Page 12 of Wrecked By You
Right now, it looked a little unimpressive, but I’d bet that once the lights were turned on and music blasted out of the enormous speakers, and the place heaved with clubbers, it would take on a whole different vibe.
Nerves dampened my palms, and I swiped them over my hips. I’d worn the same jeans as I had at my interview—the smartest ones I owned—and paired them with flat shoes and a fitted white shirt open at the neck. But as I scanned around, I had a horrible feeling I’d made the wrong choice.
Across from me, deep in conversation, was a group of women who had to be staff, considering the club wasn’t open yet. Each of them was decked out in short skirts or dresses, plenty of cleavage on show, and heels that added a good three to four inches to their height. Their makeup was cover model perfect, and they had legs for days and long, wavy blonde locks curling down their backs.
Unlike me, a mere five foot four when I stood up straight, who had a jiggly mom belly and black hair that grew to between my shoulder blades but refused to grow another inch.
My heart tripped, embarrassment pinking my cheeks. I didn’t belong here.
I spun around, ready to make my escape, and clattered into a wall made of pure muscle.
“Oof.”
Mr. Kingcaid, dressed as he’d been earlier today in all black, gripped my upper arms to steady me. “Going somewhere, Miss Reyes?”
“I-I…” I ran my teeth over my bottom lip. “No.”
“Good.”
He released me and stepped back, and this weird feeling came over me, almost like a sense of loss. A chuckle nearly slipped from my lips at such a ridiculous thought, but one look at the scowl on the face of my new boss, and I swallowed it back down.
“Follow me. I’ll introduce you to Stan. He’ll show you the ropes.”
I had no idea who Stan was, and I didn’t ask. All would become clear, in time. I wasn’t sure whether to be grateful to the surly nightclub owner for stopping me from making a run for it or conflicted that I’d have to stay. There was one sliver of light on the horizon. He’d seen my attire and hadn’t commented, so however those women chose to dress, it wasn’t a company edict.
Besides, my choices were limited. When I’d left Mateo, seventy-five percent of what I’d packed was for Chloe, and I didn’t have spare cash for clothes. Not even from the thrift store.
“Stan.” Mr. Kingcaid rapped his knuckles on the bar, drawing the attention of a man in his midthirties with close-cropped dark blond hair, a goatee, and twinkling blue eyes. I immediately took to him, especially when he flashed a white-toothed smile in my direction. The difference between him and the club owner was like night and day. Stan was sunshine even in midwinter. Mr. Kingcaid was dark, gloomy skies, the kind of which preceded a violent thunderstorm.
“This is Ella. She’s our new bartender. Show her what she needs to know.” He glanced down at me. “Okay?”
I wondered what he’d say if I said no, that I wasn’t okay. It wasn’t a lie. I was worried I’d stand out rather than blend in and scared I’d make a mess of things and lose my job on the same day I’d gotten it.
I swallowed past a narrow throat and flicked my eyes to Stan. “All good.” My voice was too brittle, all high-pitched and squeaky, but Mr. Kingcaid either didn’t notice or, more likely, didn’t care. He gave me a curt nod and retreated.
“Don’t worry about Johannes,” Stan said. “His bark is worse than his bite.” He laughed. “On a good day.”
So that’s his name.Johannes. Such an unusual name for an American. I’d heard the African version, Yohannes, before, although it was spelled the same way, with aJ. I wondered if there was a reason behind his parents choosing to call him that or if they’d heard it somewhere and just liked the sound of it.
Stan nudged me, interrupting my daydreams. “Come on, Ella. Let’s get started. We’ve got a busy night ahead.”
Stan wasn’t wrong. From the moment the club opened its doors at ten o’clock, I didn’t get a second to breathe, let alone find time to go to the bathroom. When Stan had mentioned tonight’s special event and told me who was coming, I’d gone into panic mode. Everyone who was anyone knew the name Nate Brook. He was one of Hollywood’s hottest properties and I’d worried I’d get starstruck and act all weird, but in the end, I’d been far too busy to pay him any attention whatsoever. I’d caught a quick glimpse of him on the dance floor with his wife, a stunning diminutive redhead, and that was about it. She gave me hope that not all guys were into tall, leggy blondes. Then again, I had no time for romance even if my dream guy dropped at my feet and begged me to go out with him. My one and only priority was and would remain Chloe. Keeping her safe and away from the toxic environment my husband cultivated was the only thing I cared about.
“Yo, Ella, quit daydreaming.” Stan gave me a dig in the side and jerked his chin toward a waiting customer. I sprinted into action, but not before I caught Johannes standing in a dark corner staring at me, his shoulder propped against a wall. He narrowed his eyes, and my stomach dropped. I wasn’t an idiot. I knew he was assessing my performance, and from what little I’d gleaned, he wouldn’t hesitate to fire me if he thought I wasn’t up to the job.
I finished serving my current customer and scanned the bar for anyone waiting.
Oh, hell.
Nate Brook held up a finger, his arm draped around his wife’s shoulder. He hit me with a brilliant smile, and I came over all of a flutter. Damn, he was handsome, the kind of good looks that caused women’s ovaries to weep with joy.Deep breath, Ella.
I took his order—a beer and a mimosa—but as I stood on tiptoes to grab a champagne flute from the top shelf, I lost my balance and dropped it. Glass shattered, splattering my legs. Thank goodness I was wearing jeans, or I might have gotten cut.
“Fuck. I meanshit. I meangosh darn it.” I flushed beet red, dropping to a crouch to pick up the biggest shards. As I rose to my feet, Johannes stood right in front of me, a scowl drawing his eyebrows inward.
“Stan,” he barked. “Serve Nate and Dex.”
I licked my lips, meekly spluttering out, “They asked for a beer and a mimosa.”