‘‘Here, just like you wanted ... Today’s receipts, invoices from the deliveries, the tips, takings, and the till
print off; would you like me to do anything else for you? Seeing as I am obviously not busy in Happy
hour with serving customers and running myself ragged with your demands?’’ I glare at Luciano,
throwing the papers on his cluttered desk, completely pissed that he made me do this on a Saturday
night at eleven p.m. In our busiest season with Football playoffs and the bar is heaving since he
opened it up to the public in Alexi’s absence.
Luciano just glares right back with that unconcealed disdain he has for me since I arrived here. The
short fat little balding creep has done nothing but rile me up the wrong way and put me down at every
turn, from day one.
The Camilla of the streets would have romanced him and blown him by now if he was of any value to
me in this life but as I have my eye on a much bigger and sexier prize then I am wasting none of my
hard-earned flattery on the likes of pencil dick and his complete hatred of women having an equal
footing to him.
I have been here for almost two months, since I got out of the hospital, and much to my complete
disappointment our suave Italian has never reappeared in all that time to give me any sort of direction
on what he wanted me to do in this damn club. The place is nothing more than a cheap watered down
back alley dive and Luciano couldn’t run a treadmill, let alone a nightclub.
This place is barely scraping by; I think he knows it too, as requesting tonight’s takings several hours
early is a sign of desperation. I also have suspicions he has been diddling the takings for weeks, but it’s
his funeral, and when Alexi shows face I doubt he won’t notice. I wouldn’t be dumb enough to steal
from him anyway.
I never thought I would end up being nothing more than a glorified bartender, but at least Alexi’s paying
me the wages of a bar manager and the apartment upstairs is both luxurious and free, which is a nice
bonus.
It’s modern, five stars and has two bedrooms in a lovely open-plan layout. Although I suspect the black
silk sheeted master suite is his, and never go in there for fear of what I might find; it has something of
Alexi in the stark masculine neatness and the locks on the inner door suggest he uses this place for
playtime when he stays here.
I guess I should see the advantage on being so close to his boudoir, even if he might be a dark man of
sinister kinks. It gives me the upper hand on seduction moves.
Apart from his room, I have the free run of the whole upper floor in a four-story-tall New York building.
We are snuggled in the back, dark depths, of warren-like streets, and my view is limited to windows
and brick walls of buildings beside us, but the décor is expensive, clean and airy. I am completely at
home in the minimalist lad pad with high tech. No expense spared on the gadgets and entertainment or
the fitted kitchen that is perfect for small meals.
I can’t grumble at landing on my feet this way, I’m just bored with the lack of scope for doing anything
other than becoming Luciano’s mule for his workload as this place crumbles to the ground around my
ears.
‘‘Get out and get back downstairs, go shake your tits at people with cash to spend.’’ He growls at me
with his crooked teeth on show and those watery blue eyes almost popping out of that loathsome skull.
That bulging creepy vein appears over his reddening forehead, signalling I’m pissing him off again. He
loses his temper easily this one, and if I had the energy to clean up his mess I would have made the
artery pop by now; he’s easy to affect, and I reckon I could push all his buttons if I so desired.
Wanker!
‘‘They couldn’t afford me, hence why I leave dressing like whores to your staff.’’ I flick my long harlot
red hair at him over my shoulder as I turn on my very high stiletto heel and smooth down my fitted navy
shift dress. I was always more of a dress to impress than pop out to show the goods kind of girl. If a
man wants it, then he will work for it and pay more. If you put it all on show and let him sample the
goods before he buys, then you don’t make half as many sales. His staff should really learn the art of
teasing and enticing—they would get way more tips.
‘‘You’re a cheap slut that Alexi obviously installed here until he’s ready for a new fuck buddy. He will
use you and kick you to the curb as soon as he’s done. Don’t get comfy Sweetlips … Alexi has his eye
on more pressing issues than women! You’re all mere distractions for him, and I for one, cannot wait to
see him dump you in the gutter.’’ He smirks, pleased with his little put-down and I just laugh sweetly,
unaffected by smarmy little imps with penis envy.
‘’Dahling … green is not your colour; it clashes with your high blood pressure.’’ I wink as I wiggle my
way out of the office and smirk with the crash of things falling off his desk. He tends to swipe when he’s
raging, and I probably just gave him twenty minutes of picking up all those papers I just deposited.
I'm a tad smug at how effortlessly I get to him, it’s been my only amusement these past weeks.
I wander out across the cream carpeted open floor of the office level, between the large potted palms,
towards the row of lifts.
There are two closed offices up here and a bank of monitors behind a huge curved desk in between,
where one solitary security guard keeps an eye on the downstairs and other floors. Not that there is
much to watch in an empty flat, a storage floor which houses nothing but excess from the bar and dusty
boxes or empty rooms. This level has only him and Luciano most of the time, while the bar is only busy
from seven p.m. until four a.m. The rest of the time it’s closed. The other office is always locked, so I
presume it belongs to our missing hunk of the moment and I wonder when the hell that one is going to
dazzle me with his presence.
My underwear has been feeling considerably tight since I first laid eyes on him and it’s wholly
frustrating to find something that piques your interest insanely, and then just goes AWOL indefinitely.
He spiked my interest and since then I have been having lucid dreams about that man and his sexy
body, waking up all hot and bothered and craving sex.
That’s not like me at all.
I pull out my gold swipe card that gives me access to one of the two lifts and all four floors of this
building. I noticed when Luciano gave me this the day I arrived that he has a silver one and I guess it
means he cannot access the apartment upstairs; not that anyone can! It’s locked with a keypad that the
guard had my palm scanned for on arrival. It’s very high tech for somewhere Carrero rarely uses, and I
wonder why he went to so much expense upstairs but left his club to run in incapable hands and still
look like it was decorated in the nineties.
It’s a complete contradiction to both the man and his apartment upstairs.
I wander into the open space of the lift and lean back against the railing, sighing heavily. I can already
hear the thrum of downstairs and impatiently run my fingers through my long, straight locks, admiring
my reflection as the chrome doors close. I quickly check my flawless makeup and red pout and give my
ample breasts a little jiggle in the moulded lingerie to sit higher under my fitted dress. Looking good is
an art form that I have mastered.
Despite not having anything but long slender legs on show when I work the bar, men just fall over
themselves to be served by me. I guess I was lucky to be born with a naturally pretty face that can be a
knockout with the right eyeliner and lippy, and a body I work hard to keep toned and fuckable.
Experience taught me that I have to live on my looks as much as I do my skills in this cut-throat world I
exist in because women are second-rate citizens among gangsters and completely disposable. We are
ten a penny and most women in this world will drop their knickers for any guy with money or a hint of
power, so you must stand out as something else.
I aim to be more than just another forgettable whore, I have skills and ambition.
The girls here all hate me, and I don’t really care. I never came here to make friends and technically I
am still their boss too, even if Luciano forgets it and treats me like his skivvy. I am harsh-tongued and
intolerant, and I am not shy to tell them when they are pissing me off.
I must admit though, the bar is running a lot more smoothly since I picked up the slack than when I first
arrived. Just small changes to the rota, booze brands and how things are done, have made a world of
difference. I could teach them a few things if I could be bothered to up the standard and class to try and
pick up the tips a little. I don’t see the point though; I’m hoping the bar goes under and Alexi has to find
another use for me to work off the money I owe him.
I would happily sweat it out under him in any position he required and revel in letting him find
interesting ways to extract every last dollar. I could teach him a few boudoir tricks and show him just
how good a girl can be with nothing but a tongue and a fair bit of practised suction. I did spend my adult
life and half my childhood learning how to work sex to my advantage, and I am not against using every
tool in my arsenal to achieve my goal.
Alexi would be fun to use it on, seeing as he is the first real crush I have ever had in my life. That man
makes me wet just thinking about him. Since that certain tall dark Italian piqued my interest I have my
eye firmly on that rich and powerful package for sure. I can’t help the little fantasies I have been having
about him.
Sex is something I miss, even if it’s what screwed me up early in life, and I am more than ready to flex
those pelvic muscles in the name of some fun now I have an opponent I’ve found to be worthy.
I got so embroiled in selling other girls to rich men when pushing Tyler’s product and surrounding
myself with spoiled and fetish-fuelled creeps, that along the way I just lost all interest in fucking anyone.
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