Ten Tiny Breaths (Ten Tiny Breaths #1)(18)

I brush off the compliment. “Nah, it’s just for fun.” The truth is I’d love to complete, but it’s too dangerous for me, given my injuries. One hit to the wrong place will cause serious damage to all the work those surgeons did years ago to put me back together. I’m not about to tell Ben any of that though.

“First night at Penny’s?” he asks, leaning one forearm against a door frame.

“Yeah.”

A lusty gaze wanders over my frame again.

“Bartending only,” I add, crossing my arms over my chest, emphasizing the ‘only.’

His attention skates back up to my face and he smirks. “Yeah, I’ve heard that before.”

“And you’ll hear it again from me every time you ask,” I throw back coolly. What a pompous ass. He needs a good kick to the head to wipe that smirk off his mouth. Maybe I’ll ask him to spar next time I’m at the gym.

Storm ushers me forward past him, hollering over her shoulder, “See ya later, Ben.” She knocks on a door with a sign that reads Bossman. There’s a caricature of a naked woman sitting spread eagle and a pair of black lace thong underwear tacked on beside. How fitting.

“And here’s Cain’s office. Don’t worry. You’ll fit in here,” she whispers as she pushes through the door. I give the back of her head an arched brow. She thinks she knows me. She thinks I’ll fit in with silicone and booze and vajayjays or whatever I’m supposed to call them. I’m second-guessing how smart Storm really is.

“Come in!” A harsh voice calls out and my back tenses up.

Inside is a small office with floor to ceiling shelves on all four walls, lined with more cases of booze. Tons and tons of booze. On the back wall is something that looks like a weird chemistry experiment—a bunch of upside down liquor bottles with a mess of hoses flowing from their spouts, down into the floor. My nose catches a faint scent of cigar smoke, cedar, and whiskey lingering in the air.

“That’s the bar well,” Storm explains in a whisper. “All the basic liquor. It controls how much goes out. You hit a button behind the bar and it gives you one ounce. You hit it twice, two ounces, not rocket science.”

“So I can’t reenact my favorite scenes from Cocktail?” I mumble, picturing twirling bottles like a baton.

Storm chuckles. “You can, but it will be with the pricey bottles on the shelf and they cost a lot when you break them.”

A man with slick black hair and a navy dress shirt sits behind a giant mahogany desk with his back to us. Cain, I presume. He’s on the phone with what sounds like the beer distributor. By the way he barks out ‘yes’ and ‘no,’ I’d say he’s not happy. He slams the phone down and spins around and I prepare myself for a painful conversation.

But then his coffee-colored irises settle on Storm and they instantly warm. He’s a younger man—early thirties—with attractive features and a sense of style. Definitely good-looking by anyone’s standards. But he’s a strip club owner and that equals dirt bag in my book.

“Hello, Angel,” he drawls, giving Storm a slow once-over. The hairs on the back of my neck prickle. I’m not going to like this guy. Not. One. Bit.

Storm ignores the leer. Or maybe she enjoys it. Frankly, I have no idea. I don’t know her well enough either. “Hey, Cain.” She cocks her head toward me. “This is my friend, Kacey. For the bartender position?”

My gut tenses as those dark irises turn to appraise me but it only lasts for half a second. He bolts out of his chair and strides around the desk, extending his hand with a professional air. “Hi Kacey. I’m Cain, the owner of Penny’s. Pleased to meet you.”

And here’s where my little phobia makes life so damn awkward. I can’t get around shaking the boss’s hand when he offers it to me. Not unless I tear out of here right now but then I’m out of a job. One I’m not sure I want, but a job nonetheless. My only real choice is to grit my teeth and hope I don’t pass out from an anxiety attack when his fingers curl around my own, shoving me back into that dark place I keep trying to crawl out from.

I look at him, I look at his hand, I look at Storm. But most of all, I hear Livie’s voice saying try.

I reach out …

Black spots fill my vision as his bones and muscles and gristle wrap around my hand and squeezes. My other hand blindly paws the air for support and I make contact with Storm’s elbow. I grab onto it. I’m going to pass out. I’m going to keel over right here on this floor and do the funky chicken like an idiot. Nate the gargantuan will drag me out while Cain hollers, “thanks, but no thanks, nut job” and then I’ll be back to Starbucks and Livie will have to eat cat food and …

“Storm’s told me a lot about you.”

With a start, I realize Cain has let go of my hand. My lungs deflate. “Has she now?” I say in a shaky voice, stealing a glance at Storm

He smiles warmly. “Yes. She said you’ve helped her out a lot. You’re smart and you’re in need of a job. You’re stunningly beautiful. I can see that now, firsthand.”

I choke, my tongue disappearing into the back of my throat.

“Have you ever worked in an adult establishment?”

“Uh … no … sir,” I answer and silently pray to God that Storm hasn’t told him otherwise. I don’t know why, but I find suddenly that I want to impress Cain. He carries an authoritative air to him, like he’s much older and wiser than his appearance suggests, like he’s a caring human rather than unscrupulous strip club owner.