Chapter 1
Tilly
Sitting on the floor in the center of my living room, I count through the cash left in my savings jar. $42.15. Great. If I didn’t need that damn car to get to work, I’d set it on fire. I’ll never get ahead at this rate.
I let out a sigh, stretching my legs out in front of me. “I am never going to college.”
Dropping the money back into the jar beside me, I let my head fall back against the couch. It’s old and worn, and it’s seen better days—just like everything else in my life.
“Get used to it, Tilly,” I say to myself. “This is obviously as good as it gets for you.”
Once upon a time, I had goals, dreams, aspirations. But that was before I found out that the college fund my grandparents had set up for me as a baby was emptier than the jar on my floor—thanks, Mom. When graduation came, the only hope I had to better myself was to get a job and save toward paying for community college myself. But two years later, we can see how that’s going…
“What’re you doing on the floor?” my mother grunts as she shuffles toward the kitchen, obviously hungover, cigarette dangling from her mouth, and an empty coffee cup in her hand.
I hide the jar beneath the couch and stand. If she sees me with money, she’ll take it. “I didn’t realize you were home.”
“Boss cut my shifts again,” she says, her back facing me as she mutters, “Why is there never any fuckin’ coffee made when I need it?” Probably because you’re the one who drank it…
I keep my job to myself, knowing it won’t get me anywhere anyway and try to keep on topic. “Why did he cut your shifts?”
She scoffs, sucking hard on her cigarette as she sets up the coffee machine to percolate. “A customer reckons I shortchanged him. And the customer is always right.” She rolls her eyes, blowing out a lungful of smoke as she puts the cigarette out in the sink and leaves it there. “What are you doing here?”
“My shift doesn’t start for another hour. I was just about to get ready.”
She nods, pulling out a fresh cigarette. “Rent’s due. Gonna need you to cover my half this month, or the landlord’s gonna kick us out. You know what he’s like.”
“Sure,” I say, eyes down. That’s my paycheck gone. I’ll be lucky if I can afford ramen after this, but it won’t be the first time. My mother has a habit of pissing people off. Hence why my college fund was empty by the time I needed it. She can’t hold down a job to save herself—or me. She has sticky fingers and a quick temper, two qualities most employers don’t tolerate for long. I’m surprised she hasn’t been arrested yet. At least that’s something…
I know I could leave. I know I could go somewhere else and start again, but where am I going to go? I have no money, no extended family; my car barely runs well enough to get me anywhere far, and even if I did leave, Mom would still hit me up for money… And I can’t say no to her. She’s family.
“You hear that bar on Main Street is hirin’ at the moment?” She clicks her lighter, the flash deepening the dark lines around her eyes, showing her age. “They need new girls.”
“Isn’t that one of those places where they dance on the bar?”
She nods. “Reckon you’d do real well swinging what God gave you up there.” With the fingers that grip her cigarette extended, she points to my breast and hip area, indicating my abundance of curves.
“I don’t want to get up and dance, Mama,” I say. “I don’t have the coordination.”
“Sure you do. And the tips will be a hell of a lot better than you get at that dive you’re working at now. You should apply.”
“I’m fine working at that dive.”
“Apply,” she insists, cupping my face in her hands. “Use what you have to your advantage while you’re still young enough to make money off it.”
“I would like to use my brain.”
She laughs, but it turns into a cough. And she steps back, angling away from me. I pat her back until it subsides, wishing she’d quit the smokes already.
“Sweetheart,” she says when she’s caught her breath. “I know you wanted better than this. Maybe this job is how you get it? Doesn’t hurt to try, right?”
“Fine.” I roll my eyes. “I’ll go down there and check it out. No promises, though.”
Mom smiles. “Good. Because electric is due in two weeks, and I doubt I’ll have the money to pay it.” She pulls the bill off the top of the microwave and hands it to me before she pours her coffee and leaves the room.
I look at the bill and sigh. Just like that, I know I don’t have much of a choice. I’m getting a new job.
Chapter 2
Noah
Clamping my hand around the wire strippers, I pull the plastic coating off the speaker wires and wind them together. This was supposed to be done three days ago, but good workers are hard to come by. I find myself being boss, repairman, barman—you name it, I’m the guy—more often than not. Next thing I know, I’ll be up on the bloody bar dancing myself. That’d be a sight.
I chuckle to myself as I’m threading the wires into the wall before I hook the speaker in place. Big ex-military me, clicking my heels together and wiggling my ass.
“What’s so funny up there, boss daddy?” Elijah, my bar manager, says as he places his hands on the legs of the ladder I’m standing on.
Pasting an unimpressed glare on my face, I stare down at him. “Boss on its own is just fine. I ain’t your daddy, son.”
His eyes light up as I realize what I just said. “But you just called me son. And I would really love it if you’d be my daddy.”
I scoff out a laugh and climb back down to the floor, dusting my hands off on my jeans. “Doesn’t that count as sexual harassment or something? Asking your boss to be your daddy?”
Elijah purses his lips and juts out one hip as he considers this. “I think it doesn’t count if the employee does it to the boss. It only counts if it’s the other way around. Plus, I think you’d have to feel intimidated. And since you’re twice the size of me, big daddy, I don’t think you’re intimidated at all.”
I shake my head. “You’re incorrigible, kid. How’s everything for tonight?”
“Well,” he starts. “Everything is fine except… we’re a girl short.” He says the last part really fast, his hand half covering his mouth as he speaks.
“A girl short? Fuck. Who is it this time? Stacey? Natasha?”
“Tonya”
“Are you for real? That’s the third time in a week.” I shake my head, hands on my hips. I don’t enjoy having to come down hard on my employees, but in this case, it’s affecting my business. I need a full staff to run efficiently. “Next time she’s in here, tell her to come see me. She’d better have a good reason if she wants to keep working here.”
“Yes, sir.” Elijah salutes, walking along behind me as I close up the ladder and carry it into the storage room. “I was kind of hoping that I could call one of the new girls as a fill-in.”
“Are any of them trained?” I take quick, long strides to my office and he runs to keep up.
“Trained in dancing, not so much in bar work. But I’m sure I can teach them to pull a beer in no time.”
“What the hell are you doing hiring girls who can’t pull a fucking beer? This is a bar.”
“With dancers. I have to hire them based on their moves, or what’s the point in them being here?”
“To serve food and drink. You know, the stuff that makes me money. That’s more important than how well they dance.”
Elijah places his hands on his hips and presses his lips into a tight line. “Try telling your clientele that. The girls are why they come.”
I stand in the doorway of my office and let out a growl. “I didn’t open this place so I could be a fucking drink slinger every night of the damn week, but fine, I’ll man the goddamn bar tonight.”
I slam my door, just as I hear him say, “Thank you, daddy.”
As pissed as I am, it makes me laugh. He knows I’m straight as an arrow, but he seems to get a kick out of this daddy gag he has going on. And he’s the best worker I have, so I let him get away with it. Still, the last thing I want is to be anyone’s ‘daddy.’ I’ve got three grown kids of my own, and I sure as hell don’t need anymore, hell, I haven’t even looked at a woman for...fuck, I forget how long. Once my wife passed, I left the army life behind me and focused on working and raising my kids. Now that they’re all off at college, I’m finally in a position to do what I’ve always wanted to do—open a bar with great music and even better food. All I need now is enough employees to run the damn place.
Chapter 3
Tilly
Making my way up High Street, I find myself standing in front of the Stomp & Swill bar. It’s fairly new in town, barely open six months. From what I hear, it can get pretty crazy in here. I’m not sure I’m ready to have men throwing money at me while I dance and pour liquor down their throats. I mean, I can do the pouring part, but dancing, even flirting, are foreign concepts to me.
But I need the money, and I have zero qualifications for anything else.
I raise my hand and knock, seeing through the window that a guy with spiked brown hair and black eyeliner is restocking the bar. He spots me and moves to the other side of the door. “We’re closed, sweetheart. Come back at five-thirty when we open.” I can barely hear him through the glass.
“I’m here about a job,” I yell back, fighting against the noise of the street behind me.
“There’s no Rob here,” he says, scrunching up his face and turning away.
“No. A job. I need work.”
He stops moving, turns around, and flashes a straight-toothed smile my way. “Can you pull a beer?”
“I’ve been working at O’Sullivan’s since I turned twenty-one in March.”
“Show me.” He pulls the door open and waves his arm to usher me in. When I hesitate, he purses his lips. “Do you want a job or not? I don't have all day.”
“Oh, sorry,” I say, hurrying to step inside.
He leads me to the bar and gives me about a second to look around before he starts throwing orders at me. At first, I’m not sure what’s going on. But I quickly realize he’s giving me a test to see if I can handle the pace here. I twist my long blonde hair into a knot on my head and get to work. He’s obviously never worked St. Patrick’s day in an Irish pub before—it was one of my first shifts, so I step up to this challenge with little trouble, lining up the orders without breaking a sweat.
“Good.” He nods, an interested gleam in his eye. “But can you dance?”
“Uh…” My cheeks flame. “Not really. I mean, I’m not sure.”
Tilting his head to the side, he frowns. “Not sure? How can you not know if you can dance?”
“Well, of course I can dance, just like anyone else can dance. But there haven’t been many occasions for dancing on bars in my life, so if I’m being honest here, I’m not sure how I’ll do with that particular requirement of the job, sir.”
“Sir,” he repeats with a chuckle. “Why in God’s name would you call me sir?”
I open my mouth, closing it again when I’m unsure what words I should be letting out. “Well,” I start. “I don’t know your name.”
“Queen,” he states. “If you must call me anything other than Elijah—which is my name—then you may address me as queen. I run the girls, so you’ll answer directly to me.”
“Wait. Are you telling me I have the job?” My eyes go wide, and I bite my lip to hide my smile.
“If you can be here at five, you have a job. But, sweetheart, you must learn to dance, or you won’t last long here.”
“Oh, I will,” I say. “I’m a real fast learner.”
He laughs. “That’s what they all say. How about you clean up this mess while I get you some paperwork? Oh, and I should probably ask your name.”
“Tilly,” I say, beaming while hoping my financial troubles are about to be a thing of the past. “My name is Tilly Adams.”
“Well, Tilly Adams. Welcome to the Stomp & Swill.”
Chapter 4
Noah
“Don’t mind me, boss,” Elijah says, bursting into my office and heading straight for the filing cabinet.
“No daddy this time?” I joke while I continue inputting expenses into this blasted spreadsheet, one digit at a time. Computers have never really been my thing.
“I’m trying out this crazy thing called listening. Not sure how long it’ll last for,” he teases back as he slides the drawer closed and turns around, new employee paperwork in hand.
“Who’s that for?”
“Well, you’re about to love me—I have the answer to your prayers out in the bar right now.”
“The answer to my prayers, huh?” I stand and move to the doorway. It gives me a view straight into the bar where a blonde with curves for days is rigorously wiping down the stainless steel prep area, her breasts and booty jiggling hypnotically from the movement. I’m not the kind of boss who creeps on the girls who work for me. I’ve always been adamant about keeping my distance and providing a workplace that paid them well and kept them safe. We have a no touching policy that is fiercely upheld by security. But as I watch this new addition to our team drop the rag she was using into the sink then turn our way and smile, something flips in my chest and twitches in my jeans. Fuck. I’m a fifty-three-year-old man. I’ve never had this kind of reaction to a woman before—especially one who’s obviously half my age at the most. But I’m having visions of grabbing those round hips of hers and throwing her on the bar while I bury myself deep inside her. I want to take her home with me, wake up with her in my bed. I want to be the sole reason those pink lips of hers smile. I want her to be mine.
“Noah.” Elijah clicks in front of my face, snapping me out of my inappropriate stare fest. I feel like a kid again, drooling over a girl I’ve no right to even look at. What is wrong with me?
“Can she pull a beer?” I demand, my voice gruffer than I intend as I frown and turn away from her. She looks too innocent to be in a place like this.
“That’s what I was trying to tell you,” he says, looking at me like I’ve gone crazy or something. “Tilly here can not only pull a beer, but she can make any drink order you can throw at her. Believe me, I put her through it, and she passed with flying colors. And she cleans. Look at that bar shine! Girl, you are God’s gift to us right when we needed you.”
The girl beams. “Thank you.” My heart flutters even faster. What the fuck?
“One problem,” Elijah starts. “She can’t dance. I’ll need to teach her.”
“Dance?” Alarm bells go off in my mind. I don’t know why, but the idea of her up on that bar, dancing for anyone other than me has all kinds of protective instincts inside me going haywire. “No.”
“No?” Tilly’s smile falls as she looks from me to Elijah. Suddenly I feel like shit. I never want this beauty to look hurt because of my words. I’m quick to clarify.
“You don’t need to dance. I want you on the floor, pouring drinks—no dancing.”
“Oh. Um, OK.”
I catch Elijah’s brows knitting in confusion as I turn around and shut my door, flicking the lock behind me. The way her mouth looked when she formed that O with her lips has my dick straining to get out past my zipper. I need to put some space between me and Tilly before I say or do something crazy. She’s an employee. She’s young. And the way I’m feeling toward her is not OK. In fact, it’s downright filthy.
