Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Delaney
“You ready to shake that money maker and get some killer tips?” Becca, my fellow bartender for the night, asks.
“You make it sound like we’re strippers.
Though I guess with how Phyllis has us dressed, it’s not that big of a stretch.
” I glance down at my ‘uniform.’ The get-up consists of a short black skirt and a burgundy satiny wrap-style top that is quite low cut and ties together in the center.
The tie joins the sides only about six inches above my belly button.
It’s so low cut that my boobs are most definitely front and center.
It doesn’t leave a ton to the imagination.
“Meh, the tie dresses it up some. Plus, I’m pretty sure our attire helps us get great tips. We did so well together last Saturday that I requested Phyllis partner you with me for this gig. Also, have you seen how you look, girl? You’re hot AF.”
I snort.
“No, I’d say you’re hot. I’m—” I look down at my outfit, and my ridiculous cleavage, then back up at her, “—I’m the DUFF.”
Confusion spreads across her face.
“What’s a DUFF?”
I grin and cock my head to the side.
“How do you not know that? You must not have watched many movies as a teenager. A DUFF is the designated ugly fat friend. Almost all high school and college dramas have one if there’s a group of popular, gorgeous friends. Just trust me, I’m your DUFF,” I chuckle.
Becca’s jaw drops, and her eyes widen. She doesn’t seem as amused as I am.
“First of all, I’ve never heard of that, and it’s horrifying kids are such assholes and would propagate the use of such a mean word.
Second, you are most definitely not a DUFF.
You’re gorgeous with those huge innocent eyes and blonde hair.
Add in that killer hourglass shape you have, and woohoo, we’re in business. ”
I smile at her and shake my head as I feel my cheeks heat in embarrassment. DUFF or not, it’s time to pull myself together. It’s only five minutes until the doors open.
I wipe my sweaty hands on my skirt. Nerves consume me. This will be a much higher-end crowd tonight, and since it’s for charity, it’s a cash bar.
“Seriously. We’re perfect together. I give off that wild, living on the edge kind of dangerous vixen vibe, and you’re like a sexy angel. We’ve got all our bases covered.” Becca grins at me.
“Whatever you say. But if one of my boobs falls out of this top tonight, I’m going to kill Phyllis for making me wear this.”
Becca laughs and can’t stop for at least a solid thirty seconds.
“If your boob falls out, I’m pretty sure our tips would increase exponentially.
” She glances at her watch. “Okay, almost showtime. Remember, anything off these top two shelves, double-check the price with me before ringing them up. That’s our expensive stuff, and we don’t want to accidentally undercharge. ”
“Got it. Okay, let’s do this.”
I have to admit, even though I’m dressed in a revealing outfit, bartending the last few weekends was much more fun than being a dishwasher. It also put an extra hundred dollars in tips in my pocket at the end of each night.
The vibe in this ballroom is quite elegant. They’ve got a live jazz band playing, and the catering staff are on the floor with trays of delectable-looking hors d’oeuvres.
This fundraiser is for a tri-county organization that provides male role models and mentors to boys as young as six, sometimes following them through until they’ve graduated college.
It’s apparently quite exclusive and sells out annually, despite tickets starting at two hundred dollars each—three hundred if you want seats at a reserved table for the evening.
Oh, and it’s a men-only event. That’s why I’m sure it’s no mistake that most of the servers are stunning women with killer bodies.
The two male servers they do have working could easily be male models.
The event organizers open the fancy carved wooden doors, and guests trickle in.
“Let the games begin,” Becca says with a smile.
Within a minute or two, our first customers are at the bar. At the forty-five-minute mark, we’re non-stop. Becca was right, the amount of money these men are dropping in the tip jar is lunacy.
“Delaney?” The voice is deep, familiar. I take a second to glance in the direction it came from, and I freeze. I can’t speak, but I also can’t stop looking at him. He takes a few steps closer to me. “You work here, too?”
Wonderful. Hayden Aron has now seen me in my upscale stripper outfit. I’m instantly self-conscious, wondering how much of my cleavage is on display, but I resist glancing down to check. To Hayden’s credit, he hasn’t let his eyes drift south, either.
I resume pouring the two beers my current customer ordered and avoid holding eye contact with Hayden for more than a few seconds at a time.
“Um, yep. Just here and there.”
His brow furrows, and I worry. I don’t want the brothers to think I’m not satisfied with my pay at the company. It’s generous.
“Just some fun money. That’s all.” With the order filled, I peer up at him. “It was good to see you, but duty calls.” I hold up the glasses for him to see, smile, and return to the waiting gentleman.
I don’t look back to see where he walks off to. As long as I don’t know where he’s sitting, I can’t check to see if his brothers are here as well. So, I don’t know whether they are or not, and I can still pretend Harrison isn’t here.
Please, universe, do not let Harrison Aron be here tonight.