Bound For Me(3)

By: Natalie Anderson

“Is there anything more you need gentlemen?” she asked. “It’s closing time.”

“Oh you know what I need, doll.” Ultimate leaned over the bar.

“Yes, I do know,” Savannah answered coolly, resisting the instinct to back away. “But is there something more you’d like from the bar, or do you think you might have had enough already?”

The two guys either side of him laughed. There’d be a cat call, wolf whistle or way worse any second.

“I’ll never have had enough of anything you offer, darling.” Ultimate Jerk-off’s eyes narrowed on her. “But do you know what you need?”

She didn’t answer. There was no point.

Super-wealthy and with a warped sense of entitlement, these three had arrived in the elite Summerhill alpine resort to ski and party-on just over a week ago. Within five minutes of walking into St Clair’s restaurant and bar on their first night, Ultimate here had asked her out. She’d refused—politely but with chilly finality.

Just as she refused all those invitations.

That’s when things had gotten interesting. Seemed Ultimate didn’t like the word ‘no’. He’d started playing the prick, his invitations becoming more and more frequent and more and more obscene.

Her boss at the bar was aware, but hadn’t wanted to ban them—because, ‘boys will be boys’. And these ‘boys’ were wealthy, connected, large spending customers.

And Savannah hadn’t pushed the issue. She prided herself on not losing it, ever. Flirty or jerky customers came with the territory. And generally there were way more awesome customers than the few losers like these.

She’d held it together until it had culminated in the cigarette incident—a blatant challenge to her authority—and she’d publicly humiliated him. Since then, Ultimate Jerk-off’s attitude had been septic.

Now she punched the code to close the cash register and switched off the music. The silence was sudden and deadening.

“Nothing more, gentlemen.” She turned, her feet planted wide. “Your night is over. It’s time to leave.”

“But not for you.” Ultimate answered with a superior smile. As he turned, he swept his arm out, knocking their three empty glasses from the bar to the floor. They shattered with a loud crash. The jerk looked oh so slowly, oh so deliberately, from the floor, to her face. “Oops.”

The most insincere non-apology ever.

“Don’t worry.” She shoved her hands in the pockets of her long black bar apron and smiled through gritted teeth. “I’ll fix that when you’re gone.”

Never was she showing them how pissed she was.

“Thanks darling, I know you’ll always swallow whatever I spill.” Ultimate Jerk-off leered.

Oh please.

Savannah took a deep breath and relaxed her hold on the small can of pepper spray in her pocket. Her meagre savings had been nuked less than two months ago, so she couldn’t afford to lose this job, no matter the provocation. And in serving ultra-wealthy types she scored good tips–though never from these three. She wouldn’t take any from them anyway.

She had her standards.

“Luca,” she called as she strode into the kitchen. “I’m just—”

She stopped and rolled her eyes.

Luca—current manager—and Krista—one of the waitresses—were like one weird creature, wound so tightly together not even Thor with his mighty hammer could smash them apart. Hadn’t they heard those glasses crashing? Hadn’t they stopped to check the security screen?

Nope. ‘Cos only now did they guiltily break apart. Jeez, if they didn’t leave now they’d be naked in the kitchen in a second. Near the deep fryer? Even if it was switched off and cooling down, it was so not a good idea.

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