Charlie slaps his arm. “No fraternizing.”

As his eyes veer away from my face, I can’t repress a shiver. Man, he’s intense. I can just as easily see him commanding a boardroom as negotiating hostage situations. Basically doing anything that includes telling people what to do.

“Not tempted,” he says mildly.

Ouch, asshole.

He reaches out and drags his thumb over Charlie’s lower lip. “You, on the other hand… feel like being topped tonight?”

The ballsy Charlie blinks out like a light. Her chin lowers, her posture softening until she radiates compliance. I stare raptly at them, the towel forgotten in my hand.

“I do, sir,” she whispers.

He hums in satisfaction, the vibration tightening my nipples. And Charlie’s, I notice.

“Good. Let’s christen Room Three. I’ll be with you shortly.”

She nods and slips off the stool, then walks swiftly across the club toward the hallway Nate pointed out earlier. She disappears inside. The party goes on, the fifteen or so people drinking, chatting, and laughing. I should really see if anyone needs another drink, but my feet are glued to the floor.

“What’s your name?” asks the voice.

He’s left his stool and walked around the bar to where I’m standing. I can now see the rest of him, which looks just as perfect as his upper half.

I clear my throat. “London Limerick.”

He blinks in surprise—most people do. I stopped keeping track years ago of the number of times people have asked me if I’m a stripper. I can’t tell what Tight Ass is thinking, but it isn’t what I look like spinning on a pole.

“I still don’t want you working here.”

I nod. “Duly noted. Too bad it’s not up to you.”

Another snarly half-smile. This time, the tingles are a lot lower than my stomach. Almost, I wish I were Charlie.

Almost.

I’m actually grateful he’s a dickhead.

“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong,” he murmurs. “Since you’re the first person to ever throw a drink in my face, I’ll give you my name for free. Dominic Cross.”

It takes a second to sink in.

Dominic Cross—Charlie Rhodes.

Crossroads.

Damn.

Given that he was auditioning the Latex Twins, I figured he was an entertainment manager or something. Plus, Charlie made it seem like his authority didn’t extend to me.

That’s what I get for assuming anything.

I swallow hard. “You’re one of the owners.”

“I am.” He raps knuckles on the counter between us. “Your sixty-day probation starts now. If you fuck up, you’re fired.”

Without waiting for a response, he walks away.

“Are you at least going to tell me what defines a fuck-up?” I call after him.

The smile he throws over his shoulder is nothing short of lethal. “No. I’ll enjoy watching you squirm.”

Double damn.

I watch his broad back as he weaves through the tables toward the far door. Even after it closes behind him, I still feel the electric current of his presence. If Charlie is sex on legs, Dominic is sexual napalm. Thinking of what they’re about to engage in, my already warm face goes supernova.

Nate appears at the bar, sans blindfold. Correctly interpreting my expression, he says brightly, “Sorry, but Mr. Cross doesn’t do vanilla.”

I don’t bother with denial; pretty sure he caught me staring at Dominic Cross’s ass and drooling. Frankly, I could kiss the bastard just for that. For the reminder that I’m still kicking.

“What does he do?” I ask curiously.

“He’s a strictly hetero Dominant, so I haven’t had the pleasure—sadly. He keeps his rep on the down-low, but bondage is his thing.”

“Like handcuffs and stuff?”

Nate laughs. “You’re so cute. Bring me a Gin and Tonic and I’ll corrupt your mind.”

I laugh—surprisingly easily—and start his drink. “A little late for that, but I’m all ears.”

As I serve him, I notice the club emptying into the distant hallway. Nate notices my stare. “Showtime.”

I put two and two together. “Test drives for the rooms in the back, huh?”

He grins. “Exactly.”

As he sips his cocktail, I study his calm face. “Are you bummed you’re not back there?”

His eyes widen briefly, then he barks a laugh. “We’re going to be great friends, sugarplum. You say what you think. Charlie and Dominic need someone like you around.”

I roll my eyes to disguise the swell of relief his words bring. I did it. I got the job. “I’m what—one of ten bartenders they plan to hire?”

He shrugs. “I saw your résumé. Sure, the bosses are smart, but they don’t have master’s degrees. Sooner or later they’re going to angle for free advice. Pro tip: make them pay.”

I chuckle to hide my wince. My Master’s in Journalism might as well be used to roll the mother of all joints. And I highly doubt Charlie or Dominic need advice on how to spin a story or write an exposé.

Ignoring Nate’s narrowed gaze, I begin stacking tumblers and tossing used lemon wedges. “You dodged my question, Nathan.”

He makes a sour face. “If you never call me that again, I’ll tell you.”

I grin. “Deal.”

He passes me his empty glass. “I’m not bummed, no. I’m a bottom who likes being topped by both men and women, but I don’t have a commitment to a single Dom. Charlie and I mess around occasionally.” He shrugs. “I wasn’t really in the mood tonight, anyway. Pour yourself a drink, London. You’re off the clock.”

The club is empty. Even the Latex Twins are gone, engaging in whatever fun is being had in the private rooms. With a mental shrug, I make myself a Jack and Coke with a splash of lime, then lean a hip on the counter.

“So why did Dominic hate me on sight?”

Nate messes with his hair, winding it in a knot and securing it with a band from his wrist. From his sudden fidgeting and shuttered expression, I realize the answer to my question isn’t a simple one.

“Does he have some weird prejudice against people not into BDSM?”

Nate finally lowers his hands to the bar and meets my gaze. “First, don’t call him Dominic, only sir, Mr. Cross, Cross, or Master Dominic. Second, there’s a reason he doesn’t like you, but I can’t talk about it. Just know it’s not about you, exactly.” He waves a hand toward my face. “It’s all… that. The green eyes and blond hair thing.”

I laugh a little. “Ignoring the ridiculousness of his approved monikers, what are you saying? Do I look like one of his exes or something?” When he just stares at me unblinking, I groan. “Fabulous. No offense, Nate, but if I didn’t need this job, I’d never tolerate that asshole.”

“Seems to me you didn’t tolerate him,” he says with a smirk. “Even though I was blindfolded when you doused him, it’s already my number one favorite moment of our friendship.”

Chuckling, I finish my drink, toss the ice, and load the glass with the other used ones. “Okay, new friend, why don’t you help me clean up the mess out there and tell me how the hell I’m supposed to know when to come back, seeing as how my bosses have disappeared for some freaky sex.”

Nate smiles and grabs the empty tray I’ve propped on the bar. “I’ll handle clean-up tonight. Why don’t you go grab your purse and meet me in the front room? I’ll pull up the training schedule and figure out when you’re back.”

“Training?” I echo at his back.

“Oh yes,” he says drolly. “You were thrown in the water tonight to see if you could swim. Now that they know you can, they’re going to release the sharks.”

“Holy metaphor, batman,” I mutter.

“I heard that!”