Furious

"Why did you fire me?" I asked after a while. I was genuinely interested in his answer.

He expelled a heavy breath and released me, stepping away. "You don't belong here." His gaze moved down and up my body, missing nothing, and leaving me melting inside. "In spite of how you're fucking dressed."

I slammed my hands on my hips, about to challenge his statement. "What does that even mean?" I snapped in frustration. "How do I not belong here? I'm a good bartender, and I need that job."

He moved to his desk and leaned against the corner. "You're too fucking innocent, and I don't want to have to worry about some drunk trying to get inside your pussy."

I let out a huff. "Do you have to be so crude?" I really wanted to call him a pig. "And I'm twenty-five and not a virgin, so I think that takes my innocence off the table."

"Not good enough. You look like a fucking teenager, and you're too tiny to hold your own against a man." He crossed his massive arms.

"I've been here for two fucking weeks and nothing has happened!" I said heatedly. "And I seemed to hold my own against you." I knew that was a mistake as soon as the words left my mouth. It was an exaggeration. We both knew that he'd controlled every second of that situation.

He grunted. "I'm hiring a male bartender."

I snorted. "That's discrimination!"

He shrugged. "It's my bar."

I thought for a minute. "You employ other women," I pointed out, trying to control my anger.

His eyes moved over me long and hard, until I was squirming uncomfortably. I got the feeling that he could see right through my clothes, and my body began to react accordingly, against my will. I didn't want to be attracted to him, he was an unfeeling brute. But I couldn't deny that my nipples were hardening and a fire was building in my core under his dark, lustful look.

"You want to strip?"

"Sure," I said, lying through my teeth.

"Then strip and show me what you got."

Ohmygod! I hadn't expected that. What had I gotten myself into? I wasn't a stripper. I would never take my clothes off for money. But something in Beckett James' smugness, the dark challenge in his cold eyes, had pushed my buttons and caused me to react without thinking. Now I'd backed myself into a corner, and I could either tell him to go to hell and stomp out of there, or I could take my clothes off. The longer the silence stretched between us, the more I hated him and the self-satisfaction on his rugged features.

And then I thought of something, tossing his smugness right back into his face. "Are you hiring me?" I challenged.

His mouth quirked. "Not without checking you out first."

Asshole! "What about as a server?"

"I don't need another server, but I can always use another stripper."