2. Chapter Two ~ Emma
Chapter Two ~ Emma
When Ethan came out and told me the boss wanted to see me, I certainly didn’t expect that. I thought maybe he’d seen something he didn’t like while I was out here. Or maybe he wanted to welcome me or … something.
I definitely didn’t expect to wind up bent over his desk while he drove me absolutely wild.
I shake my head abruptly and try to focus on what I’m supposed to be doing. Serving the drinks. Serving the snacks. Talking to the customers. Making sure everyone has everything they need. Not thinking about him.
It’s a one-night-stand, Emma. Get a grip. It’s over. So what if it was an amazing experience? It’s done now. Not going to happen again. And that’s a good thing.
But I’m not so sure it’s a good thing. Because I desperately want more. That experience is going to be ingrained in my memory for a long time. But eventually, I’ll find another guy. A boyfriend, preferably, rather than a one-night-stand.
Because this kind of behavior is definitely not like me. But something about him …
The next day, when I report to work and start on my section, one of the other waitresses comes up to me.
“Boss wants to see you.”
“He does?” I give her a surprised look, and she shrugs.
“Don’t know. I was just told to send you up.”
Surely he can’t be expecting more of what happened yesterday, right? That can’t be why he’s calling me away from work.
But as soon as I walk into the office, the heat in his gaze tells me that’s exactly why he’s called me up here.
“Mr. Warren, I … Melissa said that you wanted to see me?” I’m playing dumb, and we both know it. As he strides closer to me, I can’t help the shiver that runs through my body, and as soon as his strong hands touch my waist, pulling me in without any preamble, I practically melt in his arms.
What is it about this man that makes me absolutely weak in the knees? And weak everywhere else as well?
My thoughts drift to those gorgeous eyes that seem to stare straight through me. And the scent of his body, both the cologne and the man underneath it. The way he says my name …
With a sigh that turns quickly into a moan, I allow him to claim my mouth and every inch of my body for whatever he may want, with the desperate hope that it’s everything I need. And it’s most definitely what I need. Definitely everything I was certain I must have mis-remembered from yesterday.
And the next day is the same.
And the next.
And before I know it, a week has passed, and he’s called me into his office every single day. I’ve even taken to wearing my nicer lingerie to work because I know I’m going to be taking off my clothes each time I see him.
Even though I know how much of a cliché it is for the cocktail waitress to be sleeping with the boss, I can’t help but crave it. Can’t help but want more. Though that doesn’t necessarily bode well for me. After all, I’m just the waitress.
What happens if he gets tired of me? No. When he gets tired of me? Because this can’t continue forever.
After work, I stop by my mom’s house to check on her and my sister and I can’t help but daydream about my super hot boss.
“Em?” I jump slightly at the voice and turn toward my sister.
“Leann, what’s up?”
“What’s up is I’ve been trying to get your attention for the last ten minutes. You’ve been off in your own world.”
“Oh, sorry. I was … just thinking about work.” Technically true but also not. I blush but keep my head down so she doesn’t notice.
“Do you like your job?”
“It’s not bad.” And that’s true. The job itself is fine. The perks that I’ve been getting the last week have made it even more so.
“Maybe I could do that.”
“You have to be older,” I say quickly. Not that I want Leann to be a cocktail waitress anyway.
“Well, I need to get a job of some kind.” Her voice is very matter-of-fact, and I feel a pang in my chest at the thought. I don’t want Leann to have a job. She’s too young for that. She’s still in high school, for goodness’ sake.
My eyes drift to the fridge where the pictures and the array of ‘A’ papers have been shoved to the edges to make room for one thing. A calendar.
A calendar that’s filled with appointments.
Dr. Carmichael, Tuesday, 12 o’clock.
Dr. Walker, Thursday, 3 o’clock.
Every other week there’s something. Checkups and appointments and the never-ending threat of dialysis, though the doctor keeps telling us to be hopeful. Her numbers are borderline. They could easily sway back in a positive direction.
But they could also easily sway in a negative direction, and we all know it.
“I’m going to take care of everything,” I tell her, and she gives me a skeptical look.
“You can’t do everything. You’re already giving us most of your paycheck. You can’t afford to live if you give us anything more.”
“Then I’ll move in with you.”
“There’s no room, and you know it. It’s only a one-bedroom house, Em. I’m sleeping in the living room. If you come back, there’s nowhere for you to sleep.”
“We pulled it off before,” I insist, and she shakes her head.
“We were younger then. It’s just not going to work now. And you work hard enough as it is. Maybe I can pick up some babysitting jobs or do some cleaning for the neighbors.”
It’s unlikely that the neighbors are going to pay her to clean their houses when they’re in the same boat that our family is. But perhaps she can pick up some babysitting jobs. Not that I like that idea either. Still, at least it’s something a little more age appropriate. And maybe she’ll end up with a little extra money that she can use for something fun for herself. Because I sure as hell never have enough to give them that.
I sigh and glance out the window, which Leann seems to take as a sign that we need to change the subject.
“I’m running for class president.”
“Are you?” That, at least, is age appropriate. And it sounds like a great experience for her.
“I think I’ve got a shot. I mean … Ruby Clarkson has a pretty good hold on our grade, but I think I can maybe make a good stand at least. And maybe I can pull it off.” She shrugs, and I smile. She doesn’t get excited about much at school. Likely because she doesn’t have the money to do most things.
But here’s something that she can participate in that doesn’t cost money.
Still … she’s a junior this year, and I really want her to have the best. Her and Mom both.
I glance around the house, and it’s clear that’s not in the cards right now. The place is functional; that’s never been a problem. But anything more than that …
I sigh, and Leann gives me a smile again. “It’s good. We like our place, and we’re grateful for all the help you can give us,” she insists, and I try to be as positive as she is. But deep down I’m wondering if there’s something more that I can do.
Working as a cocktail waitress is okay. It gives me some money, and I make decent tips. But if I could get a better paying job … the problem is most of those better paying jobs want you to have experience. Working in an office or doing customer service, they want you to know what you’re doing. And working at the local retail shops doesn’t even pay as well as my cocktail waitress gig.
There is one other job in the club that pays better than being a waitress. I never really wanted to get out there on the stage but … I cast another glance around at the threadbare couch and handmade, patched curtains on the windows. This isn’t what I want for my mom and my sister. And I will do anything I possibly can to make things better for them.
Even if it means getting up on the stage and dancing for strangers.