REDEMPTION | MAFIA ROMANCE | SMUT

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Liam pulled out an embellished chair, the gilded frame twined in artificial vines, velvet ribbons and white dendrobium orchids, and gestured for me to take a seat. I set the champagne glass on the round, white-covered twelve-seater table and briefly chatted to the older gentleman to my left before a dozen smartly dressed waiters appeared to begin the five-course silver service: a melange of variegated seasonal soft melon and raspberry coulis.

I found the silverware presentation indecipherable.

Liam slipped the correct fork in my hand. He held a long conversation with the male to his right while I eavesdropped on the couple opposite. It's when the woman laughed that I looked up. "Hey," I said, and Zamira's head lifted. "We keep bumping into each other."

Although Liam is grouped in serious discussion, he noted our friendly exchange.

"Alexa." Zamira nibbled sliced melon. "How are the feet? Mine are rather sore after all that dancing."

My feet were fine. "I am sure I will survive."

"We met in the restroom," Zamira informed the table of glamorous wives. "Legislative ladies of leisure." She meant her and the others. "What do you do for a living, Alexa?"

I am a nonentity compared to these women. "I bartend."

"Adequate," said the grey-templed man to my left. "Whatever pays the bills."

"Indeed," Zamira agreed. "What are your career development goals? Is there room for progression?"

"A mixologist or brand sales representative."

"Bar work is hardly a career path."

"Have you considered higher education?"

"You are virtually unemployable without academic credentials."

My eyes bounced from female to female.

I had barely touched the first course when the waiters re-appeared to remove everyone's plates.

"Warren." The man with salt and pepper hair requested a white wine refill. "What are the chances of complimentary champagne when I next visit?"

Liam declined more wine but pointed to my empty glass. "It's a poor possibility if you are disinclined to purchase the gold membership."

I thanked the waiter for the alcohol top-up.

"Tight-fisted arsehole," the man joked, and the table guests erupted into senseless laughter. "Fine. I will renew my membership next week."

"Why would you need a membership for a nightclub?" His snooty wife asked. "It can't be all that excitable."

Her husband flashed a toothy grin. "It's a quiet space out back to relax."

I refrained from snorting.

There is nothing quiet about the vivacious dancers.

Leek and potato soup with croutons landed on the table.