Page 14 of Beneath Your Beautiful

“Oh God. I don’t want to go down in flames.”

Chris laughed. “He won’t let you get in the weeds. He’s too much of a control freak.”

Okay, still not setting me at ease. Talk about mixed messages. Was he a control freak or someone who tossed you into the fire to see how you dealt with getting burned?

Here goes nothing, I thought as a group entered the bar.

No need to panic. I’ve totally got this. All I needed to focus on was mixing drinks, serving them, and ringing them up. How hard could it be?

Turned out, it was harder than it looked.

Killian wasn’t impressed with my mojitos. Apparently, I didn’t bash the mint enough. He showed me how to do it the right way—his way. Not long after the mojito tutorial, I grabbed two bottles of liquor from the top shelf, spun around, and rammed into Killian’s chest. He steadied me with his hands on my upper arms, but quickly dropped his arms to his side like my skin burned him.

“Sorry. Did I hurt you?” Stupid question. Killian was made of the same steel Sawyer was, forged by hours of exercise and conditioning. You didn’t get a body like his without putting a lot of time and work into it. He was all lean muscle without an ounce of fat.

“When someone saysbehind you, pay attention.”

“Sorry. I didn’t hear you.”

“Just take it easy,” he said, his tone softer. “Nobody’s life is at stake.”

So, I stopped trying to rush around like a headless chicken, and it worked a lot better. Indie rock music was blasting from the sound system, and I’d gotten into a rhythm. I had a system working, giving a nod to the new customers to let them know I saw them, and serving the ones who’d been waiting the longest.

A man in the corner called me over. He was older than the rest of the crowd, early fifties maybe. A big man, all bulging muscle, with closely cropped dark hair and a hard face, like it had been chiseled from granite.

I set a paper coaster in front of him. “What can I get you?”

“Jack and Coke,” he said, his gaze focused on Killian.

I mixed his drink, side-eying Killian, who was serving margaritas to a group of women at the other end of the bar. A lot of hair-tossing and giggling was being directed his way, but it was in vain. He was either oblivious or not interested. When I set the Jack and Coke in front of the man, he looked me up and down, his steel-blue eyes containing no warmth. “You been working here long?”

“It’s my first night.”

“You one of Killian’s groupies?”

“Groupie? What—?”

The man shook his head and snorted in disgust. “He never learns, does he?”

“What does that mean?” I asked, even though I sensed I should just keep my mouth shut and collect his money. When wouldIever learn?

“Beautiful women are nothing but trouble. He should know that by now. But he’s never been the smartest boy.”

Okay, I was dealing with a misogynist who just insulted meandKillian. What did he mean by groupie? I planted my hands on my hips. He raised his eyebrows, waiting for me to say something I’d regret. I bit back the words I was tempted to say and adopted a professional tone. “That will be eight—”

A hand on my upper arm guided me away. I looked up at Killian, whose gaze was fixed on the man. “Take a break. Jimmy will give you food.”

“I need to—”

“Come back in fifteen minutes.”

“But—”

“Go,” Killian cut me off, his tone sharp and face stern.

Did he think I couldn’t handle it? Killian turned his back to me and took my place in front of the man, blocking my view with his body.

“Got yourself a fancy bar with all these pretty people,” the man said. “You don’t belong here, boy. You ain’t cut out for this life. And get a haircut. You look like a fucking pussy.”