woman shrugged. “What does Jerome know? He’s stuck behind the bar. I’m Jessie Mack, by the way.”
“Hi, Jessie. I’m Barbie Jones.”
Jessie narrowed her heavily lined eyes. “With a name like that, are you here to be a waitress or do you wanna be one of the dancers?”
“Oh, no, waitress only. Barbie’s my real name, and I can’t dance.”
Jessie snorted. “If that’s what you wanna call it.”
“Are you here to waitress or dance?”
“I’m a waitress...for now, but I’m trying to get on the stage.” She flicked her fingers at the stage. “You make more money shakin’ your stuff, and I’m all about the dollar bills.”
“Do you have to audition or something?” Britt transferred another candle from the front row to the second row of tables.
“Or something.” Jessie grabbed two candles and two drink cards from the tray and placed them on the tables behind her. “There’s a vacancy for sure. One of the dancers left recently, and I know Sergei wants to replace her.”
Britt’s heart took a tumble. Jessie couldn’t be talking about Leanna. Her sister had assured her she was waitressing, not stripping, but then, Leanna didn’t always tell the truth.
“Have you talked to Sergei about replacing her?”
“Have you met Sergei yet?”
“No. I interviewed with Irina.” She’d wanted to meet Sergei, but Irina told her he interviewed the dancers only and left the cocktail waitresses to her.
“Yeah, that explains why you think it’s so easy to talk to Sergei.” Jessie put her finger to her lips as more women entered the bar. “Just stay on his good side...or stay out of his way altogether.”
As the waitresses and the dancers flooded the bar, their chatter filled the air. Britt noted the heavy accents of some of the women and figured them for Russians since both Irina and Sergei were Russian, too.
When she found herself alone with Jessie again at the end of the bar minutes before opening, Britt asked, “Why do so many Russian women work here? Is it because of Sergei?”
“Sergei’s father. He owns the place, along with a few others in the Valley. He has a Russian restaurant with a banquet hall in Van Nuys, so sometimes we work out there for events.”
She touched Jessie’s arm. “What you said before about auditioning for Sergei. What does that entail?”
“You mean what do you have to do for the audition?” Jessie rolled her eyes. “Use your imagination. That’s why I haven’t applied yet. I’m trying to get my courage up.”
The bar opened for business, and Britt didn’t have time for any more conversation or snooping. The customers kept her hopping with drink orders.
She bellied up to the bar for another order, reading off a slip of paper on her tray where she’d scribbled the drinks. As Jerome hustled to fill her order, Britt turned and wedged her elbows against the bar, watching the topless women undulate under colored lights.
“You want chance on stage?”
Britt jerked her head to the side, almost colliding with a dark-haired man with glittering eyes and a smirk on his lips.
She tucked her hair behind one ear. “God, no. I’m perfectly happy being a waitress. I can’t even dance.”
The man’s eyes tracked down her body, and Britt craved a shower. “You have body of dancer. Maybe one day.”
A chill pressed against her spine as Britt realized the identity of the man. “You must be Sergei. I’m Barbie, the new girl.”
“Barbie, Barbie Doll.” He touched his fingers to his forehead. “Welcome to Tattle-Tale.”
He sauntered off toward the stage, his tight shirt clinging to his taut frame, and Britt sagged against the bar behind her, puffing out a short breath.
With a clenched jaw, Jerome placed the last bottle of beer on her tray. “First time meeting Sergei?”
“Yeah. He seems...okay.”
Jerome’s fingers tightened around the long neck of the beer bottle before releasing it. “Just don’t get on his bad side.”
“That’s the second time tonight someone has warned me about one of Sergei’s sides.” She lifted the tray. “I can handle Sergei.”
“That’s what they all say.” Jerome turned away without further explanation.
Britt couldn’t stay out of Sergei’s way if she hoped to discover why he’d lied about Leanna leaving her job and town with a boyfriend. Why would he say that? Unless that was what Leanna had told him.
She needed to get into Sergei’s office, the sooner the better. She’d already discovered he left before closing time, so she’d have to figure out a way to stay behind after everyone left.
As Britt launched into the crowd of thirsty customers, Jessie grabbed her arm. “When you’re done with those, can you hit a table in the front row at the end of the stage? Guy’s been sitting there alone for a while, and I haven’t had a chance to get to him.”
“Sure. Which side?”
“On the left, facing the stage.” Jessie jerked her thumb over her shoulder as she scurried to the bar.
Britt peered over her tray of drinks at a single man reclining in his chair—long legs stretched out in front of him, head tipped back, watching the woman on the pole. She mumbled under her breath, “Great—a weirdo by himself.”
She scurried among her tables, delivering drinks and picking up a few tips. On her way to the lone guy up front, Britt stopped at a few tables along the way, scribbling drink orders on her pad. When she reached his table, she flicked a cocktail napkin down. “What can I get you?”
The man turned his head and pinned her with a gaze from a pair of the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. “Two shots of vodka and a glass of water, please.”
“Hope you weren’t waiting too long. The waitress at this station is really busy tonight, and she asked me to take care of you.” Britt bit the inside of her cheek. She had no idea why she’d engaged this weirdo—maybe so she could stare into his eyes a minute or two longer.
He shrugged, his black leather jacket creaking with the movement. “I didn’t notice.”
Of course he didn’t notice. He’d been too preoccupied ogling the topless dancer, who was still trying to get a tip out of him.
Without breaking eye contact with Britt, he reached into his front pocket, withdrew a bill and tucked it into the dancer’s G-string.
Britt felt a hot flush creeping up her throat and spun around before a customer could wonder why a cocktail waitress at a topless revue would be embarrassed by a common method of tipping.
She hightailed it back to the bar and smacked her order on the top. “I’m up, Jerome.”
The antics of the dancers and the customers hadn’t bothered her at all. As a therapist, she’d heard all kinds of stories from her clients and had learned to keep a straight face through all of it.
There had just been something so personal about what that particular customer had done—as if he wanted Britt to witness him touching the dancer in that intimate way.
She pushed her hair back from her face and fanned it with a napkin. She’d imagined it. The guy’s appearance had just taken her by surprise, since she’d expected some dweeby loser to be going to topless bars by himself. That man still may be a dweeby loser, but he was one hot dweeb.
Jerome’s dark face broke into a smile. “It does heat up in here pretty fast, and I’m not just talking about the girls.”