Page 60 of Miss Understanding

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. I’ve got someone in room four upstairs who wants ten minutes with you. He said his name is Liam.”

I opened my mouth, but the floor manager interrupted.

“It’s not to strip. He said he just wants to talk? The owner verified him.”

I sucked in a breath, completely taken aback by the lengths he’d gone to. “But what about the bar?”

“I’ll cover. If you don’t feel comfortable, then you don’t have to go—that’s straight from the owner, Mr. Maxwell himself. Remember, there are cameras, and you only need to give the peace sign to signal someone to come in if you’re in trouble.”

Chloe had once told me the symbol was the universal distress sign to signal security about something getting out of hand. Not that I’d have to worry about that with Liam, but it was comforting to know the club had such precautions.

“Okay. I’ll go.” I was way too curious not to.

Jose was already giving me a wink. I weaved my way through the crowd and went up the stairs. The second floor consisted of private VIP booths which overlooked the dance club, but the third floor was closed off to club members unless you were on a separate list. Security was obvious, but when I approached the big man standing there, he simply unfastened the velvet rope without a word. Upon finding room number four down the funky hallway with rainbow lights, I turned the knob and opened the door.

I walked inside, eying the pole and small stage in the center of the room.

Liam had opted not to sit on one of the two leather couches, but was instead standing with his back to me, looking out the large picture window toward the club floor.

“Hi. You wanted to see me?”

He turned with the sound of my voice and walked closer to me. “I hope this is all right. I wanted a quiet place where we could talk for a few moments.”

With his gaze on me, I wrapped my arms around my exposed midriff. “What do you want to talk about?”

“I have an offer for you.”

“What kind of offer?” Because I could think of plenty I’d like him to make me. Not one of them appropriate to our work relationship, but all of them getting my hopes up. Perhaps this connection I’d imagined wasn’t one-sided.

“I’d like for you to work for me on the weekends to earn overtime instead of here at the club.”

I could only stare at him, trying to figure out his motive. Was this an excuse to spend more time with me, or did he truly need someone on the weekends? I had no doubt he probably had the work, but why now? “Why?”

He shifted his feet. “Because you need the money for your grandmother’s care, or for your clothes, or whatever, and I have plenty of work to do on the weekends.”

My temper snapped. “For my clothes?”

He sighed. “It’s not my business, but clearly you’re funding your designer wardrobe in addition to supplementing your grandmother’s care.”

“You’re right. It’s not your business.” Although I may have been tempted to accept his offer, he had to go and piss me off. But even without his insult, spending any more time with him was a bad idea all the way around. “I appreciate the offer, but no.”

His confusion was obvious. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to. I prefer to continue working here.”

“You’re angry.”

“Yes. I am.”

“Why?”

He truly seemed clueless. Time to enlighten him. “Because you’re making assumptions. My designer clothes are used. My Tory Burch flats were forty dollars. Most of my outfits, under a hundred. It took me an entire year to get a wardrobe fit for the law firm by socking away a hundred dollars a month.”

He winced. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have commented, let alone judged.”

Although his apology seemed to be sincere, it didn’t matter. I couldn’t work for him any more than I already was. “I need to get back downstairs.” I turned until his next words stopped me.

“Is it because of our kiss?”