Liam
“You did what?” I bellowed, my grip on the phone tightening as anger surged through my veins.
“I hired a waitress, Liam,” Madison said. “I don’t see what the problem is.”
“Do you even know this girl?”
“Come on, Liam. You needed a waitress and she needed a job.”
“Jesus Christ, Madison! I need someone with experience. I don’t have time to train some chick off the street.”
“I told her it was a probationary position so if it doesn’t work out, then let her go.”
I sighed and ran a hand down my face. She was supposed to be a silent partner. The deal was I would run the bar. Her hiring a random chick she met in a bathroom was never part of the deal. I should have never agreed to let her help me buy the bar.
“All I ask is that you give her a chance,” Madison said. “You know it wasn’t that long ago that you needed help.”
That was a low blow.
“Fine,” I said, “But if she screws up, even once, she’s gone.”
“Understood.”
I hung up the phone without saying another word and tucked it into my back pocket. Just wonderful.
As if things weren’t crazy enough, now I had to babysit my sister’s pet project.
***
The next day, I was taking advantage of a lull and restocking the cooler as Sam prepped the kitchen for happy hour. The bell above the door jingled and my head snapped up. A tiny blonde came in wearing a pair of skin tight jeans and a low-cut shirt, her huge fake tits on full display. I ground my teeth, praying she wasn’t the girl Madison had sent me, but my hopes were quickly shot to hell when she approached the bar.
“Are you Liam?” she asked.
“Who wants to know?”
She rolled her eyes. “I was told to come in today and ask for Liam. Are you him?”
I straightened up to my full height and folded my arms across my chest. I smiled down at her, deciding to have some fun with this feisty little blonde, who no doubt thought she was God’s gift to the world. “Maybe I am, Maybe I’m not.”
“Look, asshole, I don’t have time to deal with some bartender on a power trip. I’m here to talk to Liam. So, run along and fetch him.”
I raised an eyebrow at her. Was she serious? Who starts a job with a bitchy attitude like that? I watched her closely as she glared back at me, refusing to back down. There was something about this girl. She was an entitled, spoiled priss, there was no doubt about that but there was a fire in her almost turquoise eyes that intrigued me.
We stood in silence, glaring at each other, just waiting for the other the break. I was about to tell her she could take her attitude and walk it right out of my bar when Sam pushed through kitchen door.
“Hey, boss,” he said. I rolled my eyes. He knew I hated when he called me that. “We’re running low on potatoes back there…” Sam froze when he saw little miss bitchy. A crooked smile spread across his face, his dark skin shiny with a mixture of sweat and grease from the fryer, as he took her in from head to toe. His brown eyes lingered on the abundance of cleavage that spilled from her top.
Blondie’s eyes widened as her attention volleyed between us, before finally glaring right at me. She was a hot little number, all curves and sass, but she sure as hell wouldn’t fit in around this place. From her clothes and the way her nose wrinkled in distaste as she looked around my bar, she clearly had champagne and caviar taste. We tended to cater more to the cheap beer and fried fish crowd.
I laughed. “Shipment should be in tomorrow,” I said to Sam. “We got enough to get through tonight?”
Sam nodded without taking his eyes off little miss princess. “Who do we have here?” he asked.
“No one,” I said. “She was just leaving.”
Her overly made up face fell. “But I’m supposed to start work…”
I held up my hand to stop her. “I know what my sister said, but I don’t have time to train you and I don’t think the customers would appreciate some bitchy, entitled princess screwing up their orders and thrusting her boobs in their faces.”
Sam chuckled. “Oh, I big to differ. You can mess up my order any day, sweetheart.” He bit his lip and pressed a thumb against his chin.
“Jesus Christ, Sam, you aren’t helping.”
Sam was a harmless old flirt. He’d worked for Jack for twenty years and would probably end up working for me for another twenty if I let him. He was a hell of a cook and a good guy all around.
“Whatever you say, boss,” he said, giving the girl another once over before heading back into the kitchen. That boss shit was getting old. We worked together long before I bought this place. Sam was a friend and I hated him referring to me as his boss, which did nothing to deter him from doing so.
Once he was gone, the girl turned her attention back to me. “You could’ve just told me who you were,” she said.
“And miss the chance to see the real you in action? No way, Princess,”
She ground her teeth, her tiny fists clenched at her sides. “My name is not Princess.”
I smiled. She was a feisty one, that’s for sure, but I didn’t have time for feisty. I needed a waitress like yesterday, and bleach blonde Barbie wasn’t gonna cut it.
“Does it matter?” I knew I was being a dick, but she started with the attitude and I was damn sure gonna be the one to finish it.
“I’m not going anywhere. I need this job. So, tell me what you need me to do.”
“For starters, you can lose the attitude.”
She took a deep breath, closed her eyes and shook her arms out at her sides. “Fine. Done. What’s next?” Her face broke into a ridiculous fake grin.
I shook my head. “You ain’t got the sense God gave a goose.”
“Excuse me?”
“Lose that entitled, self-righteous bullshit. The world owes you nothing, honey, so get over yourself.”
Her jaw dropped and her eyes widened in shock. My guess was no one had ever called her on her shit before. I felt a little bit of pride deep in my chest that I was the one to do it.
I made my way around the bar and stopped right in front of her. “Here are the facts, Princess. You need a job and I am the one who decides if you stay or if you go. Right now, I’m leaning toward kicking your skinny ass to the curb.” I took a step closer, making sure to meet her eyes so she knew I was serious.
“Now, I’m a generous guy,” I continued. “I believe in second chances for the people who deserve them. Your job is to prove to me that you deserve a second chance. Think you can do that, Princess?” I made sure to give the last Princess a little emphasis, because it was pretty clear the nickname pissed her off.
I was hoping she would storm out in a fit of rage and I could focus on hiring a real replacement for Bridget, but sadly luck was just not on my side.
She stepped forward and folded her arms across her chest, meeting my challenge. “I’m not going anywhere, boss.” My jaw tensed and she smirked, crossing her arms to match my stance.
I looked her over. Her outfit was ridiculous. Her jeans were so tight, they looked like they might split open if she bent down. Not to mention the hot pink heels she wore on those tiny little feet. I couldn’t help but laugh. “You won’t last an hour in those shoes.”
She stepped toward me, glaring in defiance. “Watch me.”
And I did: I watched her face, as she glared at me. She could have been pretty, but who could tell with the ten pounds of make-up she had on?
For a little thing, she had curves for days, a tiny waist and soft hips, but as soon as she opened that mouth of hers the appeal was gone. This chick was a spoiled bitch and I know a little something about rich, entitled brats like her. Hell, I used to be one.
“You got one shot,” I said, holding up one finger for emphasis.
“That’s all I need.”
My lips twitched, fighting off a smile. She was a piece of work. Who knows? This might be kind of fun.
“All right, Princess. Follow me and I’ll show you around.”
I headed toward the back, not really caring if she was following or not.
“My name is Gwen,” she said, her heels stomping on the hardwood as she followed me into the kitchen.
“Don’t care,” I called back to her and pushed through the kitchen doors.
***
If I heard one more cat call, I was gonna lose my shit. Turns out Princess was a hit with the regulars, and even Floyd took a shine to her. By the end of happy hour, she’d spilled more beer than she served, but no one seemed to mind. I swear, customers spent more time watching her ass than they did the game.
I’ll give her this: She was determined to prove me wrong and the girl could hustle. She was running back and forth between the kitchen and the bar all night long, tottering on those ridiculous shoes, which had to have been filled with blood, but she never showed the pain. She just smiled and delivered the food, granted to the wrong tables, but I had to admit the intent was there. Maybe, with a little bit of training and a pair of Converse, she might make it here after all.
I pushed through the kitchen door just in time to hear the crash of plates as they hit the floor.
“Son of a bitch,” Gwen said, bending down to pick up the mess of fries and what was left of a bacon cheeseburger off the floor.
I shook my head and chuckled. Bent over, her too tight jeans stretched over her shapely ass as she gathered the mess onto what was left of the plates. I smiled, folding my arms across my chest to take in the show—and man, what a show it was. The chick had that kind of ass you want to sink your teeth into. Not that I would. I was her boss and a professional, but still, I’m a guy.
“Mmm-mm,” Sam said.
I startled and clinched my fist for a moment, not realizing he was standing behind me.
I looked over at him with a frown and he smiled, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively and nodding his head to where Gwen was still bent over the mess.
“What?”
“Not bad, eh, boss?” he said with a toothy grin.
“Don’t you have a burger to remake?” I asked with a glare.
Sam laughed and shook his head before taking up his post behind the grill.
I grabbed a dust pan, deciding to give her a hand, and knelt beside her to scoop the rest of the ruined burger into the trash.
“Just a tip,” I said. “Customers prefer to eat their food off a plate, not the floor.”
Pure murder shined from her eyes as she slowly got to her feet. My smile widened, amused I had successfully ruffled her feathers, and I handed her back her tray. She snatched it from my hand and stomped through the kitchen door.
I stood up and looked over at Sam who was watching me from the grill with a knowing smile.
“What?”
“You’re in for a world of trouble with that one, boss,” he said pointing toward the door Gwen had disappeared through.
“She’s not that bad of a waitress.”
He laughed and shook his head. “Never said it was a work problem.”
I flipped him the bird and headed for my office.
“Dirty old man,” I muttered as I shut the door behind me.
***
After last call, the place cleared out pretty quickly. I gave Sam the all clear to shut down the kitchen and headed to the register to sort the receipts.
I pushed through the kitchen door to see Gwen perched on a bar stool prying off one of her shoes and wincing in pain.
I chuckled and shook my head and her eyes snapped up at the sound. She shot to her feet, balancing on one foot and tucking the other behind her leg.
I shook my head. “Told you those shoes would be killer.”
She sighed and sank back down onto the stool, prying off the other shoe and letting it fall to the floor with a thud.
“I hate to admit it,” she said. “But you may be right.”
I looked over at her and raised an eyebrow.
She tilted her head and wrinkled her nose. “Don’t get used to it. I’m sure it won’t happen again.”
“On the contrary, Princess. You’ll find out soon enough that I’m always right.”
I went back to my receipts, a hint of a smile on my lips. “How about tomorrow, you wear something a little more appropriate.”
“Tomorrow?” she asked, her voice sounding almost hopeful.
I looked over my shoulder at her. “Yeah, tomorrow.”
She let out a sigh of relief that sounded so genuine it took me off guard. It was obvious she came from money based on the painful designer shoes and matching purse. My curiosity was piqued. I wondered what could have happened to make this bitchy arrogant princess desperate enough to work in a dive bar. I could care less about her problems, but if whatever was going on with her was going to be a problem for me and my bar, I sure as shit wanted to know about it.
I counted out the till and separated the staff’s tips into small stacks.
“We hitting Frank’s tonight, boss?” Al asked, wiping down the last of the liquor bottles with a rag.
“Yeah, I’m almost done here.”
“What about you, beautiful?” Al asked, turning to Gwen.
I laughed. “Yeah, I don’t think Frank’s is exactly her scene.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” she sneered.
“Well, Frank’s isn’t exactly the Four Seasons. It’s this little hole in the wall down on twenty-third.”
“Best food you’ve ever had in your life,” Al added.
“Sounds good to me,” she said. “I’m starving.”
I chuckled as I counted out the last of her tips. “This ought to be good.”