Chapter 1
Mila
Earlier that night…
“Do you think it’s true that gentlemen prefer blondes?” Lainey asks as she pulls her booklet from her apron.
It’s bulging with cash, no surprise.
The Cockpit is one of Los Angeles’ most popular sports bars, even if it is a hole in the wall in one of the less ritzy parts of the city.
Contrary to popular belief, LA isn’t all celebrities and point-one-percenters. There’s a lot of average people too, people who like to grab a beer and a burger after a long day at work.
And if their waitress happens to be dressed like a 1950’s flight attendant, well, that’s just icing on the middle-class man’s cake.
And speaking of the stupid uniforms…
“There must be some sexist truth in it seeing as how they force us to wear these terrible blonde wigs,” I say, shoving the tip of one of my pens underneath it to scratch my head.
Lainey laughs, counting her tips. “I made a killing tonight, and I am going out. Somewhere with fruity drinks that I don’t have to buy because a handsome man on the other side of the bar will offer to buy it for me and then ask if I want to dance.”
“Are you daydreaming on the job again, Lainey?” Brynn, one of the lead waitresses, asks with fake sugar in her tone. She’s the resident mean girl.
“Hey Mila, did you hear something?” Lainey asks. “It sounded like a screeching cat.”
Brynn ignores her jab. “You know, girls, if you hate the wigs so much, you could always dye your hair.”
“You mean, like you do?” Lainey smirks, and Brynn glares at her.
“My hair is natural,” she says, taking off her apron.
Natural or dyed, Brynn is the only one at the Cockpit with blonde hair, and because of that, she is the only one that doesn’t have to wear one of these stupid wigs.
She also has our boss, Niko, wrapped around her pinky finger and has somehow earned a hall-pass.
Welcome to the hierarchy of working at a gentlemen’s club rescue bar.
They may not require us to strip, but that’s only because our outfits are so skimpy that the show would be too short if we did.
Honestly, the only reason I work here is the money.
Waitressing in my twenties wasn’t exactly on my bingo card.
But neither was becoming an orphan at seventeen.
My life changed in a matter of moments when I got the call from the hospital that rainy night.
Moving from small-town California to LA was the only thing that made sense, even if it meant waiting tables and batting my naturally long, dark eyelashes for cash.
For the record, I’m not an eyelash batter. It’s just another unavoidable part of the job that keeps my electricity on and my diet one ladder rung above microwavable Ramen.
I open my booklet and cash falls out of it onto the floor.
“Damn, girl,” Lainey says, bending to help me pick up a few dollars. “You banked tonight.”
“Yeah well, the suits at table nine were easy money,” I say.
“Does that mean you’re coming out tonight?” she asks, and I snort.
“No way,” I shake my head.
“Girl! You never come out!” Lainey whines. “I think you forget that you’re young and attractive.”
“And you forget I work two jobs, and the other one starts in less than eight hours,” I remind her.
“Ah, yes. How is your sex-god of a day boss doing, anyway?” She teases.
I roll my eyes, the heat rising in my cheeks. “Sexy as he was the last time you asked.”
“Does he know you exist yet?” she asks.
“Nope,” I say.
“I don’t get it. How can you work at his house, cooking for him, cleaning for him, washing his laundry and making his bed, and him not notice you?”
“Easy,” I say. “One, he’s a millionaire, and I’m a housekeeper. And two…I don’t make his bed.”
“Still,” Lainey says as we make our way to the computer to clock out. “Surely there is something you can do to get his attention.”
“I don’t want to get his attention,” I tell her. “With my luck, it would be negative attention. Besides, if he was always watching me, it would make it harder for me to check him out all the time.”
Lainey giggles and tugs her wig off, stuffing it into her bag. “Well, wedding bells won’t be ringing soon, so come out with me tonight. One drink. One dance. Then you can go home and get all the beauty sleep for Dominic.”
I shove my friend playfully, and she giggles.
“Are you two done acting like middle school girls?” Brynn asks. “Some of us worked doubles and want to get out of here.”
“Oh, Brynn?” Niko calls over, shaking his head. “You’re on inventory tonight. Did you forget?”
Brynn glares at him. “Did you forget I can’t work late tonight?”
“I told you three times, Nik. I’m catching a redeye to San Francisco tonight.”
“I don’t remember,” Niko says, his tone dripping with indifference. “What’s in San Francisco? I need you on inventory now. You know that.”
“It’s a family emergency,” she says impatiently. Brynn is the head bartender and everyone’s favorite waitress. She’s also the only one who has the balls to talk to Niko like that. Girls kill for jobs at bars like this, and to Niko, we are more expendable than toilet paper.
“Let me guess, someone died?” he asks.
“Yes, actually. I’m headed to a funeral. Thanks for your condolences,” she answers.
“Damn,” he says flatly. “Well, someone has to do it.”
His eyes ping-pong between Lainey and me. As much as I love her, this is one match of eenie meenie miny moe I’d rather not win.
Don’t pick me, don’t pick me, don’t pick me. I say to myself.
“Mila.”
Fuck.
“You’ll do. Come with me.”
“Niko,” I argue. “I have a day job. I have to be there in seven hours.”
“And I have a business to run that requires inventory. Unless you don’t need money.”
He’s got me there. Even if my take away tonight is good, rent is due soon, and I also need to get my registration on my car renewed. Damn.
“Alright,” I agree, and Lainey gives me an apologetic look before making her way out.
“Follow me. Hurry up,” Niko says, making his way to the back of the bar. “Oh, and put your wig back on.”
I shuffle to keep up with him as we go into the men’s locker room. I don’t know why I am surprised that there is a men’s locker room.
There’s one for the girls, but that’s because we have to change into our uniforms. Other than the cooks and the dishwashers, Niko is the only man who works here.
“I should probably warn you, I’ve never done inventory before…at any of my jobs,” I tell him.
It’s a lie. But it’s past midnight and I’m a little on edge.
Niko is a small man, possibly gay, but I have never been uncomfortable around him.
But this whole thing has red flags mounted on every corner.
“That’s fine,” he says as we head down a hallway I literally didn’t know existed. The Cockpit is a bar in a brick warehouse building, but for some reason I never questioned what was in the rest of the building.
From the looks of it, I’m about to find out.
We come to a door with two men standing in front of it like guards, and I stop abruptly. “Niko, what is this?” I demand. I’m literally holding my car keys between my fingers at this point.
Niko turns to me. “You really do live under a rock,” he says. “Brynn told me you were a bit dense.”
“What?” I ask.
“This is the Ring Room,” he tells me, and my eyes narrow in confusion.
“The what?”
Niko’s eyes roll impatiently. “Just come with me,” he says, and one of the massive Men In Black looking guys opens the door for us.
I step inside and the room opens up before me.
I feel like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, seeing color for the first time.
But instead of a bright, picturesque land, it’s an elite club.
There is a long bar busy with people and high-top tables tiered in a circle surrounding a boxing ring.
My mouth is gaping as my eyes sweep the room.
People are cheering, drinking, talking, and laughing.
In the middle are two men fighting.
One with blonde hair and a cocky confidence.
And the other, an older dark-haired man with sweat glistening on his back.
It’s an underground bare-knuckle boxing ring.