And Then There Was Collection

Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

Korrie

One week later

I was nervous, butterflies in my stomach, palms sweaty, hands shaking, the whole package of anticipation and fear for my first day on the job.

I couldn’t even understand why I was so scared. It wasn’t as if I’d never waitressed before. Although it had been far too many years since I’d done it, it should be like riding a bike.

But as I stood in the staff break room at Lyrics and stared at myself in the mirror that hung on the wall across from the worn, comfortable-looking couch, I knew what I was feeling had nothing to do with the actual job and everything to do with my new boss, Bishop.

I couldn’t stop thinking about him these last couple of days, and when I'd gotten my work schedule, I’d been surprised—and excited—by the fact that Bishop was on during every one of my shifts.

I didn’t want to ignore that I felt something in his presence, this connection, this spark of electricity as we looked at each other. Our first interaction had been so brief in the grand scheme, less than an hour total where we talked before he hired me, but there was something elemental that had moved between us.

I didn’t know if he felt it too, but I wanted to believe something this strong couldn’t be one way. Not to mention the fact he watched me, like he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off me, had heat spiraling through me.

I closed my eyes and breathed, telling myself that I had to get through this, had to be professional and push away any kind of budding feelings, the strongest attraction I'd ever felt to anyone in my entire life.

It didn’t seem realistic, given the fact that we didn’t know each other, and also, he was my boss. I needed this job to help my father, so anything other than professionalism just wouldn’t do.

I opened my eyes and gave my reflection one more stare before taking half of my hair and piling it up, the thick locks heavy and curly as some strands framed my face.

Leaving the staff room, I headed out into the bar area. We weren’t open yet, but I only had half an hour to get myself settled and prepared before the doors opened for the night.

I’d come in for orientation a few days ago and hated that I’d been so disappointed because Bishop hadn’t been the one to show me around. But I’d instantly gotten along with Pyper, a full-time waitress at Lyrics. She was not only friendly but accommodating to my lack of bar experience—since I used to waitress at a diner that didn’t serve alcohol—and had a great sense of humor. And she was encouraging, telling me it was okay to fuck up, because we were humans and everyone here had before.

I was looking over the drink menu again, although I’d memorized the main menu days ago, wanting to be extra prepared. But I needed something to do to keep my mind off Bishop. I hadn’t seen him since I’d shown up at work, and although he was on the schedule, I was surprised at how much I actually longed to see him. And that frustrated me. I’d never felt so off-balance concerning another person—not this kind of off-balance. He made my skin feel tight when he was near, made my heart race with just a look, and I hadn’t been able to get him out of my head since our first encounter.

I pulled out one of the bar stools and sat down, sliding the menu closer and repeating the specials tonight—something that the bar did food-wise on the weekends. It was mainly appetizers and snacks, finger foods that people could consume while they got drunk.

I sat like that for the next five minutes, but then there was this distinct feeling on the back of my neck, this tingling that had the hairs on my arms rising.

I was being watched.

I glanced up and looked around, not seeing anyone at first, but then I saw the object that had raised my awareness. Bishop stood against the doorframe that led to his office, his focus trained on me. He wore a baseball cap, the bill pulled down low so it partially obscured his eyes, a shadow casting over his dark-brown irises with those thick, long lashes that would make the entire female population green with envy.

He wore a light-gray T-shirt, the material stretched across his chest, light enough in color that I could make out the ridges of his six-pack. God… he’s a work of art. His arms were crossed, the muscles in his biceps bulging. I felt a rush of heat instantly consume me, and I shifted on the stool uncomfortably, this arousal not something I’d ever experienced before.

I hadn’t been in any kind of relationship with a man in years, something that wasn’t a priority in my life. My focus had been on going to school at first. And then once my father had gotten sick, that had been the only thing I focused on. Everything else had faded to the background.

So dating and anything that had to do with the opposite sex or my love life were put on hold.

And I couldn’t say I missed it. It wasn’t like I had a lot of experience in that department either—one moment in time, to be precise, so many, many years ago, when I was a teenager. I vowed after that to only give my heart and my body over to someone I cared deeply about. And it hadn’t been hard in the least to keep that vow.

Until I met Bishop.

My arousal and attraction for him stole my breath and made my heart jump into my throat. That’s what I felt with Bishop, which complicated everything, given my position and his.

I looked away quickly, focusing back on the menu. But I couldn’t pay attention, didn’t even know what I was reading, didn’t even care. I could still feel him watching me, an awareness that was almost like a sixth sense. It had tingles racing up and down my arms, and I felt my nipples harden painfully against my top.

I glanced down at my T-shirt, the one that had Lyrics embroidered in dark-green thread stitched in the upper left-hand corner. And sure enough, the peaks stabbed through the material. My face felt hot, and I quickly looked up, glancing around to make sure no one saw me looking at my breasts.

I felt that feeling of being watched subside and took a chance to look over at where Bishop had been standing. He was no longer there, and I exhaled, not feeling relief but still as if this weight had been dispersed. It was strange that he had this effect on me, but powerful nonetheless.

“I wonder why he bartends when he owns the place,” I murmured idly to myself.

“Because he’s a hands-on guy. I’m pretty sure he thinks no one can make the drinks as well as he can.”

I snapped my focus to where Pyper stood, cutting up limes and lemons.

“I hadn’t meant to say that out loud.” I gave her what I was pretty sure was the most awkward smile she’d ever seen, but she chuckled softly and shook her head in that way people did that meant it really was no big deal.

“I wondered the same thing when I started working here. Heck, if I owned a bar, working the floor would be the last thing I’d do. Although he works hard behind the scenes too.” She pointed to a sheet of paper that read in bold letters Nightly Drink Specials that was tacked to a corkboard behind the bar. “Every week he changes these. They are drinks he creates, and I swear that’s why half the customers come here—well, also for the kick-ass music and atmosphere.” She shrugged again and put the cut-up limes in a plastic container. “Everyone loves him. He’s real down to earth.”

I felt my face once again get hot as I remembered our last one-on-one interaction. He had been so easy to talk to, easy enough that I’d been totally honest on why I needed the job. Some places would have scoffed at my candor. I mean, they wanted to know you applied to their place because you just had to work there, right? But I felt so comfortable around Bishop that I’d just been honest. And he’d liked that. He looked so damn pleased with what I’d said, in fact.

Pyper was pulled away by the other waiter who worked the floor on the weekends. They told me Saturdays and Sundays were always jam-packed and the time would fly because I’d be constantly moving. I was banking on that to help keep my mind off other things.

Before I knew it, the bar was open and customers were filing in. I hadn’t seen Bishop again before that, but once we were open, he’d been behind the bar sliding drinks so fast it was a little shocking—and impressive.

I was an hour into my shift, and so far I hadn’t screwed anything up—well, not too terribly. And with only sixty minutes in, my tips were pretty substantial, and I was feeling a little less stressed and a lot more hopeful that things would be okay.

As hour after hour passed, I found my groove, and things went pretty seamlessly. I rattled off the specials like I’d worked here my whole life, was confident when people asked what drinks or appetizers I suggested. This may have been my first night, but when I’d come here those couple of times, I remembered how delicious everything had been.

I went to the bar to put in the next order, a smile on my face because I was feeling pretty incredible. But as I waited for Bishop to finish up with his current order, I told myself not to stare at him. I’d been so busy since we opened that keeping to that vow hadn’t been hard—well, except when I had to put orders in; then I found myself watching him with feminine appreciation.

I stared straight ahead, but of course my attraction to Bishop was so intense my eyes wandered to him before I could stop myself, like he was some kind of magnet, and denying the pull wasn’t even feasible.

He wore the same outfit he’d been in when he was leaning against the doorframe of his office and staring at me, aside from the fact that he’d swapped out his gray T-shirt and now sported the same white one all employees at Lyrics had on. His baseball cap was also gone, and his short dark hair looked almost black in the dim lighting of the bar. The shadows and neon bar lighting made him look tanner than he really was, and my heart kicked into overdrive when he grinned at something someone said and that sexy-as-hell dimple popped out in his cheek.

Maybe he felt my stare—it wasn’t like I wasn’t openly ogling him—because he turned his head in my direction, and our eyes locked. His smile was slow, and I swore it held a hint of something that maybe wasn’t exactly professional… something that was akin to attraction as well.

Or maybe it was just my overactive imagination wanting something to be there that wasn’t.

Bishop came up to me, his smile now blinding and making these annoying little butterflies move around in my belly.

“Hey,” he said in that deep voice of his that could make my toes curled. “How’s your first night going?”

I tried to act like I wasn’t totally affected by him and hoped I wasn’t failing. “Good, actually. I haven’t screwed anything up… yet.”

He chuckled softly. “Even if you did, shit happens, but I’ve been watching you, and you’re doing really well with the flow of the bar.”

I was surprised he’d admitted to watching me, but tried not to act like that pleased me… a lot. “Thanks,” I said softly… and then cued the awkward as we stared at each other for a few seconds, as if the bar wasn’t packed and people didn’t need to be served.

He cleared his throat, and I did the same, thankful I wasn’t the only one who seemed to be caught in this weird vortex at the moment.

“So yeah,” I muttered and glanced at my pad, scanning the latest order I’d written down. I rattled off the drinks, not meeting his gaze again, because staring into those dark-brown eyes did funny things to me.

But I could feel him continuously glancing at me, his gaze so pronounced it was like an actual touch. I refused to look at him. He was just too consuming, and I had to focus. I knew if I let myself fall into his eyes, I’d be a flustered mess the rest of the night.

I noticed four new customers taking a high top in the corner. I instantly knew they’d be obnoxious. The quartet of college-aged guys stood behind it. They were loud and annoying, probably already drunk, so I prepared myself for… whatever they threw my way. And so far, that was their greasy smiles plastered on their faces and their glossy, red-rimmed eyes raking over me. But I’d dealt with little assholes plenty of times in my life and knew I could handle those four.

I pasted on a fake smile, put my confident face on, and headed over there. “Welcome to Lyrics,” I said and looked each one of them in the eye, something my father had always taught me so people knew you were sure about yourself.

The first one looked like an all-American, boy-next-door type. His blond hair was cut short, parted on the side and smoothed back. He had bright blue eyes that were of course glossed over and a little unfocused. They all reeked of alcohol as well, which I assumed as soon as I’d seen them. The other three were pretty much carbon copies of All-American, but their hair and eye color were of different shades.

But they definitely had the same arrogance, the same style of button-up shirts and pressed khakis. I had no doubt they wore matching loafers as well. They screamed money, or at least mommy and daddy money.

“Hey, you must be new,” All-American said with a grin.

His smile made me feel a little bit grossed out, as if it wasn’t a pleasant one but held some kind of alternate meaning, which I’m sure it did.

“We come here all the time, and I’ve never seen you here before.” He blatantly eyed me up and down, his gaze landing on my chest. “And I would have remembered you,” he murmured in a slimy voice.

I felt the need to cross my arms over my chest, but instead I straightened my spine and tipped my chin, letting him know I wasn’t intimidated by his disgusting appraisal. “Up here, buddy,” I said in a cold, detached voice. He looked at me, his grin still in place. “What can I get for you?” I held up my pad to jot down their orders.

He rattled off a round of beers, and I nodded, not saying anything else before heading back to the bar. I set my tray down and instantly noticed Bishop’s focus was trained on the high top where All-American and his friends were. His dark-brown eyebrows were pulled in almost a scowl, and I could see a muscle in his jaw working, as if he were grinding his molars.

I brought my own brows down low as I followed his gaze to the four college guys. But all of them were too engrossed in their conversation, their laughter loud and obnoxious, drowning out a lot of the noise at the bar.

Bishop scowled a little harder and then looked at me, that anger clear on his face turning instantly into a warm smile. My heart skipped a beat at that sight and how that sexy dimple popped up once more.

“How are you doing?” he asked as he came up to me, leaning against the counter.

“Good,” I answered honestly.

“I’m glad,” he said, his expression seeming very… consumed as he watched me. His grin was slow and satisfied. We stared at each other another moment before I wrapped my mind around the fact that I was still at work. I rattled off the drink order, and once he had them on my tray, he gave me a wink that was probably nothing more than a “got get ’em, tiger” kind of thing, but I wanted it to be something totally different… totally sexual.

God, I am losing my damn mind.

I gave Bishop one more appreciative glance—and thankfully he had his back turned already—before I made my way over to the table, but with each step I got closer to All-American and his buddies, the more tightness I felt in my bones. I was only a few feet from them when I felt that tingling along my skin once more. I glanced over my shoulder and saw Bishop’s eyes trained right on me, this intense, almost smoldering look spearing right into me.

Exhaling, because there was no way I was imagining his attraction to me, I focused on the task at hand and faced forward, reaching the table and pasting on a fake-as-hell smile.

I noticed my hands shook slightly as I set the beers in front of them, a reaction I wasn’t sure had to do with the intensity I felt toward Bishop or the fact that All-American just made me feel on-edge. I straightened, my faux smile still in place. “Can I get you guys anything else?” Three out of four of them shook their heads and murmured they were “all set” before going right back into the conversation they’d been in before I’d gotten to their table. And of course said conversation was in dirty asshole territory, because they were boasting about the “newest piece of ass” they’d just “hit.”

I didn’t bother looking at All-American. I found him to be the most unsettling out of the four, as if he were the creepy, perverted ringleader of the bunch. Just as I was about to turn, said creepy asshole reached out and snagged my wrist, pulling me to a stop.

My entire body tensed as I pointedly looked at where his fingers were curled around my flesh and then lifted my gaze to stare distastefully into his eyes. “Can you please let go of me, sir?” He didn’t deserve the title, but I was still aiming to be a professional here. That was about to be thrown out the window though.

Get your fucking hand off me, asswipe, was what I said in my head.

When he didn’t let go, I pulled my hand free and my shoulders back. “Please don’t do that again,” I bit out. My father had always taught me never to take shit from anyone, least of all a man. And this little bastard I was looking at clearly thought he had some kind of right to do whatever he wanted. He needed his ass knocked down a few pegs. “Is there something else you needed?” I asked quickly, not bothering to keep the tightness out of my voice.

All-American didn’t seem perturbed at all on my change of attitude or the fact that he’d overstepped bounds. In fact, I saw the flair of interest fire back, as if me fighting his pathetic displacing of misogynist dominance turned him on even more.

He leaned forward, his grin widening even more. “Yeah, you can actually be of more assistance. How about giving me your number?”

Chatter all around filled my head, and I felt my face get hot once more from my anger. Unfortunately, in the bar scene, this wasn’t totally unusual behavior. There were guys who got drunk and thought they had a run at the world. I experienced it as a customer at places, and even a few times when I'd been a waitress at the diner and they’d come in already wasted.

The other three guys at the table kept their mouths shut, but I could sense them getting uncomfortable, the sound of shifting on seats and the legs of the chairs scraping across the floor echoing all around.

“Sorry, that’s not what we serve here at Lyrics. If you guys need anything else to eat or drink , just let me know.” But please don’t, ’cause I’ve already written you off.

I turned to leave, not giving him any more attention, but I was frozen in place as soon as I faced forward because Bishop blocked my way. His huge body took up my entire view, causing me to crane my head up, up, and up just to look in his face. And damn did his face look good and pissed off.

His focus was trained right on something over my head, and I knew without a doubt he was looking at All-American.

Bishop ground his jaw, the scruff underneath his cheeks making him seem a little bit harsher, a little rawer.

“Bishop?” I said his name softly, glancing around and seeing the only people who were focused on us were Pyper and the other waiter, Regan. Their eyes were wide as if this was totally not normal Bishop behavior. Or maybe they’d never experienced this side of him because they hadn’t been harassed by some drunken assholes.

Although I found that hard to believe, as this certainly wasn’t a one-off for waitstaff when having to deal with this shit.

“You four assholes need to leave.”

I actually shivered at the venom in Bishop’s voice when he said that low command.

I glanced over my shoulder to see All-American looking at his three buddies for backup. But his friends were looking away, clearly taking in the size of Bishop and the hard, unyielding tone and knowing they were no match.

Smart assholes.

“We are paying customers,” All-American slurred, holding up his beer as if that made his point.

“I don’t give a fuck who you are. You put your hands on an employee, and that’s automatic grounds for getting kicked the hell out.” Bishop gently pulled me to the side and behind him, as if he meant to protect and shield me.

“Aren’t you the bartender? Like who gave you authority to throw paying customers out?”

I heard the growl before All-American did. It was this deep vibration that slammed into my body. Bishop had his hand wrapped around the asshole’s shirt collar before I could even take a breath.

Bishop hauled All-American up and out of the seat, and snapped out, “You three, get the fuck out before I toss you out like your stupid fucking friend here.”

The three of them got up quickly, their stools scraping across the floor loudly. I was keenly aware of everyone in the bar quieting, the people watching us a heavy presence that surrounded me. I moved off to the side just as Bishop all but forced All-American to the door by his collar before tossing his ass out.

“Come into Lyrics again and I’ll beat your ass personally,” I heard Bishop murmur lowly, dangerously.

Once the front door was shut once more, there was a moment of silence right before a loud eruption of clapping and hooting and hollering came from the patrons.

Some might think Bishop would have looked smug after what he’d done and the reaction the customers gave him, but his expression was deep, that scowl still in place.

His head swung in my direction, and his eyes landed on me. I gasped from the intensity with which he stared at me, as if… I was his.

I felt my heart jump into my throat. And then Bishop was striding toward me, gesturing toward the hallway, and I followed instantly. I had no control over my body right now, as if my brain and every part of me knew that following this man to wherever he deemed was exactly what I had to do right now.

I could feel people watching us, but the volume in the room started to increase once more as the customers went back to what they were doing.

We stopped by his office door, and he turned to face me, breathing out roughly and lifting his hand to rub it over his jaw. For long seconds he didn’t speak, but I could see on his face, by his expression that he was thinking about what exactly to say, or maybe how to say whatever was on his mind.

“Are you okay?” he finally asked, his voice seeming deeper, most likely from his anger.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” I looked up at him, trying to read him, gauge what exactly he was feeling. He seemed really on edge. “Are you all right?”

He exhaled once more, and I saw the tension leave him before he gave me a small smile. “I am now.”

We held each other’s stares a little longer than was necessary, but everything else faded away except me standing in front of this man.

“I… I should probably get back to my tables.”

He gave a small nod, but his focus on me was so heated, so hard, as if he wanted to say something else but was holding himself back.

“Thank you for handling all that drama though. I swear I’m not a magnet for it.” I chuckled nervously. “It was starting to escalate, and I worried how far he’d push if you hadn’t stepped in.” I could see a muscle under his jaw ticking as if the very thought of All-American just pissed him off all over again.

“I wouldn’t have let it escalate.” He said it so matter-of-factly there was no doubt in my mind that he would have kept true to his word. “But I’m sorry you had to deal with that shit on your first night. That’s not typical patron behavior at Lyrics, not if I can help it.”

I swallowed and nodded. I truly believed that. Bishop had shown me how much he didn’t take shit from stupid assholes.

“Comes with the territory, I guess.”

His scowl reappeared, and he shook his head. “Not here, Korrie. Not with you.”

I inhaled sharply at his words, knowing I shouldn’t read too much into them, but how could I not when he looked at me that way and said the words in that tone ?

We stood there just a moment longer before I gave him a weak smile, one that was like that because I was so nervous, the kind of way that was good and exciting because of Bishop.

I forced myself to turn and head back to my tables, and the entire time, I felt Bishop’s eyes trained right on me.