My next stop was the kitchen, where I watched the staff silently from a corner. I made sure the food was leaving the shelf and heading to customers table shortly after being plated. We only served light food to most of our customers. Those in our VIP rooms could get anything their rich little hearts desired, though, whether it was a perfectly grilled steak or a bowl of Fruity Pebbles. We went out of our way to make Six a cut above the rest.
The sound of muffled, angry male voices caught my ear and I turned for the kitchen’s swinging door. I’d just gotten it open when I heard glass shattering. Motherfucker. I wasn’t about to allow a bar fight in my upscale club.
A crowd was clustered around a table near the bar and I pushed my way through. A couple of frat boys were throwing punches at each other and a third one held a broken beer bottle up, trying to hold off two more pimpled brats.
“Gimme that, you pussy,” I muttered, pulling the broken bottle out of the guy’s trembling hand.
I put it on the table and grabbed each of the two fighters by the collars of their shirts.
“Get your asses out of here,” I said as I dragged them toward the door. “Go spend your lunch money getting wasted somewhere else.”
Two of my bouncers, Cecil and Dan, approached. They each took one punk and finished dragging them to the door. I looked back and saw that another bouncer was sweeping the broken glass into a dustpan.
With that fire out, I decided to patrol the outside of the building. If nothing else, I needed some fresh air. Wiping the asses of adults all the time was fucking exhausting.
Vivian
Eric raised his glass in the air and smiled, his eyes full of meaning as they met mine.
“To new beginnings,” he murmured.
He clinked his glass against mine and raised it to his lips, tossing back a big drink of the amber liquid. I sipped my wine, my heart hammering in my chest. I had a very good feeling about him.
Could it really happen so quickly? This blind date was about the hundredth I’d gone on since accepting a job at a family law firm in New York City. I usually knew right away whether I’d met someone who’d make a good friend or someone who I should draft up a restraining order for at the end of the date.
Never had I met a man I could see a second, third and fourth date with. Until now.
Eric Masterson checked every box on my list for the perfect man. He was a good listener with a great sense of humor, had a great career as a stock broker and was very easy on the eyes. With dark, close-cropped hair, an athletic build and warm brown eyes, he’d drawn a second look from the women at the table next to us when we’d arrived. For the first time since arriving in the Big Apple ten months ago, I actually hoped for a goodnight kiss at the end of a date.
“So, Vivian,” Eric started.
“Viv,” I reminded him. “My friends call me Viv.”
“I’m hoping to be more than a friend.”
I felt a goofy grin spreading across my face. “Well, you’re off to a great start.”
“Another drink?”
I sighed and looked at my watch. “I wish I could, but I have an early hearing.”
I liked setting up dates for Thursday nights so I could beg off in the name of work when I needed to, but in this case, it was because I actually had to. It was after eleven, and my alarm relentlessly sounded at six every weekday.
Eric’s face fell. “Oh. I thought—”
“I really do have to get up early,” I said, putting a hand on top of his on the table. “Can we get together again sometime soon?”
His expression brightened. “Yeah? How soon? Wanna share a cab?”
“Sure. If we’re going in the same direction.”
He signed the check and tucked his credit card back inside his wallet. “What if we both go in the direction of my place?”
I bit the inside of my lip, forcing myself not to let my defeat show. He thought he was getting laid tonight. That explained his enthusiasm.
Dating was the worst. THE. WORST. I needed to take a month off of it and watch chick flicks and eat takeout in my pajamas. I was persistent and damned if I was a quitter. People at work even called me tenacious. But dating required a streak of masochism and I was over it. For now, anyway.
“I think I live in the other direction,” I said, getting up from the table. “Thanks for a nice evening, Eric.”
I didn’t even have to turn around to know he was behind me, pushing his way past people to catch up. I’d just pushed open the front door to leave when I felt a hand grabbing my wrist.
“Vivian, don’t go.”
I glared at him and pulled away. “I have to work in the morning. I need to get home.”
The cool spring air on my face was a welcome change from the stuffiness of the crowded club. I headed for the curb to hail a cab.
“What the hell just happened?” Eric demanded from behind me.
I turned. His easy smile was gone. Now his expression was pissed.
“I’m looking for more than just sex,” I said, crossing my arms. “I thought you knew that when we set up this date.”
“Yeah, well . . . maybe you shouldn’t have flirted so hot and heavy over dinner, then.”
I felt my eyes bulge with indignation. Stepping away from the curb, I approached Eric and pointed at his chest.
“I did no such thing, you asshole.”
He rolled his eyes and smirked at me. “Please, Vivian. The skirt? The way you licked your lips and played with your hair?”
My anger grew stronger, clouding my better judgment. I grimaced at Eric with disgust and took another step toward him. “What? Seriously? Because I’m wearing a skirt? I’m a twenty-eight-year old woman with a pretty decent vocabulary. If I wanted you to fuck me, I would have said, ‘Fuck me, Eric’. Instead, I’m saying fuck you.”
I rarely lost my cool, but the all too prevalent male mindset that a woman in a skirt was desperate to be bedded was just too infuriating to be ignored.
“You’re hot when you’re angry,” Eric said, wiggling his brows at me.
I rolled my eyes. He wasn’t worth my time. I was turning back toward the curb when he reached out and pulled my cell phone from my hand.
“What’ve we got here?” he said, holding it up and out of my reach.
“Give me my phone.”
He backed up several steps and I followed. I’d been very wrong about this guy. As he reached the corner of the Six building, Eric gave me a look that was supposed to be playful and disappeared into the alley.
I took a breath, reminding myself to keep cool. I couldn’t afford an involvement in an altercation that could jeopardize my job. But that was my phone and he was an asshole, and I wasn’t about to get trampled this way.
“Eric,” I said, my voice icy as I entered the alley, “give me my phone or I’m calling the cops.”
My breath whooshed from my lungs and my back hit the brick wall.
“You’re a cocktease.” Eric’s breath was hot on my face. He clamped a hand over my mouth and shoved a knee up between my legs.
My blood ran cold at the unwelcome contact. The phone suddenly seemed like a very stupid reason to follow an unknown man into a dark alley.
“Who’s an asshole now?” Eric’s expression was amused and angry at the same time.
I screamed, even though his hand muffled the sound. As I flailed, I realized my feet weren’t even on the ground anymore. He held me against the wall with his knee between my legs and his weight in front of me.
This was a nightmare. The front door of Six was maybe a hundred and fifty feet away, but it might as well have been a hundred and fifty miles. I was helpless and alone in a dark alley with a man who looked like he was just beginning to amuse himself with me.
He pulled roughly on the fabric of my shirt and I felt buttons strain and then pop off. In an instant, his hand left my mouth and wrapped around my throat.
“If you scream, I’ll choke you,” he said in a low tone.
“You’re a fucking psycho.” My voice wavered, betraying my panic.