Brutally Beautiful(17)

Again, I gave him a sweet smile, but damn, my hands were clenched into sweaty fists that were aching to knock a few of his perfect teeth out. “Wow. Big head, small mind, huh? I wouldn’t have pegged you as mentally incompetent, but I guess you really can’t judge a book by its cover.” I stood up slowly and leaned both hands down on the table. “I won’t dance for your money, Mr. Grayson. Sorry to shatter your clichéd stereotypical expectations of me.” He had no idea who I was or what things I had accomplished in my lifetime. Then again, look at what he was seeing; a pale faced woman, wearing ripped jeans, worn sneakers with holes in them, and hustling tables in a strip joint in the middle of nowhere, so maybe he’s right to assume things. I didn’t know. I didn’t care. I spun on my heels and walked away. Screw him. I knew this was the part I had to play now, but GOD, did it twist me up inside not being able to be myself in front of everyone.

“So why are you here then? If you’re not this clichéd version of a sheep I believe you are? Why not do something better with your life?” He barked. Oh, what now? Was he trying to save the poor waitress with his Prince Charming complex or was it an ignorant attempt at continuing the conversation with me?

Looking back, I met my eyes to his challenging ones. “How do you know I haven’t? And how do you know that this, right here, isn’t better than someplace else I’ve been?”

His mouth snapped shut. His dangerous dark features softened for a mere second before I turned my back to him and left him alone in the bar. This was his brother’s bar, I was sure if he wanted a drink bad enough, he’d know how to pour it, or snap his fingers to get some magical fairy that could. I sat behind the bar, pulled out my phone and pulled up some online newspapers to read figuring it was going to be a long night with him staring at me from his back table, fuming like a toddler for not getting under my skin. To hell with him, my skin was way too tough for some pathetic gorilla in a Gucci suit to break through.

Within ten minutes, I was blissfully comfortable reading the New York Times on the small screen of my phone, no longer thinking about Mr. Grayson. The next twenty minutes passed without incident, until a cold wind blew in from two older men coming through the front doors. The gentlemen, who were regulars, greeted me with a warm wave and before I could even get to their table, they called for two beers and two plates of burgers and fries.

Peeking my head into the kitchen, I whistled for Trevor, who was cooking that night and had to wake him up off one of the cots in the back room to cook. He groaned and muttered profanities at me playfully all the way back into the bar area, and I came out of the back laughing. My eyes went directly to the table Kade had sat in before, and to my relief, it was empty. But, when I grabbed two cold beers from the coolers behind the bar, I heard the slide of one of the bar stools across the wooden floors right next to me.

“Have a drink with me,” Kade’s husky voice said.

I looked up, stunned by his demand. He was leaning against the stool, which he had pulled up next to mine and was pouring an enormous glass of brandy for himself. There was no malice in his expression, no disgust from before, but his eyes were suspicious and cautious. Maybe he has multiple personalities?

Without giving him an answer, I turned and walked towards the two customers with their beers, telling them their food would be out in a few minutes. Walking back behind the bar, I pulled my stool as far as I possibly could from him and sat down, ignoring his glare.

“Did you not hear me or are you just ignoring me? Maybe you’re too simpleminded to understand me?” he demanded. Nope, not multiple personalities, just one big egotistical shitty one.