Page 62 of By A Thread

They’d left me a thirty percent tip that made my mercenary heart tap out a pitter-pat.

That pitter-pat turned into an aggressive timpani solo when Domnic Russo took one of the vacated stools.

We stared at each other while he shrugged out of his coat. He was dressed more casually than he had been in the office. Jeans and a well-fitting gray sweater that made his blue eyes look more silver. His sleeves were shoved up, revealing tattoos on both forearms.

Yum.

What was it about this man that made me feel… whatever this was?

Wordlessly, I dropped a napkin on the bar in front of him.

The bar was still loud, still busy. But everything seemed to fade into a blurry background as we stared at each other.

What was this?

Why was he here?

Why did I want to climb over this bar and slide into his lap?

Well. Besides the obvious.

“What’ll it be, boss?” I asked, going for light, blasé even. But when the words came out, they sounded like a proposition to me.Beer? Bourbon? Me?

He pointed to a craft beer on tap and leaned his forearms on the bar.

I poured his beer and set it in front of him.

“Yo, Al, got a round of bachelorette shots comin’ up,” one of the servers called from the end of the bar. I was old enough to be his very young aunt.

Relieved I turned away from those eyes that were burning holes into me and yanked the ticket off the printer. I went to work, pretending that every fiber of my being wasn’t focused on the man behind me.

I made six Screaming Orgasms, poured four more beers, and shook up two martinis before finding my way back to Dominic.

“Hungry?” I asked.

“Do you get a break?” He pushed his empty glass toward me. His gaze lingered on the beaded bracelets on my wrist.

“I get fifteen,” I said, wondering what he could possibly want badly enough to come down here and sit at my bar.

“Will you eat with me?” he asked.

Now I was nervous. He was being nice. Polite. I trusted the grumpy, yelly version of him a hell of a lot more than this civilized one.

“Sure,” I said.

He looked relieved.

“Another one?” I asked, taking his glass.

“Yes.”

* * *

Twenty minutes later,I was seated across from my boss at a way-too-intimate high-top table tucked into a very dark corner.

Our differences were impossible to ignore. He was in designer duds. I was dressed like a cheap cowgirl. He’d ordered the filet, and I was dining on my employee discount hamburger.

“What’s going on? You’re not here to get me fired, are you?” I cut my burger in half so I could save one portion for lunch tomorrow.