My eyes quickly flick over Violetta’s casually mussed hair, her cute pajama set, Christian’s own t-shrit and checked pajama pants. The two of them, dressed like that, together at this hour means… But nope. I’m not going to go there. I’m not going to think about what it means. But it pisses me of
“See, there it is again,” I say, tilting my head curiously, deliberately trying to piss him off now in the same way that he’s pissed me off. “Those orders. Like is it a fetish? Does Violetta know about this?” A muscle flicks in Christian’s jaw as he stares down at me, and honestly half of me wonde
Frankie doesn’t say anything when I get down to the car, just smirks at me and raises an eyebrow. I don’t bother to fill him in, giving a coy shrug as I move to the front seat and slide in. We’re on the road quickly and Frankie fills the ride with chatter, telling me the basics about Lupa, which a
“Let’s get something straight,” Andre says, turning to face me the moment that he puts the bar back in place. My eyes go wide at way he’s already snapping at me – god, is he my boss? Is this what my days are going to be like now? I nod, eager, letting Andre know that I’m listening. “I don’t know
“Sir?” Andre says, coming to my rescue as he walks to my side, polishing a glass as he does. His hands are always in motion, I’ve noticed – always busy fixing, cleaning, setting straight. “Well, Andre?” Romano says, shifting his eyes to the man in charge. “How’s she fitting in?” “So far so good,
“Did you get a GED?” I ask, fascinated, but then Andre barks my name and I blush. He nods significantly down at the paper in my hand and I bite my lip, forcing myself to pay attention. But I can’t help it when my eyes drift back to Frankie. Frankie – he really is full of surprises, isn’t he? I f
“What the hell, Frankie!” I hiss, leaning over the bar to smack him on the arm. “Why didn’t you tell me that!?” He grins at me, pleased at his little trick. “You didn’t ask, Bambs. Come on, you ready to go home? I’ll let you make me dinner.” I scowl at him, but I admit – it’s hard to be mad at h
I smile at him, pleased to be seen, pleased to have him understand me. “You looked good, happy for once,” he says, pulling the car to a stop at a red light and taking a long moment to look into my eyes, to study my face. “You looked…really good, behind that bar.” I fight my urge to bite my lip b