Erased (10 page)

When she turns to see me, she bursts into a fit of giggles, and I join in. I want my damn skirt back.

Maybe I can have my skirt back.

“I have an idea,” I smile as I make my way over to my suitcase.

Dad actually did a pretty good job of packing up the clothes I would want. I have a scarf fetish and was pleased to see he’d packed all of them. So, after grabbing the heap, I toss them on the bed.

Her brows furrow together in confusion. “What are we doing?”

I grin wickedly at her. “Wardrobe change. Have you ever made a skirt from a scarf?”

Dark, conspiratorial eyes twinkle at me. “No, but this hussy is willing to learn. I hate these fucking pants.” She immediately begins unbuttoning and then wiggles her curvy body out of the man-pants.

It takes a few minutes and some adjusting, but soon, we’re wearing matching scarf skirts. They’re short and tight, and Slade will flip his shit. Good. It’s not like he can fire me . . . or Delia for that matter. He’d sink without her and he’s burdened with me. This will serve him right.

“That orange brings out the lovely tan color on your legs,” I compliment.

She eyes my long legs and smiles. “That black brings out the white in your legs. You’re like a Goth wet dream.”

We giggle as we grab our aprons and head to the door. On the way out, I grab the unused scissors that were meant to take off my hair. After I cut a few holes in the man-pants, we hook our elbows together and prepare to meet the firing squad.

“Now we can go.”

Jill is a bad girl.

I am slightly disappointed when Slade is busily working in his office with the door closed. My body flares with rebellious anger, ready for a fight. Instead, I set to following Delia around, helping her as the crowd begins to pick up.

“Slade really outdid himself with the new uniforms,” Simon laughs and waggles his eyebrows as we pass him.

Each time he sees us, he can’t keep the goofy grin off his face and teases us. This job would actually be really likeable if Mr. Asshole would stay in his cave.

When someone walks in, Delia nods her head over to the front door. “Newbie, you picked it up pretty quick last night. I thought I’d let you have a few customers tonight just to get your feet wet. Want to go help that guy out?” she questions as she hands me a menu. “And by the way, he’s eyeing up your legs. I think he’ll leave you an extra-special tip.”

I try to force down the excitement of having my own table and take the menu from her. “Thank you!”

She rolls her eyes at my apparent overexcitement of work and leaves me to my own devices. Yanking the pad and pen from my apron, I saunter as sexily as I can over to what I’m quickly seeing is a good-looking man who’s slid into a booth alone.

“Hey there, sugar. What can I get you to drink?” I purr. If I’m going to get my own tables, I’m going to get some kickass tips.

His eyes bug out of his head as he drinks me up. “Holy shit. You’re . . . uh . . . You are gorgeous.”

My cheeks redden at his compliment. It’s nice to hear such a sweet thing from a nice-looking man. I try not to focus on the pang in my heart when I realize he has many similarities to Kent. This man has longish, blond hair, dark-blue eyes, and one dimple on the right side of his mouth that’s quirked into an adorable lopsided grin. Kent didn’t have a dimple, but they could be related based on their similarities.

“Thanks.” I’m still just smiling at him but am confused on what to do next.

He composes himself and now introduces himself politely. “Jack Bronson. Nice to meet you.”

Very Kent of him.
I shake his hand.
Very Joss of me.

“Jill Anderson.”

He quirks up a brow. “Hmmm. You don’t look like a Jill. Maybe something a little more exotic? Judith? Jasmine?”

Joss.

His eyes are questioning. Suddenly, I feel very wary of my fake persona. Am I that transparent?

“I, uh . . . I hear that a lot,” I stammer.

He narrows his eyes as if to question why I would lie about something as simple as my name. “Okay. I’ll have a Corona with lime and a side of Jill,” he says with a wink.

My cheeks go crimson again. Kent was the king of corny pickup lines. Once again, my heart aches for the normalcy of my old life. Instead of giving him an answer, I turn on my heel and sashay—for his benefit—over to the bar. The bartender isn’t here yet, so I slide behind the bar and bend over to open one of the small refrigerators under the bar.

When I hear something slam hard on the bar, I nearly drop the Corona in my hands. Then I stand and turn to see who made the racket. My eyes find the beautiful, steely, pissed-as-hell ones of Slade.

Oh shit.

In attempt to not show my fear, I lift my chin and snatch up a bottle opener. Once I’ve opened it and poked a lime in the top, I pivot on my heel and storm toward him. As I pass him, I can almost feel the furious heat suffocating me. I don’t give him a chance to chew me out and all but skip over to Jack.

Jack’s eyes are all over my body as I approach. It makes me feel wanted—appreciated—unlike the way Slade makes me feel. Today, Slade made me feel like a piece of trash. Like I wasn’t even good enough to be one of his “tenants.”

“Your Corona,” I beam as I sit down in the booth beside him, “and a side of Jill.”

His eyes widen with surprise, but he quickly recovers. And again he hits on me with his Kent-like flirts. “I like my Coronas cold and my side of Jill hot.”

I giggle at Jack’s corniness but can’t help when my eyes flit over to Slade who’s pacing behind the bar like a caged animal, his eyes never leaving our table.

“Do you want anything to eat?” I ask and pull out my pad so it will appear like I’m working.

Jack’s eyes study every feature of mine, from my dark, pulled-back hair all the way down my long, slender neck. “How old are you?” he asks softly as his eyes search mine.

Shit. I wasn’t prepared for that question. I’m afraid that, if I lie again, he’ll think I’m a total weirdo. But I can’t be too trusting.

“Old enough to know that she isn’t supposed to sit with the customers while on the clock,” Slade’s low voice grumbles from beside me. “
Jill.
My office. I’ll finish with this customer.”

Tears sting my eyes, and I’m horrified. Rather than embarrass myself further, I scoot from the booth and push past Slade without sparing him a glance. I hate him. My long strides don’t slow until I’ve burst into his office and pushed the door closed behind me. I’ve blinked back my tears, but they’re barely at bay.

Seconds later, the door opens and Slade slips inside.

“Okay, first of all,” he snarls as he reaches down and pinches the fabric of my skirt, “what in the ever-loving fuck is this?”

I bite my lip and shake my head, willing the tears to stay away. My eyes refuse to meet his. “The man-pants were too short.”

“Man-pants?” His voice holds a slightly humorous edge to it, and I hope that it indicates he’ll go easy on me.

“Yes,” I sigh dramatically. “High-water man-pants. Why do you want me to be ugly?” This time, the tears well in my eyes. I don’t understand him.

His hand slips under my chin and he lifts it so he can see me. For a split second, I think I see regret in his eyes. I hope it’s regret for his awful words from earlier.

With narrowed eyes and complete seriousness, he practically breathes out his next words—they’re that soft. “You could never be ugly.”

My heart does a little flutter and a tiny smile tugs at my lips. His eyes fall to them and then they darken. After clearing his throat, he once again glares at me.

“What the hell was going on at that table? You know you have to be wary of everyone who comes in here.”

The tears come back and roll down my cheeks. “He isn’t after me, Slade. I was just making small talk.”

He growls, “No more small talk. It’s fucking dangerous.”

“I hate it here,” I whisper and look down at my feet. When big, fat, ugly tears fall and splash on my tennis shoes, my eyes fixate on the wet spatters. “I just wanted to talk to someone. He seemed interested in me.”

“Fuck, J. You can’t go cuddling up to every asshole who comes in here and shows an interest. Get a fucking puppy, but don’t get yourself killed because some douchebag calls you pretty.”

His words cut me deep and I’m momentarily stunned by them before finding my inner claws again.

“He wasn’t going to kill me. And he called me gorgeous.”

Another growl. He almost sounds possessive. Too bad I know the truth. He’s just a fucking bull dog that growls all the time. I’m a burden to him, not a possession.

“Simon took over your table.” His voice is calm but firm.

As he starts to leave, I sniffle, “It was all taken from me. I don’t know how long I have to stay here, but don’t take away every shred of me. Please.”

He stalks over to me and envelops me in his intoxicating scent. God he smells amazing. I shudder when he palms my cheek and his rough thumb gently strokes my face near my nose. My eyes find his steel-colored ones and beg for a little more length on my leash. For one single moment, I think he’ll cave. The small twitch of a smile tells me so.

But I should have known better. Suddenly, his authoritative walls are back up and his glare is back in place.

“Stop getting personal with the customers. You can take the next table, but Simon already took over that customer. The skirt can stick around for tonight only, but tomorrow, just wear fucking jeans.” Then he pinches my cheek—much like my father would do—before dropping his hand and leaving me with nothing but tears, confusion, and anger.

Jill misses Joss.

HER TEARS ARE killing me. I want so badly to wrap her up in my arms and take away all the hurt in her right now. Especially the hurt I’ve caused. Instead, I step back and let her pass by me.

I stand there for a moment, but my feet eventually take on a mind of their own and I find myself wandering out to the bar. She’s at the kitchen window, grabbing an order. Just as she turns to take it to her customer, her eyes meet mine for the briefest of seconds before she quickly looks away and practically runs off to deliver the food. I can’t keep my eyes from following her around the room.

“You should just ask her out, boss-man.” Simon has stepped up to the bar and is staring at me while he waits for requested drinks. With a lopsided grin, he says, “She might be able to help dislodge the stick up your ass. You know what I mean?”

I know I should be pissed and not let him talk to his boss that way, but Simon has a way about him. He’s not being disrespectful. He’s just trying to lighten the mood, and it usually works. I stifle a laugh then growl at him to get back to work.

He lifts his hands in mock surrender and backs away a few paces. “Hey, it was just suggestion.”

When Niki hands him a couple of frosty margaritas, he wiggles his eyebrows at me before heading off to his table.

Niki . . . Shit. She wasn’t supposed to be working tonight.

She lifts the lever on the tap, topping off a glass of beer for the customer waiting in front of her. As she pockets the tip he hands her, her head comes up and she looks me in the eye. I just nod. It’s not her fault that I’m such a dick. After she smiles back and shrugs, she takes a sweep of the bar to make sure there are not waiting customers then walks over to me.