I gave him a few seconds to process the news that had just pissed him off even more and then I pleaded, “Please. You need to reconsider. I’m not leaving until you assure me that Riley hasn’t lost her job over this. It’s not fair.”

He gave me a once-over. “You can’t bartend for shit…but can you stand around, look pretty, seat people, and carry the occasional tray of food, if needed?”

“What are you talking about?”

“The nighttime hostess just quit. I’m not going to be able to find someone in time for the Friday night rush, which is about to start rolling in any minute. If you help me out, I’ll let your friend, Riley, keep her job.”

He wanted to hire me?

“You just tried to kick me out! Now you want me to work here?”

“Yeah, well, I’m in a bind I didn’t anticipate, and I had a few minutes to digest your sorry excuse. It seems you had good intentions in helping your friend, even though it was a dumbass move on her part to ask you to do that.”

“So, what if I don’t accept the job?”

“Then Riley gets fired for putting someone behind my bar who shouldn’t have been there. The choice is yours.”

It took a moment to really consider his proposal. Or was it extortion? The truth was, I needed the extra money. I’d blown the ten-grand advance I received from the publisher of the book I was writing to rent the summer share I was living in. Getting an extra job that would provide some supplementary income was something I’d been considering anyway. This could actually really work in my favor.

“Is this job offer just for tonight or until you find someone permanent?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t gotten that far. Are you in or not?”

“I’ll take it…but I want the position permanently. And it’s not because I’m giving in to your bribery. It’s because I’d actually like a job to supplement my income. I’m writing a book, and I blew most of the advance, so…”

He squinted. “You’re writing a book? I hope it’s not Bartending for Dummies?”

“Very funny. No. It’s a romance set in a summer house. I’m renting a share house locally for research purposes and currently living beyond my means. The job will actually be very helpful if I can write during the day and work at night.”

“A romance in a summer house. Sounds dumb as shit.” He took out a cigarette and lit it, blowing some of the smoke toward my face.

I coughed. “Excuse me? Why is that dumb?”

“I don’t know much about romance novels, but that sounds cliché as fuck.”

Thank you, Mr. Prick, for pointing out the obvious!

Cliché. As. Fuck.

How to make it original is precisely my problem.

It started out okay. The first three chapters were good enough to land me the publishing deal. Now nothing was coming out. Thus, the whopping seven words I’d written today.

He flicked some of the ashes on the ground. “By the way, you start in fifteen minutes, Shakespeare.”

“My last name is Mirabelli…Gia Mirabelli…for your paperwork purposes.”

He blew out more smoke and nudged his head. “Rush.”

“I thought you said I had fifteen minutes. Pipe down. I don’t need to rush.”

He looked up at the sky as if to question the gods as to how I could be so stupid. “Rush is my name, genius, and watch your mouth. I’m your boss, remember?”

I don’t know where my sass was coming from, but I felt full of it all of a sudden. Straightening my posture, I unleashed it on him. “At this point in time, it seems like you need me more than I need you. While this job is going to be helpful to me, I can take it or leave it. So, I say we agree to mutually respect one another. If you disrespect me, I’ll tell you to pipe down again.” I leaned in. “I’ll tell you to fuck off, too.”

I braced myself, expecting to get reamed for that. Instead, a wide smile spread over his face like a Cheshire cat. He placed his hand on my arm and led me away from the bar, which was now unmanned. He whispered in my ear, “Save that language for my ears only and watch yourself in front of the customers, please.”

That choice of words was odd. He was encouraging me to swear at him?

Shivers ran down my spine. The smell of cigarette smoke and cologne invaded my senses. Being this close to him made my body involuntarily react, even though I’d sworn off men after my bad one-night stand gone wrong a couple of weeks ago. But my reaction to Mr. Mean was a reminder that you couldn’t exactly choose whom you’re physically drawn to. Sometimes, it’s the last person you should be attracted to.

Clearing my throat, I asked, “How do I get paid?”