9. Nine #2
“That’s the problem, huh?” I asked dryly.
I hated—absolutely loathed—men like him.
I used to think it was an older-generation thing and that beliefs such as his would die out with the Boomers.
Lately, I’d heard younger men expressing the same sentiments.
A lot of them wanted to go back in time and live a life where the man wore the pants in the relationship and the woman did what she was told while popping out babies and maintaining the household.
It drove me crazy.
“It is.” Hoffs was deadly serious. “In this country, men used to be men. Now, there are men running around in dresses. There are men splitting duties with their wives at home. That’s not how the good lord intended for things to go.”
I had to swallow my snort of disdain. “Another drink?” I pointed to his martini glass. It was mostly empty, and I was desperate to make my escape.
Hoffs pretended he hadn’t heard me. “Take you, for example.” His gaze roamed over my body. “You have good breeding hips and a nice rack.”
My mouth fell open. I was used to people saying crass things—that was simply how it worked in the high rollers lounge because people with money thought they could get away with anything—but this was beyond the pale.
Before I could decide how to respond, Kyla appeared. “Say thank you,” she prodded me.
My stomach constricted. She was ordering me to thank this man for commenting on my hips and breasts? She had to be joking. Of course, Kyla didn’t joke. That was not who she was.
Ronan intervened before I could decide exactly how to respond. “I happen to like Tallulah’s quick wit,” he said, causing me to stop floundering and focus completely on him. “To me, the most attractive thing about a woman is her brain.”
Gratefulness washed over me. Hoffs, however, wasn’t moved by Ronan’s intervention.
“You’re from the wrong generation,” Hoffs said to him, as if talking to a child. “You’ve had all the manliness whipped out of you by uppity women.
“It’s not your fault,” he continued. “You were raised to think of women as equals even though they’re weaker, not as smart, and prone to histrionic fits.” He marked off each insult on his fingers, as if going through a to-do list. “It’s time we take back this country.”
My head was spinning. I couldn’t tell this man exactly what I thought of him without risking my job. Not only because of the money—although that was an important factor—but also because of Olivia and Zach. They’d gone out on a limb for me. I couldn’t disappoint them.
“Another martini?” I asked pointedly, forcing my demeanor to remain calm. “Extra olives, right?”
“What?” Hoffs turned to me distractedly, saw I was staring at his empty glass, then nodded. “Yes. Extra olives.”
I was stiff when I walked away from the table, anger coursing through me as I tried to tamp down the annoyance threatening to spurt out of me like lava. Kyla followed me.
“You need to do better with the customers,” she said as I put in the order at the bar. She kept her voice low and a smile on her face, but ice was in her eyes. “You’re not even putting in any effort.”
Was she kidding me? It had taken real effort not to lose my mind and throw myself on Hoffs long enough to choke the life out of him. “What would you like me to do?” I asked in my blandest voice. “Should I agree with him that women are better off barefoot and pregnant?”
“That’s not what he said.”
“That’s essentially what he said.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter what he said.” Kyla’s voice ratcheted up a notch. “This lounge is a fantasy. Do you not understand that? The people who come here expect us to tailor the fantasy to them.”
“I’m not going to sit here and pretend I think men are smarter than women.”
“You’re going to do what our guests want.” Kyla was firm. “Your attitude needs to be up and your mouth needs to be shut unless you’re giving the guests exactly what they want. How do you not understand that?”
I wanted to shake her. Hard. “I understand it.” I smiled at the bartender as he placed the martini in front of me. “I wasn’t picking a fight with him.”
“You pick a fight with everybody.” Kyla vehemently shook her head. “You need to tell your little friend to get it together, too, while we’re at it.”
It took me a moment to realize she was talking about Ronan. “He’s not my friend” was my automatic reply.
“He’d better not be more than that,” Kyla warned. “Fraternization on the job is not allowed. If I catch you fraternizing, I don’t care who your best friend is, you’ll be out of here.”
Was that her plan? She was desperate to get me booted. I wouldn’t put it past her to set me up. If she thought that bringing Ronan into the high rollers lounge would make me lose my head—and, thusly, my panties—she had another think coming.
“We’re not fraternizing,” I assured her.
“Make sure you don’t.” The quirk of Kyla’s lips told me she didn’t believe anything I said. “Now, take that drink over there and give our clients the fantasy they expect.”
I was tempted to quit on the spot. No paycheck—or exorbitant tip amount—was worth this. Instead, I nodded and slid away from her.
I couldn’t disappoint Zach. Olivia might understand. Or she might fire Kyla herself for messing with me. I didn’t want that, despite Kyla’s attitude. I understood why she didn’t like me. She felt I’d stolen from her sister. Eventually, if everything went as planned, she would get over it.
No matter what, I couldn’t hurt Zach, though. He’d gone out of his way for me. I wouldn’t repay him by throwing this job in his face.
“I’m on it,” I said as I walked back toward the table. I had a job to do. No matter how obnoxious the guests were, I was determined to do it.
One way or another.