2. Sami
Chapter Two
SAMI
“Can I get you anything else?” I ask the businessman who’s been nursing the same drink for the past hour while staring at my chest.
He finally drags his eyes up to my face. “Just the check, sweetheart.”
I nod and move away before he can add another creepy comment. Working at The Summit has taught me to perfect the art of the strategic retreat.
Behind the sleek mahogany bar, I grab a tray of clean glasses and start stacking them while mentally calculating exactly how much I need to earn this week.
The Summit is busy tonight, even for a Thursday. Rent is due in ten days. My car insurance payment comes out automatically next Wednesday. Then there’s groceries, utilities, and the student loan payment I can’t defer again.
Eight hundred and forty-three dollars. That’s what stands between me and homelessness.
I’ve been in Fit Mountain for three months now, and I’m still just barely treading water. Not exactly what I pictured when I left Connecticut and my parents’ suffocating expectations behind. The dream was to build a music career, not serve drinks to handsy men at a glorified adult playground.
But tips have been decent, which means I might actually make rent this month if I pick up an extra weekend shift.
Not that I have much choice, considering my landlord just informed me yesterday that my rent is increasing next month.
Apparently, living without hot water for four days straight justifies a price hike.
“Sami, I need three Macallan 18s for table twelve.” Clay leans over the bar and slides a handful of black gaming chips into the lockbox beneath the register.
As head of security, Clay runs a tight ship on all three floors of The Summit. I like him. He’s one of the few men here who’s never once looked at me like I’m on the menu.
“Coming right up.” I reach for the top-shelf whiskey, noting the black chips. “Big spenders tonight?”
Clay nods. “Oil guys from Texas. Just moved to the second-floor tables.”
The second floor. Where the serious gambling happens. Where cocktail waitresses wear even less than we do on the first floor. Where the tips are bigger, but so are the wandering hands.
I’ve turned down three offers to work upstairs since I started. The money is tempting, but I have limits. Serving drinks in a low-cut top is one thing. Doing it while men slip chips into your cleavage is another.
And the third floor? I don’t even want to think about what goes on up there.
I arrange the whiskeys on a tray and hand it to Clay.
“Here you go. Tell them to enjoy their overpriced alcohol.”
He almost smiles. “Will do.” Then he gives me a concerned look. “You okay tonight? You seem tense.”
“Just tired.” I roll my shoulders, trying to work out the knots. “Why?”
“You keep looking over your shoulder. And you nearly jumped out of your skin when that glass broke earlier.”
I sigh, wiping down the bar top with a damp rag. “My hot water’s been out for four days. Landlord says he’ll get to it ‘when he can.’ I’ve been taking ice-cold showers at 4 AM.”
“That’s rough.” Clay frowns. “You know, Ruby and I have a spare bedroom. You’re welcome to crash with us until it’s fixed.”
His kindness catches me off guard. I’ve met his wife Ruby a few times when she’s come to pick him up. They’re sickeningly in love in a way that should be annoying but is actually kind of sweet.
“Thanks, but I’ll be fine. It’s just a few more days. Hopefully.”
Clay hesitates, still studying my face. “Is there something else bothering you?”
I debate whether to mention it, but Clay is head of security, and if anyone should know, it’s him.
“I think someone might have followed me to work today,” I admit quietly. “A black truck. It stayed a few cars behind me after I left the diner, then circled the parking lot twice before leaving.”
Clay’s expression immediately shifts to professional concern. “Did you get a license plate? Make of the truck?”
“No. Just that it was big and black with tinted windows. I lost them when I took that back road behind the grocery store.” I shrug, trying to look more casual than I feel. “It’s probably nothing.”
At least, I hope it’s nothing. The last thing I need right now is a stalker
“I’ll keep an eye out,” Clay promises. “And I’ll walk you to your car tonight.”
“Thanks.” I give him a grateful smile. As he walks away, I glance at the old-fashioned clock above the bar.
Three more hours until closing. Three more hours, and I can go home to my freezing cold shower in my overpriced apartment.
The front door swings open, letting in a blast of cool mountain air. I don’t look up immediately. I’m too focused on not spilling expensive vodka all over myself. But something shifts in the room, a sudden change in energy that makes the hair on my arms stand up.
I look up, and my heart stops dead in my chest.
The hottest man I’ve ever seen just walked into The Summit.
He’s tall, with broad shoulders and the kind of muscular build that comes from actual physical labor, not just hours at the gym.
His dark hair is styled in that perfect messy way that probably costs more than my monthly rent.
He’s wearing black jeans that fit him like they were custom-made, paired with a charcoal button-down rolled up at the sleeves to reveal strong forearms. A silver chain hangs around his neck, disappearing beneath his partially unbuttoned shirt.
My mouth goes dry.
I know exactly who he is. He’s Axel Ruins, lead singer of Highland Rye, the local band that’s been making waves nationally. I’ve heard their music at the diner and seen their posters around town, but I’ve never seen him in person.
Pictures don’t do him justice. At all.
He stands just inside the entrance, scanning the room with a slight frown creasing his forehead. His eyes are intense, focused, like he’s hunting for something.
Or someone.
Those eyes suddenly lock on mine, and the air between us practically crackles. My heart jumps into my throat. There’s a flash of... something... in his expression. Something I can’t quite name.
He starts walking directly toward me, his gaze never wavering. Each step is purposeful, and the crowd seems to part for him without him even trying.
I realize I’m clutching the edge of the bar so tightly my knuckles have turned white. I force myself to breathe and pick up a glass, pretending to wipe it down.
Act normal, Sami. He’s just another customer.
A ridiculously hot, famous customer who’s looking at me like I’m the only person in the room.
He reaches the bar and plants both hands on the polished surface, leaning forward slightly. Up close, he’s even more devastating. His eyes are the most unusual shade of blue-gray, like storm clouds.
My spine straightens automatically.
“Hi there,” I say in my professional voice, already reaching for a cocktail napkin out of habit. “What can I get for you tonight?”
He doesn’t answer my question. Instead, he studies my face like he’s memorizing every detail. The intensity of his stare makes my skin feel hot.
“I don’t want a drink.” His voice is deep and rough, with just a hint of a mountain accent. “I want to talk to you.”
And here we go.
“Sir, I don’t date customers.” I gesture vaguely around us. “Especially ones I meet in places like this. There are security cameras everywhere, and Clay, our head of security, takes his job very seriously. So, whatever you’re thinking, I can guarantee you’re wasting your time.”
He gives me an amused smirk.
“Am I?”
“Yes, you are.” I cross my arms over my chest, which I immediately regret when his eyes flicker down briefly. “Look, I get it. Men see a woman working in a place like this and they make assumptions. They think the fact that I serve drinks in a low-cut top means I’m fair game. But I’m not.”
“I know you’re not.” His voice comes out as a low growl that sends an unwelcome shiver racing down my spine. “You’re mine.”
My mouth actually drops open.The audacity of this man. I’ve had guys try cheesy pickup lines. I’ve had men slip me their room keys with their credit cards. But I’ve never had someone walk in and just... claim me like I’m territory.
“Excuse me?” I manage to sputter. “I don’t even know you.”
“Axel Ruins.” He holds out a large, calloused hand. “Now you know me.”
I stare at his hand but don’t take it.
“I know your name. That doesn’t give you the right to walk in here and tell me what I am or am not.”
“You shouldn’t be working here.” He glances around the bar and frowns. “It’s not safe.”
Heat floods my face. “You don’t know the first thing about me or what I should be doing. I pay my own bills. I make my own choices. And right now, I’m choosing to ask you to leave if you’re not going to order anything.”
Something flashes in his eyes. Like he wasn’t expecting me to push back. Well, tough luck, rockstar. I didn’t leave behind my parents’ controlling behavior just to let some famous musician waltz in and start making declarations about my life.
Instead of backing off, he leans closer.
“I have a better idea.” His voice drops even lower. “Quit. Tonight. I can help you find something better.”
I bark out a laugh to cover the strange flutter in my chest.
“Just like that? Quit my job because some guy I’ve never met tells me to? Do you even hear yourself right now?”
“I’m not some guy, Kitten.” The certainty in his voice is maddening. “I’m your man.”