But knowing there was another factor involved? A key factor as to why Mia didn’t want to be at the bench?
I glare at Jeffry as the pieces fall into place. “She said she needed to use the restroom.”
He lifts his hands in defense. “That’s what she told me.”
“You were at the bench around the same time,” I remind him. “And if Colt overheard what he was saying while his face was slammed against the glass, I have to assume you overheard the man’s comments as well.”
“Well, I uh––”
“Am I wrong?” I growl.
“I was too busy focusing on the game to pay attention to…” His voice trails off as my mask of indifference slips, revealing my fury. Jeffry gulps, tugging at the top button on his shirt like it’s suffocating him.
“Did you or did you not hear what the man was saying to her?” I boom.
Tremors run along his bottom lip as he shakes his head furiously. “You know how fans can be when they’ve had one too many beers. Honestly, I didn’t think much of it, but when I noticed she was missing, I went looking for her and found her in the locker room a few seconds before you did.”
The coward’s squabbling. Grasping at straws. Attempting to fabricate a scenario where he doesn’t look like a dipshit. But I know Mia. She has thicker skin than most. Which means whatever the stranger was saying had to have been bad. Or at least triggering.
Swallowing thickly, my attention slides to Erika. “What was the guy saying?”
“Well, uh, he told her he wanted her to lift her shirt, and––”
“And he wasn’t escorted from the game?” I demand. The last of my patience snaps like a rubber band, and I shove to my feet, causing my desk chair to fall.
It crashes against the floor, making Jeffry flinch, and he blubbers, “W-well, I––”
“Did you hear him say this, Jeffry?”
His entire body shakes as he lifts his shoulders into a shrug. “Not the specifics.”
“You’re fired,” I grit out.
His eyes bulge. “Sir, you can’t––”
“I can, and I did. Get out of my office. Now.”
“But you need me,” he argues, unwilling to move his ass off the leather chair across from my desk.
I press my clenched fists onto the top of my desk, shifting forward while reminding myself of the repercussions if I give into temptation and throw Jeffry out of my office with my own two hands. “Erika, get security,” I order without tearing my stone-cold gaze from the weasel in front of me.
Without a word, Erika stands and rushes out of my office, her one-inch heels tapping against the hard floor as she leaves.
Once she’s gone, I unclench my fists, forcing my hands to relax on the desk separating me from the sniveling slug still in my office. I lean over him but keep my voice deathly controlled. “I suggest you listen closely, Jeffry. If you ever step one foot into B-Tech Enterprises or any of its subsidiaries again, not only will you be blacklisted from its ventures, you’ll be blacklisted from any reputable business in the entire state. Do you understand?”
“But I didn’t––”
“You fucked up on multiple fronts, Jeffry,” I tell him. “For starters, you led me to believe Mia was knowingly dropping the ball when it was the furthest thing from the truth. Second, you didn’t defend an innocent woman from being catcalled and humiliated in front of countless people. And third, you threw her under the bus at the first opportunity, all because you can’t handle her having more influence on the Lions’ community than you do. You’ve been biased since the beginning, and now you’re out of a job because of it. You have thirty minutes to clean out your desk. Once the time is up, your things are going in the trash, same as your career.”
The sniveling asshole looks like he’s about to cry. He stands and rushes out of the office. I watch him leave, pick up my phone, and call Erika to tell her to schedule a few interviews. Apparently, I have another position I need to fill.
But the real question I can’t let go involves a mysterious blonde who refuses to let me in or ask for my help even when her own safety is at risk. And it’s a problem. One I need to fix as soon as possible.
18
MIA
“Hey, sorry I’m late,” I apologize to Sammie as I slip behind SeaBird’s bar.
“No worries,” she returns, watching me wrap a small black apron around my waist while a customer asks for a gin and tonic. “You okay here?” she adds, throwing the order together like she can do it in her sleep. She’s been bartending for so long she probably can.
“Yeah, I’m good,” I answer. “Thanks again for covering for me. And I really am sorry I’m late. I thought I could sneak in a quick nap before my shift, but––”
“Not a big deal. Hawthorne had to stay to watch the band anyway,” Sammie tells me as she sets another order––this time, an Old Fashioned––in front of a guy who looks like he’s at least eighty.
“Thank you, m’lady,” he acknowledges as he lifts the drink in a silent cheers and takes a sip.
“You’re welcome.” She gives him her back and mouths to me, That’s his fourth one.
“Noted,” I quip, wiping my hands on one of the clean dish towels. Then, I get to work.
Sammie leaves with Hawthorne a few minutes later. I’m not sure how much time passes when another faceless customer takes a seat at the bar and asks for a BudLight. Kind of a boring choice compared to all the IPAs we have on tap, but I reach beneath the bartop, grab a bottle, pop the lid off, and set it in front of him.
“You’re Mia, right?” the stranger asks.
The words alone feel heavy. Like they add a pair of sandbags to my shoulders as I look at the guy again, my eyes squinting.
Yup. I definitely don’t know him.
Again? Really?
I shouldn’t assume he recognizes me because of my OnlyFans account, but after the shitshow at the game last night, I can’t help but feel on edge.
Barely containing my annoyance, I reply, “Yup.” I head to the back for another bottle of Bacardi. When I return, the asshole’s still there and looks to be hitting on a random group of girls. They ignore him and move to the dance floor.
Shamelessly, he checks them out as I slide behind the bar again, grateful he’s distracted. Unfortunately, the usual evening rush has died down a bit, and I’m not sure how long it’ll last as I try to keep myself busy on the opposite side of the bar.
A few minutes later, he flags me down and asks for another beer.
I set it in front of him, but before I can dart away, he says, “I’m Darryl, by the way.”
Great. Now the guy wants to have a conversation.
“Hi, Darryl.” My tone is clipped, but I don’t give a shit. I doubt he’ll give me a tip, anyway. After wiping my hands on my apron, I pick up an empty glass, attempting to look busy as I avoid his gaze entirely. “Need anything else?”
“I know your friend.”
I glance up at him and back at my hands. “What friend?”
“Name’s Shorty.”