Dirty Sexy Saint (Dirty Sexy #1)(19)
At four p.m., customers started arriving at Kincaid’s, a gradual influx of men and women, most of whom arrived in groups of two or more. It started slowly enough that Samantha had the chance to learn the basics as she worked beside Amanda. Clay watched her take drink orders, sometimes asking Amanda a question before returning her attention to the customer. From what he could tell, she was picking up the bar terminology more quickly than he’d anticipated. She put in the orders and delivered the cocktails and bottles of beer on a serving tray with more coordination than he would have given her credit for.
For someone who’d grown up not having to work a day in her life, she appeared to be adapting well. Hell, she even seemed to be enjoying herself as she chatted with a group of women as she jotted down their drinks on a note pad. She moved on to the next table of young guys, who openly flirted with her. Clay’s gut tied up in knots when she smiled back at them and laughed at something one of them said. He had to remind himself numerous times that pickup lines and casual advances were the nature of the beast in a place like this, and that all the bar waitresses got hit on on a regular basis. Hell, they even flirted back to increase their tips. As long as a customer wasn’t crude and didn’t make any physical sexual advances toward his girls, the behavior was tolerated.
But that mental lecture didn’t stop Clay from glaring at some douchebag who was checking out Samantha’s ass as she walked away to place the drink orders.
“Jesus, Clay. That scowl on your face is going to scare away customers,” Katrina said as she slid onto a barstool in front of him.
He’d been so busy staring at Samantha he hadn’t seen Katrina come in.
She followed his line of vision to the woman making him crazy in so many ways. “Or maybe that’s your intention, to intimidate the hell out of every guy in the place so they don’t touch your shiny new toy.”
“She’s not my anything,” he said gruffly, wishing everyone would stop making that assumption. He shifted his gaze back to Katrina, surprised to see her at Kincaid’s on a Monday evening. “What are you doing here, anyway? You never come in for ladies’ night.”
“That’s because it’s like a meat market out there,” she said, wrinkling her nose in distaste as she indicated the crowd of men and women mingling. “You know everyone here is looking for a casual hookup, which is why I’m sitting alone at the bar.”
Clay shrugged, though he knew she spoke the truth. “Not my business what they do once they leave the premises. I just serve the drinks while they’re here, and you still didn’t answer my question. Why are you here?”
“I’m providing moral support.” She flashed him a grin.
“For Samantha?” he guessed as he refilled the garnish caddy with maraschino cherries.
Katrina nodded as she reached over and grabbed a stemmed fruit, then plucked the cherry off with her teeth and ate it. “Thought it might be nice for her to have a familiar face here tonight.”
“I take it you two hit it off today while shopping?”
“Yeah.” Katrina’s expression softened. “She’s actually really nice. For a rich girl.”
He raised an inquisitive brow. The fact that Samantha’s family owned a billion-dollar investment firm wasn’t a piece of information he’d shared with Katrina, or anyone else. Maybe Samantha had told her, though he didn’t think it likely, considering she was attempting to create a new life, away from the Jamieson wealth and influence.
“And you know she’s rich based on what, exactly?” he asked.
Katrina rolled her eyes, as if it were obvious. “When I picked her up, she was carrying a three-thousand-dollar Louis Vuitton purse. At first, I thought it was a damned good knock-off, but when we walked into Target, she looked like a kid in a candy store. Although it was very cute how she tried to budget your money,” she said with an amused grin. “Then, she seemed overwhelmed by all the shampoo and body wash choices and kept asking me what was the best product for the best price. A normal person would know exactly what they needed, and what brand to buy, because it’s what they used on a regular basis.”
It was clever and accurate deductive reasoning, but Clay didn’t confirm or deny anything as he wiped down the service area. “Thanks again for taking her to the store and helping her to get what she needed,” he said, and changed the subject. “Ladies’ cocktails are half off tonight, so what can I get you to drink?”
“I’ll take a mojito, please.”
“Coming right up,” he said, and tossed mint and lime into a glass so he could muddle it together before adding the alcohol.
Katrina turned in her chair, content to watch the activity going on around her from afar. The bar was starting to pick up and get much busier—which was normal by six in the evening, when everyone was done with their day jobs and wanted to take advantage of the half-price appetizers for happy hour. By seven, the place was usually packed and at the peak of activity.
After serving Katrina her drink, Clay continued working behind the bar, restocking items and helping Tara and Gina to keep up with the increasing rush of orders as more women arrived. The dance floor filled up, and the place became standing room only. At a little after seven, his brother Mason and a few of his friends walked into the joint, but Clay immediately lost sight of them as they blended into the crowd.