Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 27423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 137(@200wpm)___ 110(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 137(@200wpm)___ 110(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
Yeah, this uniform is sexy, but it could be sexier. And since I seem to be serving just Cole tonight, it’s an opportunity to take advantage. I tighten the band and straps of the bra until it barely contains me, arranging the straps across my breasts to accentuate them. Using my thumbs, I shimmy the waistband of my pants down until they’re an inch from falling off. You can see my hips now, and they’re so low it’s almost obscene, but looking in the mirror, it works. Final touches, I take some make-up from one of the dancer’s stations and give myself quick smoky eyes, and use some shimmery powder on my breasts and stomach. It doesn’t glitter—instead it makes my skin luminous. In the blue light of the VIP room, I think it will look amazing. Done.
I grin at myself in the mirror. No longer a harried waitress, but a sexy club goer who happens to be serving drinks to the most powerful men in the building. Or at least that’s how it feels. I get more than my fair share of looks as I make my way across the club to the kitchen. Rosie practically mows me down coming out of the kitchen with a tray. She gives me a look up and down and laughs. “You catch on quickly.”
“What?”
She raises an eyebrow. “You’ve probably doubled the tips you’ll get tonight.”
“Oh. Right.” It’s not tips I was hoping to land, but I’ll let her think what she wants.
The food Cole ordered is ready, waiting with a little card letting me know what to take. There’s also a…blowtorch?
“Ever used one of those before?” An older man in a chef uniform is looking at me skeptically.
“Nope,” I say, “and I have no idea what it’s for.”
He nods. “One of the things mister Andrews ordered was crème brûlée.” He points to a bunch of little cups filled with custard. “It’s more entertaining for the guests if you torch the top in front of them.” He picks up the torch and flicks it on, showing me the bright blue flame. “Just run it lightly over the top until the whole thing is a medium brown. You’ll be fine.”
“Sure,” I say. “Sounds easy enough.” I’m sure I don’t sound convincing. But I have no idea who these clients are. If they’re important, I want to make sure they have a good impression, so more entertaining it is. I grab the tray of food and head back across the club, sticking to the edge and dodging dancers as needed.
There seems to be a rather heated discussion happening as I enter the blue room—on the clients’ side—but they stop talking as soon as I enter the room. I get the feeling I should have knocked, but it’s too late now.
Cole chimes in to cover the awkwardness in the air. “I took the liberty of ordering us some appetizers and desserts. Andrea?”
I bring the tray over to a larger table, a higher bar that’s holding almost everyone’s drinks. I place the tray down, and lay out the desserts. God, I hope I don’t set everything on fire. I glance over at Cole, and I see the moment he registers the change in my appearance. His eyes stroke up and down my body visibly, and his mouth curls up in what must be the sexiest smirk I’ve ever seen. I’m concerned that the minute I light up this blowtorch that we’re all going to explode.
The clients and Cole’s partners are speaking, commenting on the food, but I can’t hear them. I’m distracted by the way Cole’s eyes are on me, by the way he shifts in his seat, making it clear what he’s trying to hide. I glance up from using the torch to see the light of it reflected in his eyes, and it only makes them burn brighter. Everyone’s heard that expression about feeling like they were the only people in the room, and every time someone said anything like that, I thought that they were lying.
They weren’t.
I manage to crown the tops of all the desserts without catching my clothes on fire, and I get a little round of applause as I turn off the flame with a flourish.
“Well done,” Cole says, and I’m glad it’s dark enough that he won’t see the way my body heats up, blushing because of his praise.
I distribute the small desserts to everyone, and one of the clients catches my arm as I put it in front of him. “I agree, well done,” he says. One strong pull, and I’m in his lap. His hand is around my waist, fingers stroking against my skin, pulling me down onto what is obviously an erection. “I can think of other things that could be well done.” He snickers, voice crawling across me like slime.