she gave the door a bump with her hip. It didn’t budge. She dug her feet into the carpeted floor and put a little more grit into it. The door popped open, and she grinned as she tapped the chewing gum wedged in the lock. The things you learned from clients, especially the juvenile delinquents mandated for therapy.
She took a step into the room, her fingers hovering over the light switch. She didn’t want to announce her presence, but she couldn’t see a thing.
She whipped out her phone and flicked on the light. Sergei’s desk beckoned, and she accepted the lure, creeping around the back as if she wasn’t the only inhabitant of the club. She tried the first drawer and gulped. She didn’t have any tricks to break into a locked desk, especially inconspicuously. If she forced anything, Sergei would know someone had been snooping.
Gathering her hair in one hand, she leaned over the desk and shuffled through a few papers—orders for supplies and bills. Sergei didn’t have a computer on his desk. He must take that home with him.
She put her hands on her hips and swiveled left and right, taking in the small office. Her gaze tripped over a filing cabinet, and she crouched in front of it, yanking on the handle. Locked.
What could be so private in a topless bar that everything had to be locked up like Fort Knox?
A sound from the back door had her blood running cold. Had Jerome forgotten something? A million stories started running through her brain in case he walked through that door. She wanted to change something in her employee file. She didn’t have a place to live yet and figured she could crash here.
Her ears picked up movement in the hallway, a whispering sound. She dived beneath Sergei’s desk, killing the light on her phone. Why had she left his office door ajar?
The floor beneath the carpet creaked, and Britt squeezed her eyes closed with the childish hope that if she didn’t see him, he wouldn’t see her.
The soft footsteps continued to the office, and she curled into herself, drawing her knees to her chest. Her stomach knotted and her lungs burned as she took tiny sips of air.
Her nostrils flared at the smell of leather and a faint odor of motor oil invading her space. Before her brain had time to fully process the smells, the chair she’d tried to pull back beneath the desk slowly eased away from her.
She wouldn’t be yanked from a cowering position under this desk like some kind of thief. She rolled from beneath the desk and jumped to her feet. She gasped as her gaze locked with a pair of blue eyes.
The loner from the club stood before her...and he had a gun.
Alexei clenched his jaw, stamping out the surprise from his face. He’d never expected that cute blonde American waitress to be hiding beneath Sergei’s desk.
She obviously didn’t have the same need to school the surprise from her face, and her big eyes got rounder and her jaw dropped.
He’d better be the one to gain control of this situation and go on the offensive. He tucked his weapon into the back of his waistband. “What are you doing in here?”
“I—I...” She ran a hand through her blond hair, and then she snapped her mouth closed and narrowed her eyes. “What are you doing here? At least I work here.”
He couldn’t bluff the previously giggly, apologetic waitress so easily, so he let his lashes fall half-mast over his eyes and growled, “How do you know I don’t work here?”
She flinched, and he felt a stab of guilt. He’d laid it on too thick.
“I was just... I don’t have a place to stay, and I thought I could crash at the bar for a few nights.”
The back door of the club scraped open, and Alexei lunged for the office door and pulled it closed.
The waitress hissed at him. “It’s not going to lock.”
He put his finger to his lips as he took a step forward. Placing both hands on the waitress’s shoulders, he pushed down, urging her back beneath the desk.
She scrambled for cover.
Alexei pulled out his weapon. Coiling his muscles, he flattened his body on the other side of the door and waited. If the door wouldn’t lock, he’d better be ready for whoever came through it.
A man’s footsteps thumped against the carpet and then scuffed on the wood floor in the bar area. The footsteps seemed to recede or had stopped altogether. Soft clinking noises carried down the hallway, and then a few minutes later the man’s boots clumped on the wood again and were muffled by the carpet as he walked toward the office.
Alexei watched the door handle, his hand wrapped around the barrel of his gun, ready to strike. The steps carried on. The back door opened and shut.
The woman beneath the desk sighed and whispered, “Is it safe to come out now?”
“For now, unless he comes back in.”
She crawled from beneath the desk and brushed off her short black skirt as Alexei averted his gaze from the smooth expanse of her thigh.
Wedging her hands on her hips, she said, “You don’t work here.”
“Maybe not, but Sergei’s not going to be happy when he finds out you were searching his office.”
“You can’t tell him that without revealing you broke into the club.” She jutted out her chin and crossed her arms, daring him.
“An anonymous phone call would do the trick. He’s a suspicious guy.”
She tossed her head, flicking a swath of hair over her shoulder. “I won’t tell on you if you don’t tell on me. I don’t care why you broke in here tonight, but I’m not going to be blamed if you decide to rob the place.”
“That’s where we differ.” He raised one eyebrow. “I do care why you’re here after hours, and don’t give me that story about needing a place to stay. You didn’t need to be in Sergei’s office for that.”
“I—I thought he might have a couch in here.”
Alexei held up his hand. “Save it. You do realize we’re both on camera, don’t you?”
“Where?” The waitress widened her eyes and cranked her head back and forth. “How?”
“I’m not sure where all the cameras are, but he has one in that corner.” He pointed to a camera perched on top of a tall bookshelf. “He probably has one at the back door, too.”
“Then we’re both in trouble if Sergei decides to review the footage.” She twisted her fingers in front of her. “I can’t lose this job.”
Alexei tilted his head, his gaze sweeping the woman from head to toe. Why did she care so much about a job as a cocktail waitress in a dumpy topless bar in Hollywood—or did she care about being in this club specifically? If so, he needed to find out why.
“I have no intention of either
