Hard (5 page)

My heart thuds a little faster. “Is that a yes?”

He
folds his arms behind his head, leans back in his chair, a smile
stretching across his face. “You’re going to have to tell
me your name if we’re going to work together.”

“Cassie,”
I say. “So we have an agreement?” I walk around to where
he sits and offer him my hand. He shakes it, his palm cool against my
warm one.

“Tomorrow morning. Nine,” he says. “You’ll
work in here.”

“With
you?”

“Is
that a problem?”

“No,”
I say, surveying the office. It’s not small, but there’s
one desk, one chair, and boxes of files that will have to go
somewhere. Not to mention the mountains of receipts and other papers
ready to avalanche across the desk. “It just could get cramped
with both of us.”

Ryder
turns toward me in his seat, his head level with my waist, right
where his hands grasped me only moments before. “Lucky for
you,” he says, “I know how to move well in tight spaces.”
He looks up at me, the line of his jaw strong and straight, brushing
the hem of my skirt as he fingers the beveled edge of the desk, and
though from somewhere I can hear the dull whirr of the air
conditioner, I make a mental note for tomorrow: this office can get
hot.

CASSIE

“That’s your real name?”

“Real as it gets,” he says. “Cash Ryan Gardner.”

“With a name like that maybe you should be the accountant,”
I say.

“No way,” he says. “I don’t want to count the
money. I want to have enough money to pay someone else to count it.”

“Good plan.” I save the balance sheet file on the laptop
as Cash hands me a beer. It’s the end of my first week as the
new bookkeeper for Altitude. At twenty bucks an hour, I’ve only
got, like, three more months to go. If I don’t count the
interest.

At least the drinks are free.

Cash the bartender is also one of the partners with Ryder in
Altitude. He’s what in the nightlife business I guess is called
“front of house”—good-looking, smooth-talking, the
kind of person who can get customers to buy just one more drink, stay
for just one more song. Great for a night out, difficult when you’re
trying to get work done.

Still, the last couple days, I’ve found myself gravitating to
doing work out in the main area instead of the office, sitting at the
end of the bar, even if there are customers, even if Cash and Ryder
are out here.

Maybe especially when Ryder is out here.

He and Jackson, another partner in Altitude, are holed up at an empty
table in a front corner. Jackson’s an architect and he’s
drawn up plans for a new place they all want to open together
again—Ryder, Cash, and Jackson, and the fourth Altitude
partner, Parker, who’s moving back from New York soon, I’m
told. Bending over the table, Ryder and Jackson study the blueprints
they’ve spread out very seriously, their backs to me. More
significantly, their butts.

I once read that having a great ass is a genetic trait. If that’s
true, Ryder Cole won the DNA lottery.

“You hungry?” Cash says, jarring me out of admiration of
Ryder’s backside.

“Not really.”

“You sure? Because you’re staring over there like you
need a little something in your mouth.”

I roll my eyes. “You are such a troglodyte.”

“Hey, now.” He holds up his hands in surrender. “I
don’t know that word, but if it means anything like the look
you’re giving them,” he says, “I’m into it.”

“You’re into it alone, then. It means caveman.”

Carrying the rolled up plan under his arm, Jackson approaches. Ryder
hangs back near the door, the phone to his ear. Cash pours Jackson a
whiskey as he takes a seat, around the corner of the bar from me.
“Thanks, man,” Jackson says. “Probably want to get
one ready for Ryde, too. I think a girl just bailed on a shift
tonight.”

“Who?” Cash says.

“I don’t know,” Jackson says, sipping his drink.
“Staff is Ryder’s department. I’m just the
architect.” He looks at me, takes in the laptop and the piles
of papers surrounding it. “Do you work for us, or are you doing
homework at a bar?”

“She’s the new Brightfield,” Cash says. “After
he got carted off.”

“I’m sorry, was he talking to you?” I say to Cash
as I go to shake Jackson’s hand. “Cassie. Nice to meet
you.”

“You, too,” Jackson says, grinning at me, then looking at
Cash. “Anyone who talks to Cash that way is welcome here.”

“Thanks, bro,” Cash says as takes Jackson’s drink
and downs what’s left of the whiskey.

Jackson shakes his head. “Now you’re just going to have
to pour me another one.”

It’s nice to be around men so at ease with each other, with
themselves. There’s something brotherly about the way Ryder and
Cash and Jackson interact that seems to seep into the vibe of this
place, and makes it a fun hang-out spot. Ryder claimed he didn’t
understand my loyalty to Jamie, why I would work unpaid just to bail
out my fugitive brother, but deep down, I know he gets it. He lives
it with these guys.

Ryder strides toward us, his brow furrowed, phone off but in hand.
He’s wearing what I’ve come to recognize as his workday
uniform—a pressed button-up shirt tucked into jeans that ride
low on his hips, a blazer that hangs on his shoulders like it was
made just for him. He’s let his facial hair go this week,
growing a little scruff, and his hair looks a little longer, too, a
little disheveled, like sex hair. Not that I would know what Ryder’s
hair looks like during sex.

And not that I haven’t thought about it.

“Short-staffed on the floor tonight, Cash,” Ryder says as
Cash hands him a glass of whiskey. “You may have to do double
duty. How do you look in a push-up bra?”

Cash pours himself a glass, clinks it to Ryder’s. “I look
excellent in everything,” he says. He turns toward me. “And
even better in nothing, in case you’re wondering, Cass.”

“I wasn’t,” I say. “But thanks for ruining my
weekend with that image.”

“Don’t distract the help,” Ryder says. He notes my
half-finished beer. “I assume that wasn’t consumed on the
clock.”

“It’s after five,” I say, raising the tall glass to
my lips and taking a long, slow drink. “So technically I’m
not your employee anymore.”

Ryder lumbers to my side of the bar, sits on the stool next to me.
“As long as you’re in my bar with my books,” he
says, “you belong to me, tiger.” Wrapping his hand over
mine, he takes the glass from me and finishes off the beer, his mouth
closing over the place where mine had just been, an out-of-body kiss
that I feel all over my body.

“So who called in?” Cash says.

“Rachel,” Ryder says. “Some stomach flu thing. I
didn’t ask for details.”

“What about calling Trish to fill in?” Cash says. “Or
Katie?”

“Katie is already coming in for Trish, who’s out of
town,” Ryder says.

“We’ve got some big tables booked tonight,” Cash
says. “It’s gonna be tough to run without a full floor
staff.”

Ryder toasts his whiskey to Cash. “Thanks for the reassurance,”
he says. “I can always count on you to make a situation worse.”

“But at least I make it look good,” Cash says, smiling to
show off his dimples.

Jackson nods at me. “What are you doing tonight, Cassie? You
want to make some extra money?”

Ryder turns to him, shakes his head. “Since when are you in
charge of hiring?”

“I’m just saying, she’s here. She can probably hold
a tray and take a drink order,” Jackson says. “If she can
keep the books, I assume she can do the math to make change.”

“She uses a computer to do the math,” Ryder says.

“You guys know I’m sitting here, right?” I say. “No
need to keep talking about me in the third person.”

Ryder smirks. “
You
use a computer to do the math.”

I shut the laptop. “Quiz me.”

His lips tighten in a suppressed smile. “Okay,” he says.
He pulls up the calculator on his phone. “What’s
one-hundred-fifty-two plus thirty-seven plus eighty-four?”

“Two-hundred-seventy-three,” I say as quickly as if it
were a rehearsed line.

“Subtracted from five-hundred,” he says, typing.

“Two-hundred-twenty-seven.”

“Divided
by thirteen.”

“How many decimal places do you want?” I say.

“Lady’s choice.”

“Seventeen point four six two,” I say. “If we’re
rounding up.”

“All in favor?” Cash says. He and Jackson raise their
hands. Ryder’s stays firmly at his side.

“As charming as this little exhibition is,” Ryder says,
“we’re known for hot girls, not smart ones.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I say, immediately
regretting my sartorial choice today: a pair of baggy pants from
college that I found in the back of my closet and a lightweight
summer sweater that I’d thought of as comfortable this morning
but now strikes me as shapeless.

“He’s being an ass but he does have a point,” Cash
says, shooting me an apologetic smile. “It’s just
that…people tend to spend more money when you look less like…”
He gestures to my outfit. “You know.”

“My point exactly,” Ryder chimes in.

I glance down. So maybe the pants are a little loose and the sweater
is a little worn. They’re not the only clothes I own.

Well, okay, they practically are. I haven’t had a lot of time
this week to replenish my wardrobe, and in England, Sebastian and I
didn’t go out a lot, hence my current state of clothing
affairs.

But there’s a mall on the way home from here. And even though
every dollar I sweat out tonight is going right back into Ryder’s
pocket, I didn’t come back to the States with a completely
empty wallet. Rule one of escaping an old life: always carry cash.

Without looking at Ryder, I say to Cash, “What time does the
shift start?”

“Eight.”

“See you then.” I stand, picking up the laptop and piles
of paper. “Oh, and in case you don’t recognize me, since
apparently waitressing here requires such a transformation, I’ll
be the hot one doing math in her head.” I lean toward Ryder, my
lips close to his ear. “No push-up bra necessary.”

CASSIE

Being
in England for the last two years with Sebastian, I didn’t
socialize much. I didn’t know anyone before I got there, and
didn’t meet many people once I arrived. Finally getting a job
took forever, thanks to the visa process. So it was mostly just
Sebastian and me, day after day and night after night, stuck in a
relationship that didn’t work in an apartment that got smaller
with every fight.

Basically,
not much fun.

I
had totally forgotten that nights like tonight at Altitude, when work
feels like play, could even exist. It feels like a party. It feels
like the old me.

Things
were fairly quiet when I got here a little before eight, so Jackson
offered to show me around the kitchen while the head cook took a
pre-rush break. “You can eat during the shift,” he said,
handing me a sweet potato fry from the plate he was carrying, “as
long as you don’t tell Ryder I said so.” Afterward Cash
trained me on the serving station computer and walked me through the
credit card machine, in between staring at the tops of my boobs
pushing out of my tight, black tank top.

Who
can blame him? I wasn’t kidding about not needing a push-up
bra.

“Why
don’t you wear stuff like this every day?” he said as I
waited at the bar for him to pour tequila shots for my first
customers.

“Because
men tend to forget that I have an actual brain when they see me
dressed like this. And I don’t want to be the reason you don’t
get any work done,” I said, hooking my thumbs through the loops
of my new black skinny jeans.

“I
don’t mind.”

“I do,” Ryder said as he approached the bar. The look on
his face was stern, but even in the dark lighting, I noticed his eyes
flickering down my body. “Are those people actually going to
get their drinks, or are you just going to flirt with Cash all
night?”

“Are you always this much fun?” I said to him, stacking
the shots on my tray as Cash handed them to me.

“We’re not here to have fun, tiger,” he said.
“We’re here to work.”

“Then make sure you don’t get any enjoyment from looking
at my ass while I deliver these shots,” I said as I glided away
on my new high heels, carrying shots to the booth of waiting, thirsty
young men.

When I was with Sebastian, any time a guy paid attention to me, he
would get instantly jealous. Not that he would say that’s how
he was feeling. Instead, he’d mainly just get mad at me and
eventually I’d figure out it was because the grocer had smiled
at me too long for his liking, or the guy sitting next to us in the
Tube had checked me out—that it wasn’t my fault at all.
It’s not that I’m insecure
, he’d say in his
British accent that could sound simultaneously charming and
condescending.
It’s that those other blokes are too secure.
He was always asking, didn’t I want to put on a sweater or
wouldn’t pants be more comfortable than the skirt I had on? It
was like he wanted to cover me up, hide me from the world.

Good
thing he’s not here. Because even in the dimness of the bar, I
feel like I’m lit up tonight.

The shift might have started slow, but now at almost midnight, it’s
a packed house, girls sitting on guys’ laps, people dancing in
booths when there’s not room on the floor, everyone ordering
drink after drink after drink. And the more they drink, the better
they tip, which means the closer I am to paying off Jamie’s
debt. Win win win.

“Hey,
how’d you get into jeans that tight?” a guy says to me at
the bar as I grab three martinis for a table.

“Very
carefully,” I say.

“Well,
let me know if you need any help taking them off later,” he
says.