I want him to come out here in the hallway and make good on the subtle promises he’s been making all night. His presence is powerful.
I don’t see how anyone wouldn’t be drawn to it, and it’s even more potent since he’s focusing all this energy on me. I’m not someone who does one-night stands, but I know that if he says the word, I’ll be in his bed without a second thought.
Heading down in the elevator, I realize that I have no idea where the kitchen is. I didn’t even know that you could order food.
I wonder if it’s only something the VIPs have access to? But first, I need to make a stop. Gabriel is undoing me with every glance, and if we’re going to play this game, then it’s going to be fair. I duck into the dressing room on my way across the club.
I need a mirror.
Yeah, this uniform is s€×y, but it could be s€×ier.
And since I seem to be serving just Gabriel tonight, it’s an opportunity to take advantage.
I tighten the band and straps of the b-ra until it barely contains me, arranging the straps across my br-asts to accentuate them.
Using my thumbs, I shimmy the wa-istband of my p-nts 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 br-asts 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 s€×y 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.”
She raises an eyebrow.
“You’ve probably doubled the tips you’ll get tonight.”
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.”
“One of the things mister Bruce 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 wh0le 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.
Gabriel chimes in to cover the awkwardness in the air.
“I took the liberty of ordering us some appetizers and dess**ts. Blue?”
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 dess**ts. 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 s€×iest 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 Gabriel’s partners are speaking, commenting on the food, but I can’t hear them.
I’m distracted by the way Gabriel’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.
I manage to crown the tops of all the dess**ts 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,” Gabriel 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.
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