Broken Submission

The Job

"My bartender just quit."

She spun. Derek stood in the entrance to the hallway. His face was a little pink, like he'd scrubbed it with cold water. She saw evidence that he'd run wet fingers through his hair, droplets of water clinging to the strands. She was a little fascinated by the way they adhered there, showing no inclination to disperse or be absorbed.

She registered his words. Quit? Or was fired? He wouldn't fire someone just so he could give her the slot, would he? She dismissed the thought almost as soon as it appeared. He wouldn't do that to someone, plus, there was no way he'd go through all that trouble for her.

"Really?" She couldn't come up with a better response. What did he expect her to do? Hand him the application already filled out? She couldn't take the job. Still a little part of her brain nagged, why not? It was true that, if his bartender really had quit, her primary reason for dismissing the offer was gone.

It was just as attractive an offer now as it had been the first time he presented it... She mentally shook herself. She couldn't take the job. She couldn't say why at this exact moment, but she'd come up with a reason at some point, and she didn't have to justify her choices to anyone.

Derek watched her. When he paid attention, it was amazing how clearly he could see her mind work. She had put on pants when she'd gone to the bathroom, loose gray sweatpants. They were rolled at the bottom, and her T-shirt had a scattering of small holes around her belly button.

He shook his head slightly. Forget the holes, how was it that she was dwarfed even in her own clothing? It occurred to him that they might not be hers, but a boyfriend's. He squinted at the pants, trying to judge how long they would be if they weren't rolled up. Maybe if the guy was pretty short.

Diminutive or otherwise, the thought did not sit well with him. Instead of stewing in his juices like he would have when he was younger, he pulled the feeling to the front and examined it. It had been a while since he'd had enough of a connection with a woman that the thought of other men bothered him.

Not to say that he wasn't a serial monogamist as his friends claimed, accurately. But he wasn't exactly the jealous type either, especially of someone with whom he wasn't actually in a relationship. Now, if he could just get her to take that damn job, he might be able to explore this development more thoroughly.

He leaned against the wall, a drop of cold water sliding behind his ear and making him itch. He ignored it.

"What is holding you back?" he asked. She met his eyes for a few seconds before sliding hers to the side. He'd noticed that she seemed better able to make eye contact outside of the club. Still not a lot, but enough that he could read her face.

She paused, and he felt instinctively that she was considering a lie. He would not be pleased if she followed through with that thought. She glanced at him, and her shoulders slumped.

"I don't know."

He nodded. Not an acceptable answer, but better than a lie. "Then you need to get a pen so that we can fill out this new application I brought, just in case you no longer had the first one."

Her eyes flew to his. "No! I'm not applying for that job! This is my decision and just because you're dominant and own a little real estate, doesn't mean you get to make choices for me!"

He said nothing. The air thickened between them, and he waited until she was shifting uneasily in place before he opened his mouth.

"I agree." His voice was low, and she visibly shivered. "I am aware that you are perfectly capable of making your own decisions. I do not however," his voice grew impossibly more stern, "appreciate the disrespect that accompanied that statement. And that has nothing to do with my lifestyle. Everyone should be treated with respect, whether they deserve it or not. If they've done something to harm you, then you can respectfully tell them so and then remove yourself."

Disappointment. It rolled off him in waves, and Amelia cringed. The feeling was like a deep, insidious nausea. Her words hadn't been that bad. She hadn't cussed him out or made any remarks about his mother. And what he said... It wasn't how most people thought. But when she considered it, she agreed with him. She felt held to a higher standard, and surprisingly, the feeling warmed her. Like he cared more what she did, how she thought and acted, than he did most people.

"I'm sorry, sir." She relaxed her shoulders and straightened her back. Her hands were loose and open, her chin down. "Truly."

His hand brushed her cheek, and she closed her eyes. His skin was warm and calloused. Some women hated hard, calloused hands, but Amelia couldn't stand soft hands. She coveted the small callouses on the tips of her fingers from playing guitar. That guitar was her only release outside of the scene. It was one of the few things she should have sold but couldn't.

Derek stepped forward until there was only a scant inch of space between them. Waiting on her to make the next move. She hesitated only a second before leaning forward to bury her nose in his chest. His arms wrapped around her, a constant pressure that calmed her immediately. Like those harnesses for dogs and thunderstorms.

She let out the world's smallest giggle at the thought. She stiffened as soon as the sound left her mouth. But the hand stroking her back never stopped.

Derek heard what sounded like a squeak. He felt her stiffen instantly. Had that been a laugh? He kept his hands moving, letting her know that it was okay.

"Are you laughing at me?" He kept his voice soft and friendly. She was so sensitive. And the way she reacted to his words... He had been surprised to hear himself recite a lecture that he had only given to one person—himself.

It was a way of doing things that was very different from most people. It was a very personal choice to him, and he knew that most wouldn't understand it. But when she'd listened—when she'd truly heard what he was saying—and had given it, given him, utter acceptance... She would never know how deeply that had affected him.