Sick Bastard (5 page)

London

I hate Monday's. They’re the days every class hands out assignments for the week. I don’t need more homework, I need to be studying for finals every spare minute I have.

I spend my mornings and afternoons in class or studying myself into a coma. School’s from eight to three pm, Monday through Friday. I get a few hours of down time in between and then it's off to work from five to eleven pm, Monday through Saturday. I spend the majority of my time either neck deep in schoolwork or elbows deep in rich, rude assholes and dishes. My days leave me little to no downtime, but I like it that way. If I have too much free time, I find Matt and myself getting into all sorts of trouble, some of it fun, some not so much.

The last five years of my life have involved schooling of some sort. I hardly remember what life was like before exams, papers, professors, and homework. I’ve had so much schooling that I'm used to not having any fun. I’ve all but forgotten what fun looks like, but that’s fine. I’m being groomed for my career―a career I’ve spent countless years going to school for. I want this job more than anything I’ve ever wanted in my life. I want to make my grandfather proud. School’s almost over for me and I’ll finally be able to move up and on with my life, and onto the job of a lifetime, at least it is for me.

Hustling home after class, I’m ready for a nap as soon as I’m through the front door. Slumping down on my couch, I glance around my apartment. My heart hurts a little walking into such a quiet, empty house. I hate empty. My best friend and roommate, Matt, has been gone for two weeks now. I miss him so much. He’s an important part of my life. Without him, I’m not whole.

Since meeting ten years ago, we haven't been apart for more than a week. Now it’s going on two weeks and it's killing me, but Matt should be home any day now. I need him around because he keeps me sane and in check, but really, I just miss his crazy ass.

I kick my shoes off, pull down the throw and wrap myself up. Laying my head down, I groan at the thought of work. I don't have the energy today – much less the patience – for assholes tonight. I close my eyes, but no matter how tired I am, sleep eludes me. I haven’t slept for shit in over a week. My mind’s fried from school, but adding my job to the mix tends to drain me more often than not.

I haven’t forgotten about my encounter with Mr. Marx. No matter how busy I’ve been, our encounter is still fresh in my mind. Ever since Thursday night, I can’t help looking for him when I walk into work, wondering if he’ll ever come back.

The whole evening caught me off guard and I didn’t like it. I like having control of my emotions, but he stripped them with that kiss and as much as I wanted to bitch at him and despise him for it, he only scared the hell out of me because I wanted it. But I still think he’s an ass.

God, the more I think of his cocky attitude, the more I feel vindicated in my actions. If I see him again and get the same attitude, I may just punch his ass for kissing me like that, then for being a huge prick and not coming back. I definitely have a lust/hate thing for him, that’s for sure. It’s time to get past the lust part and continue on with my life the way it was before I ever met Mr. Marx.

~~~~~~

Showering quickly, I don’t dilly-dally. I need to get moving or I'll be late. My work uniform is pretty simple; anything black and white, sexy and slutty. Of course when I got the job, they omitted the slutty dress part, but it was implied.

I decide on black pants and a white fitted button down shirt. I throw on a pair of cute flats because I don't feel like fighting with heels tonight. My outfit choice isn’t too sexy, but I undo a few buttons on the top to give just enough cleavage. I'll show the girls off tonight.

I swear I get more tips this way than when I wear a short skirt that my ass hangs out of. I guess some men still like a little mystery. I leave my hair down, throw on minimal makeup and I'm done. Lastly, I grab my purse and I’m off.

~~~~~~

I get to work five minutes early and hang out in the employee lounge for a few minutes, waiting for my shift to start. I’ll wait it out to the very last second before I ever start early. I need these five minutes to prepare myself for the crowd tonight.

Lena walks in as I shove my stuff into my work locker. “Hey, love bug. How was your weekend?” She asks while plopping down in a chair. Sitting down across from her, I pull my legs up under me.

“Busy, but it was okay. How was yours?” She gives me an exhausted sigh. Guess her weekend wasn't great.

“It started out good. I had a date but halfway through, the neighbor called. Grandma was wandering around the back yard.” She says and frowns, “And he was a nice guy,” she groans, letting her arms flop down by her sides. I laugh a little. She's always having these dates with nice guys. Either they end in a sweaty romp in some club bathroom or they turn out to be total sleazebags.

“I'm sure he'll understand, and if he doesn't, you'll find one who does.” I reassure her. She looks thoughtfully at me and nods.

“You're probably right. You're always right.” I am, but I keep that shit to myself.

Glancing at the clock, I see that it’s show time. Heaving myself off the chair, I head for the door. “Are we busy out there?” I ask Lena as I tie my apron around my waist on our way out the door.

“Not really, but remember Mr. Sexy Pants? You know, the guy from Thursday? He's been here for a few hours just hanging around the bar, looking put off and mad. He asked if you were working today.”

Shit. My eyes go wide and Lena looks panicked. “But don't worry. I told him I didn't know!” she blurts out. If he’s out there, then he’s obviously about to find out that I am. I don't want to deal with any of his drama tonight, but I’m excited at the same time.

“It’s okay, Lena. I just wasn't expecting him today.” I smile, letting her know it’s all good. It’s not like she could have changed it anyway.

Now I really want to stay in here and hide, but sadly, I can't. “I will not kill anyone tonight. I will be nice, I will smile, and I will be professional, but nothing more.” I say out loud, trying to convince myself that I can, and I will, do this.

Here goes nothing.

Walking out onto the floor, I glance around the room but I don't see him. Sagging in relief and disappointment, I go behind the bar to grab my pen and paper, stuffing them into my tiny apron. He must’ve given up and left. I can’t believe he gave up so easily.

I decide it’s for the best that he left and go about checking my reservations and tables at the bar, preparing for my shift. My head’s down and my mind’s into my reservation book when someone takes a seat directly across from me and I know. I look up to see Mr. Marx staring me down. I can't help it. My heart races and I’m excited that he stayed, but I would never show it. He doesn't smile outright, but I can see a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“Good evening, Mr. Marx,” I say coolly, trying to look busy. I don’t give him much of my attention, but I'd love to ask him what he's doing here. I assume he’s here to eat, drink, or to see me.

“London,” He nods politely.

I try to keep myself busy. I shouldn’t even acknowledge his presence but I can’t stop myself from looking. Trying to be discreet. I peek through my lashes with my head down. He’s staring at the bar top with his mouth pulled down into a firm line and his brows drawn together in thought. I watch him fiddle nervously with that goddamn Rolex on his thick wrist. What’s with that?

Looking longer than I should, I notice just how beautiful he is. He's even sexier than I remember in his pale gray, perfectly tailored suit. It’s a single breasted Armani suit, and it fits him like a glove. It’s not like the custom made one he had on the last time I saw him, but this one does wonderful things for him too, if not more.

His hair is no different though. It’s still a thick mess, going in every direction. Something new is the three days’ worth of stubble on this face. Why does he have to be so handsome and such an asshole.

I’m so enthralled that I don’t even notice he’s watching me. I’m completely embarrassed so I turn to leave, but he stops me, “London?” His voice is low, laced with uncertainty. Turning back around, I finally get to see the most amazing smile. Does this mean he's happy to see me? I wonder which personality I’ll be dealing with tonight.

“Yes, Mr. Marx?” Crossing my arms, I lean up against the bar and wait. He doesn't seem much like the arrogant shit from before. Is he nervous?

“Please, call me Dante. I just wanted to drop by and say hello, and see how you’ve been?” His eyes are glancing all over the place, anywhere but me as he starts twisting his Rolex around his wrist again. This is awkward. Nervous doesn't suit him. He's too strong and domineering for this weird energy he’s got going right now.

“I’m good. Thank you for asking,” I say as I walk away, brushing him off.

I know it’s rude but there’s no point in standing there, trying to come up with some form of conversation when neither of us know what to say. Besides, I have to get to work.

While I take orders, serve drinks, and flirt my ass off for big tips, I do everything I can to ignore the beautiful man sitting at the bar who openly watches me. It’s a bit unnerving, yet flattering. He has me twisted up inside.

His smiles have become warm and friendly, but his eyes…not so much. This man, Dante, is no good for me, or for the population of women as a whole. He’s a heartbreaker; the man that would take your heart and stomp on it, all the while laughing about it. That’s what he is.

But none of this stops me from glancing at him every chance I get. He continues to smile, knowing that I’m looking. I want to kick my own ass but that smile is beautiful and secretive, and I want to know what the secret part of it means.

I finally have to go back to the bar for more drinks, and I'm a tiny bit excited to be near him again.

“Hi.” I say with a smile. I have no idea why I'm engaging him, but I have an overwhelming need to hear his voice again.

“Hello again,” He smiles and tips his head. His eyes sparkle and it makes him look relaxed and comfortable for once.

“Can I get you anything?” I offer. He looks amused for a moment while he rests his elbow on the bar, finger tapping his lips thoughtfully.

“There’s one thing in particular I want very much, but I need to being patient,” he muses, sounding as if he’s talking more to himself than to me. I have no idea what he’s talking about, but the waitress in me offers anyway.

“I can try to get it for you,” I offer helpfully. It is my job, after all.

He looks at me a little dazed before he shakes it off, “No, thank you. I'm okay for the time being.” He says and smiles kindly at me.

I leave Mr. Marx, at the bar to help a gentleman at the other end, waving his empty bottle at me rudely. I’m not a ditz and I can see you, dumbass. A simple head nod or bottle tip would have worked. I grab another beer for the man, “Here ya go,” but he doesn’t say shit to me. Jerk.

Before I can turn around, I feel large arms circle around me from behind, hands pressing into my stomach. I stiffen immediately, but relax as soon as I realize it’s Matt. I turn to hug him tight, “I've missed you, London,” he says as he hugs me just as tight.

“I’ve missed you to, bitch face.” He picks me up whirls me around, and that’s when I see Mr. Marx watching us, looking absolutely murderous. I don’t give myself time to process his mood because my Matt is back and my world is whole again.

“I've missed your face,” he says and kisses my forehead with a big, sloppy kiss.

“I wasn't expecting you back today.”

“Well I got my cousin all moved and I was so ready to leave. Her pregnancy hormones were driving me insane, but we’ll talk later. Let’s get to work before boss man fires our asses,” he says, slapping my ass as he runs off.

A loud crack startles me back to the other end of the bar. Turning on my heels, I find a shattered glass in front of Mr. Marx.

“Shit,” I mutter to myself and run down to get it cleaned up.

Mr. Marx doesn't say a word as he watches at me pick up the broken pieces. Did he really just break a glass? What the hell? Glaring at him a few times while cleaning up the mess, I don’t even bother to ask because at this point, I don’t really care. I pick up the shattered pieces and make a pile to toss. He looks a little ashamed, but doesn’t offer me an excuse or an apology.

“London?”

Dumping the glass into the trash, I quickly make my way past him. “I have customers. I’ll send another waitress to take care of the bar. I hope you have a good night, Mr. Marx.” I nod politely before turning on my heels to leave, letting him stew in whatever’s bothering him. I don’t have the time or energy for all
that
. I won’t even entertain the thought that it has anything to do with me. He’s just a psycho who seems to enjoy fucking with me, but I can’t even begin to imagine why. He’s just a Sick Bastard. Staying away from him is obviously the right course for me to follow.

I need to find someone else to run the bar and Kendra is the first waitress I pass. I figure she'll do. “Hey, Kendra, can you run the bar? I have things on the floor to take care of.”

She takes one look and hones in on Mr. Marx immediately. A large smile takes over her face at the sight of him. “Fuck yes! He's hot!” She squeals in delight. She even claps her hands like a goddamn child.