the direct approach to success.”

“Catchy — you should put that on a business card.”

“Business is what I’m about. Please, have a seat.”

I slowly sank into the chair, wary. “What kind of business could you and I possibly do together?" I asked. “Are you thinking of opening a bar because basically I have cocktail waitressing and bartending experience.”

“I’m sure there are other things you are good at.”

“Well I guess if you really want to know, I'm pretty good at making poor decisions and jumping to conclusions. Is that a skill set you can put to work?”

He chuckled, his eyes glinting as he poured two shots, sliding one toward me. “You’re funny. Not many are willing to speak so freely to me.”

I smirked. “Why not? Are you a prince or something?”

“No.”

He didn't elaborate and his tone didn’t encourage more questions. My gaze went to the shot he’d poured. I never accepted drinks that I didn’t pour myself.

“What’s this really about?” I asked. “You know this is totally creepy, right? Just cut to the chase and tell me what you really want so we can get this over with.”

“Good. I hate chit-chat,” he said, pleased that I wanted to get to the point. “My name is Gage Rochester. I hate social media as well as the paparazzi so chances are slim that you’ve ever heard of me but if it did interest me, I’d land in the top 100 Richest Men in America.”

“Only America?” I lifted my brow with healthy sarcasm.

But he didn’t bristle at my sarcasm, instead replied, “I believe there’s a Saudi Prince that edged me out of the Top 100 Richest Men in the World list but I can still pay my bills, so I don’t mind.”

“Is this where I act impressed that you can afford to rent out a dive bar for the night?” I asked, the corners of my mouth twitching. Secretly, I was a little impressed but the man didn’t need to know that.

Gage shrugged as if it didn’t matter to him whether I was impressed or not, he’d simply been stating fact. “It's not often that I find people interesting. People bore me quickly but there’s something about you that I like. You haven’t bored me yet.”

“Oh, such praise. I'm humbled I've piqued your interest. If you came for tricks, sorry to disappoint you but I’m no show pony.”

But the way his gaze slid down my body made me think differently. There was a banked hunger in his eyes that made the temperature rise in the room. I didn’t want to feel anything for the crazy rich man, much less anything resembling desire, but he was nice to look at, I couldn’t deny it. I deliberately flicked my gaze away.

“How’d you end up in Jimmy’s?”

“The most interesting people are the ones who don't hide behind their money,” he answered, downing his shot. “Plus it reminds me of where I grew up.”

I scoffed, “Are you saying you grew up poor? Or you grew up around drunks?”

His cool smile was my only answer. Okay, so maybe both. “What about me intrigued you?" I asked, playing the game, but sue me, I was curious, too.

“Two weeks ago, I watched you shut down a mean drunk trying to grab your ass. You broke his finger.”

I remembered the incident. “I don't enjoy being touched without permission. He learned that the hard way."

The guy had been typical of Jimmy’s usual bottom-feeder. If given half the chance, the guy would happily rape a woman if he thought he wouldn’t get caught. I’d felt zero guilt for breaking his bones.

“He isn’t likely to make the same mistake twice.”

I smirked. “Not with me, he won’t.”

Gage chuckled, that gleam in his eye brightening as he followed with a bold as fuck query that sent a shock wave down my spine.

“So tell me…how do you like to be touched…when permission has been granted?”