Asylum

Chapter 2: My Boss Is an Asshole

Shit. I squashed the urge to check the vicinity for Detective Mason and forced myself not to stare at the scrumptious sexual fantasy striding in my direction along the length of Asylum's main bar.

Glory had no such qualms. With one hand on her hip, she moved up to lean against me and graced the club's new owner with her best Victoria's Secret catalog smolder.

Surprised, I risked a glance to judge Ivan's reaction. His eyes met mine, searing me like a lash. I saw his lips twitch in a half-smile as he took in the sight of the woman he'd spent the last four days fucking all over his apartment assiduously ignoring him, while another woman he'd never spoken to used said lover as a seduction prop. He inclined his head a fraction of a degree in our direction before continuing into the back of the club.

Glory nudged me in obvious delight. "This time," she crowed, "He definitely noticed me."

I took an order for four shots of Patron Silver and looked around for Mason as I poured. The OCCB detective was still nowhere in sight; hopefully he had missed that little exchange.

"Hey, would you be okay with me working the box for his next meeting?" Glory asked.

I popped four lime wedges on the rims of the shot glasses and collected the cash. "Hell, yeah, I'd be okay with it," I lied glibly. "Working huge chunks of my shift with no tips is killing me."

My bouffanted friend chewed thoughtfully on her lower lip. "Why do you think Stefano has been having just you work them, anyway?"

I shrugged and gave the change back to my customer, smiling winsomely when he handed back a generous tip. "I figured it was because I have the least seniority, so I get the shitty no-tip jobs," I guessed; I probably wasn't being very subtle in hammering on the tipless nature of the owner's box, but I didn't want Glory pursuing this and getting suspiciously shot down. I took my next customer's order for a Stella and began pulling the pint at my tap.

"Maybe because my station's at the end of the bar, so I'm the first one Stefano sees when he's looking for a 'volunteer'," I continued over my shoulder. "Maybe it's because he knows Malcolm can easily cover this station. Or maybe it's because they don't want anyone listening in on their business, and I don't speak Spanish."

Glory was befuddled. "How would they know if you spoke Spanish or not?"

"Well," I pointed out, taking the cash for the drink and stuffing a few bills in my jar as the customer left. "On the job application there was a section that said 'Languages Spoken,' and I only checked English and French. That's kind of a giveaway."

The other woman swore. "I checked them all," she sighed.

One of my eyebrows shot up. "You seriously speak, like, six languages?"

"No, but I wanted the job, so I just checked everything," Glory confessed.

"Well, maybe the Spanish thing wasn't it," I said sympathetically. "I guess you could ask Stefano anyway." I felt a little slimy consoling my friend this way, when I knew that if I'd really thought Glory had any shot at being stationed in the owner's box, I'd be doing everything I could to scupper the other woman's chances.

"Hey! What does a girl have to do to get a drink around here?!" yelled a bottle blond with a butterfly tattoo flitting from her left breast.

I signaled that I would take the irate club rat and let Glory move on to what were probably more lucrative patrons.

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Marshall was standing at the end of the hallway, in front of the store room door. I gave him a surreptitious wave as I headed for the employee break room, and he crooked a couple fingers back at me, beckoning me to approach.

I checked quickly – no one was looking, so I headed back. "What's up?" I asked him.

"You on your break now?" he asked. I nodded. "Boss wants you in his office."

I suppressed a beaming grin as my foolish heart leapt in my chest, but Marshall must have seen a twitch of my lips or something equally revealing; he rolled his eyes in exaggerated disgust.

I ignored him and shifted my eyes to Ivan's larger shadow, standing just outside the door of the owner's office.

"Mateo," I greeted him quietly, forcing myself to look up into the giant's stony visage.

He said nothing, just rapped on the office door with his scarred knuckles and turned the knob when Ivan acknowledged the knock.

I caught a faint whiff of curry as I slipped into the office.

"I hope you like Indian food," he said as he cleared his computer screen and put the machine to sleep. I wondered if I would ever get a peek at what he was working on; the man was too damned careful.

"I love it," I confirmed. I pulled one of the big wingback chairs closer to the desk and sat down.

Ivan walked around to pull up the other upholstered behemoth before unpacking several takeout containers from the large paper bag on his desk.

"I'm not interrupting any other plans, am I?" he asked with a poorly suppressed smirk. "You weren't heading out on a water raid or going to meet your mutant kangaroo boyfriend?"

"You figured out the costume?" I was frankly amazed.

He snorted. "Not even close. Marsh enlightened me, then I googled it." He handed me a fork, slowly running his smoking gaze along the long stretch of bared leg between my desert fatigue shorts and the mismatched socks peeking out of my scuffed combat boots. "If you're trying to put me off with another intimidating ensemble, though, it's not working."

"No?" I asked innocently.

"No," he replied. His voice was low and husky, and the effect on me was instantaneous. He put his plate of rice and dal onto the desk and reached for my hand, pulling me over until I straddled his lap.

His hard bulge pressed between my legs, and his strong fingers glided up the back of my tank top to deftly unhook my bra. He pushed the garments up under my arms, baring my breasts to his lips.

My head dropped back in wanton abandon as his soft mouth skimmed my hot skin. It slid over my hardened nipples, only his breath touching the flushed pink buds, teasing me but not tasting me. My fingers gripped his corded arms where they encircled my slim waist.

"Come home with me tonight," he whispered, running his tongue along the inside curve of my breast.

Yes, I thought, then my eyes snapped open in alarm. DiMarco would be waiting for me in the parking garage; I had no way of canceling the appointment, even if I could come up with an acceptable excuse for such a move.

"Um, I have to run to my apartment first," I improvised, struggling to concentrate as he finally pulled a nipple into his mouth. I gasped and raked my fingers through his hair, pulled his head close to me. "My neighbor ... she's ... she's ... working back-to-back shifts and ... she asked me to take her dog out."

"That's very neighborly of you," he murmured against my tender flesh as he moved over to my other breast.

"Hmm, yes, well ... I'm a real swell gal," I panted. Thinking straight was getting increasingly difficult. "Though I'm kind of regretting saying 'yes' now."

Ivan gave one last tug with his hot, wet mouth, rocking me into him, before seating me upright again and carefully repositioning my bra, refastening it with only the briefest fumbling with the clasp. He smoothed my top down, even that simple action feeling impossibly X-rated.

"I would hate to be the cause of a dog's suffering. Afterwards, then?" he asked.

I nodded, not quite trusting myself to speak now that his eyes were boring into mine. He smiled at the miracle of rendering me speechless and ran his fingertips slowly up my re-tattooed arms.

"Good," he said quietly. "Take a cab; the anticipation will be driving me mad."

I nodded again, then found myself grinning like an idiot when he looked back at my face.

He laughed. "Eat," he commanded. "You only have a few minutes left of your break, and I hear your boss is a real asshole about that kind of thing."