IX
Hazel Winters
A fter staying the night at their house, in which they barely left me alone to sleep, the doctor finally cleared me to leave. It was so much of a weird atmosphere, sitting with my bosses whilst eating snacks, that I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.
I feel like a line needs to be drawn before things get out of hand with them.
Andros forced me to say I would not return to work for the rest of the week, but I’m already restless after a day of being off.
I’ve cleaned the apartment, been on a run and read a whole book since waking up. In fact, I’m slowly going stir-crazy being trapped inside these walls. The thought of mixing cocktails in a crowded nightclub sounds like a dream.
What’s a little defiance, anyway.
Choosing to break my word to Andros, I get ready for work. It’s a Saturday night so the bar will be packed enough for them to want another bartender on shift. I curl my hair and style it in a half-up half-down look, before adding a black bow to cover the hair-tie.
I keep my makeup simple, only putting lip gloss on instead of my usual matte lipstick. I pull on a pair of flared black jeans that hug my ass perfectly, and my favourite black, short sleeved crop top. After lacing my converse up, I check out my appearance in my floor-length mirror.
The paleness in my face still shows through my makeup, but not enough for anyone to really notice. I’ve managed to downgrade the bandage on my finger to a small plaster and the bruise on my hand from the cannula is slowly fading.
The walk to Haven takes me about fifteen minutes. The cold, winter air brushes against my skin and the soft glow of the streetlamps illuminate my path.
I nod to the bouncer as I breeze past the queue for the door, much to the chagrin of multiple patrons waiting to get in.
The loud bass of the music hits me as I push through the doors to the main body of the club. People writhe against each other on the dancefloor, whilst others are tucked away in whispered discussions in the dark booths.
Quickly putting my bag in the back, I tie my apron around my waist and walk behind the bar. Denny, the supervisor, grins when he sees me and nods to an unmanned section of the bar.
The R&B music takes over me and I sway my hips as I pour out drinks for the customers. I serve them with a smile before pocketing the tips. The feeling of having a cocktail shaker back in my hand feels like I was going through withdrawals before.
Half an hour later, I’m midway through pouring a drink when Denny calls me over.
“The bosses want to see you,” he presses his lips together with a sympathetic look in his eyes.
I look over my shoulder to see the four men glaring at me from the balcony. Turning back to Denny, I give him a mischievous smile and wink before going back to my area of the bar.
“Hazel!” Denny shouts my name, trying to get me to go see the bosses.
“They can wait,” I shout back with a grin before turning to my next customer.
He smirks at me, his fawn hair ruffled atop his head. Tattoos etch his toned forearms as he leans on the bar front and his blue eyes twinkle with amusement.
“Playing hard to get?” He tilts his head teasingly.
“You already know me so well,” I smirk. “What can I get for you?”
“I’d love an Old Fashioned,” he orders.
“Coming right up.”
I mix the drink, enjoying as his eyes roam over me appreciatively. As I pour it into his glass, I wink at him before passing it over the bar.
“So do you flirt with all the men here, or am I special?” he asks as he taps his card on the card reader.
“A lady never tells.”
“I like that,” he smirks, taking a swig from his glass, “God it’s rare to find someone that can make the perfect Old Fashioned.”
“I bet you say that to all the bartenders,” I roll my eyes at him, still smiling.
“Only the ones I want to see again,” he winks.
“Wow, smooth.”
“I thought so,” he shrugs before giving me a devilish smile. He pulls out a pen from his black blazer pocket and scribbles something on a napkin. He slides it over to me and I realise he’s given me his number.
When I look up again, he’s gone so I pocket the napkin in my apron before serving my next customer.
I manage to get away with another fifteen minutes before my luck runs out. Denny calls my name but it’s too late.
“Come with me,” I feel Theo’s hot breath brush against the nape of my neck as he presses his tall body against my back. I swallow, giving an apologetic look to the woman who has just rattled her drinks order off to me.
Theo leads me up to the office and I’m pushed down by my shoulders onto the velvet, dove grey sofa.
“Do you enjoy defying us, Spitfire?” Dawson asks from next to me. I turn to him, trying not to become flustered at his appearance. His dark, brown hair sits in soft ringlets and tattoos creep up his neck from the navy collar of his shirt. He has a few buttons undone on his shirt, showcasing more tattoos, whilst his suit trousers seem to be moulded to his muscular legs.
“A little bit,” I shrug, feigning nonchalance.
Andros laughs from across the room, and I focus on him next. His blue eyes twinkle in amusement, his dirty blonde hair adding to his angelic look. Like Dawson, he also has his shirt slightly unbuttoned, but his is black instead.
“We told you to stay home,” Atlas growls from his desk. I turn to him, noticing the full grey suit that offsets his dark features. His toned forearms lean on the desk, and he peers down at me with his usual irritated glare.
“Actually, Andros told me to stay home,” I point out, sitting back and crossing my arms in defiance.
“And yet you’re here,” Andros narrows his eyes at me.
“I was bored.”
“Who was the guy you were talking to?” Theo asks me. He’s leaning against the front of Atlas’ desk, dressed in a full black suit. His muscular legs look about the size of my face and his shoulders are double the size of my waist.
I think I have a thing for men’s legs.
“Just some guy that gave me his number.”
“Did you want his number, Spitfire?” Dawson cocks his head in curiosity as he stares at me intently.
“I don’t know. It’s been a while since I’ve been on a date,” I shrug, pressing my lips together as soon as the words have left my mouth.
Great.
Now my bosses know I have no social life.
“We could fix that,” I hear Andros mutter, but Atlas clears his throat before I can challenge his comment.
“Back downstairs, Hazel. If you insist on working, that is,” Atlas commands. I narrow my eyes at him in curiosity, wondering where this sudden change in attitude came from.
They were the ones that invited me up here.
Shaking the thought from my head, I leave without any hesitation and head back to the bar. I take a short detour and go to check my phone, adding the mystery guy’s name to my contacts.