Status: Chaptered, Active (:
More Than it Seems
Chapter One
“You’re late,” a gruff voice barked from the background at the far end of the dimly lit room as I hastily pushed through the secured door and swerved past the sea of seated patrons before reaching the entrance of the back door. Tearing off a few beats from my quickening heart rate after briefly struggling to open the door to the secluded area, I knew in that moment that I was in some deep shit. Not only was I at least a good hour late for my night shift at The Cirque Bar, but it was just now that I realized I had also failed to dress in the proper work attire.
Despite the fact that, for as young as I am, I was one of the best bartenders the franchise had to offer, I could not afford to lose the job I have kept up with for so long now. Swallowing a rather large heap of breath, I prepared myself for what was bound to abruptly burst through the door in a heated rampage in a minimum of ten seconds.
Astonishingly, my boss managed to arrive at the assigned destination approximately eight seconds ahead of schedule. “McAdams…” he trailed off, implying with his firm gesture that I knew fully well why he was confronting me with his infamous “look of death”.
For a man in his late thirties, he possessed quite a large and well-toned physique. He wore a plain black t-shirt that was slightly ripped at his right shoulder, most likely from the handling of an arrogant customer. Complete with the outline of harshly trained pectorals protruding from the thin piece of cloth enclosing the top half of his body. His loosely fit jeans were a faded shade of denim after the countless rounds inside the washing machine, a thick leather belt hanging from the torn belt loops stitched at the hem. His massive arms, veins bulging from the inside of his tanned flesh, were crossed in front of his hard chest, a stern expression gracing his worn down face as the earring that barely dangled from his left ear glinted off of the light illuminating the room while a thick strand of jet black hair fell over his eyelashes. I merely flinched in my steps staring into icy blue orbs.
Groaning in frustration, he continued to speak in his usual scolding tone, “McAdams, this is the third time you have been late. And do not give me any excuses because you know very well what you applied for when you came here. I expect you to arrive here on time, to do your job, collect your money, and leave. Understand?” He cleared his throat before speaking any more, refusing to break away from my piercing bronze eyes. “You know that you are my best girl out there and I need you to help me out here,” he said as his voice rose with every three words spat out. Nearing closer to me so that his face hung directly over mine, he peered into my determined gaze with eyes that were set to kill. “So the next time you ever come running through my fucking door even a millisecond late, you know what is coming. Do you hear me?” Vulnerably, I shook my head to display acceptance.
“Good. Now, here. This was all I got stacked up in storage. Don’t like it? Well, that’s what you get for not coming to work with your clothes on,” he replied with a softer tone as he threw me a skimpy pair of black booty shorts and a form fitting tee with the words “Amateur Pornstar” labeled on the chest that was probably small enough to reveal my naked navel. Staring at the temporary gifts in the slightest bit of disbelief, I raised my head in time to witness my boss heading for the door. He chuckled to himself, but kept it obnoxiously loud enough for me to overhear it.
“Very funny, Dean,” I retorted as I heard the door open, allowing the brief ruckus of boisterously drunken patrons to devour my delicate eardrums before abruptly dying down, leaving me in a muffled silence. Inaudibly, I chuckled to myself as I shuffled my feet in search of an empty space for me to change out of my heavily paint splattered t-shirt and into my Hooters-inspired attire for the night.
Despite the fact that, for as young as I am, I was one of the best bartenders the franchise had to offer, I could not afford to lose the job I have kept up with for so long now. Swallowing a rather large heap of breath, I prepared myself for what was bound to abruptly burst through the door in a heated rampage in a minimum of ten seconds.
Astonishingly, my boss managed to arrive at the assigned destination approximately eight seconds ahead of schedule. “McAdams…” he trailed off, implying with his firm gesture that I knew fully well why he was confronting me with his infamous “look of death”.
For a man in his late thirties, he possessed quite a large and well-toned physique. He wore a plain black t-shirt that was slightly ripped at his right shoulder, most likely from the handling of an arrogant customer. Complete with the outline of harshly trained pectorals protruding from the thin piece of cloth enclosing the top half of his body. His loosely fit jeans were a faded shade of denim after the countless rounds inside the washing machine, a thick leather belt hanging from the torn belt loops stitched at the hem. His massive arms, veins bulging from the inside of his tanned flesh, were crossed in front of his hard chest, a stern expression gracing his worn down face as the earring that barely dangled from his left ear glinted off of the light illuminating the room while a thick strand of jet black hair fell over his eyelashes. I merely flinched in my steps staring into icy blue orbs.
Groaning in frustration, he continued to speak in his usual scolding tone, “McAdams, this is the third time you have been late. And do not give me any excuses because you know very well what you applied for when you came here. I expect you to arrive here on time, to do your job, collect your money, and leave. Understand?” He cleared his throat before speaking any more, refusing to break away from my piercing bronze eyes. “You know that you are my best girl out there and I need you to help me out here,” he said as his voice rose with every three words spat out. Nearing closer to me so that his face hung directly over mine, he peered into my determined gaze with eyes that were set to kill. “So the next time you ever come running through my fucking door even a millisecond late, you know what is coming. Do you hear me?” Vulnerably, I shook my head to display acceptance.
“Good. Now, here. This was all I got stacked up in storage. Don’t like it? Well, that’s what you get for not coming to work with your clothes on,” he replied with a softer tone as he threw me a skimpy pair of black booty shorts and a form fitting tee with the words “Amateur Pornstar” labeled on the chest that was probably small enough to reveal my naked navel. Staring at the temporary gifts in the slightest bit of disbelief, I raised my head in time to witness my boss heading for the door. He chuckled to himself, but kept it obnoxiously loud enough for me to overhear it.
“Very funny, Dean,” I retorted as I heard the door open, allowing the brief ruckus of boisterously drunken patrons to devour my delicate eardrums before abruptly dying down, leaving me in a muffled silence. Inaudibly, I chuckled to myself as I shuffled my feet in search of an empty space for me to change out of my heavily paint splattered t-shirt and into my Hooters-inspired attire for the night.