Chapter 1

I took a summer gig at a high-end lounge to make some extra cash.

The hot bartender hinted that fine liquor needed a very special place to "ferment" before it reached perfection.

So, panting and breathless, I willingly spread my legs for him.

1.

"Callie, you are on fire tonight. You just brought in three new tables of high rollers!"

Roxie, our curvy boss, swayed past me and gave my rear a playful squeeze.

"Men are all hypocrites," she laughed, her jewelry clinking. "They claim they want pure and sweet, but they drool over girls like you every single time."

I winked at my reflection in the mirror, casually adjusting the low-cut vest that barely covered my chest.

I had the kind of hourglass figure that turned heads wherever I went.

With skin like cream and curves for days, wearing this skimpy uniform made me look like forbidden fruit.

The other waitresses were timid, secretly wearing undershirts to cover up.

Not me.

I went completely bra-less, thriving on the illicit thrill of every wandering stare.

The lounge where I worked was called *The Velvet Trap*.

Everything about the venue was designed for seduction, from the dim crimson lighting to the heavy bass vibrating in the air.

Our uniforms left almost nothing to the imagination.

The tiny vest pushed my cleavage up to my chin, while the miniskirt barely covered my thighs.

Roxie always said that less fabric meant bigger tips and fatter profits.

I loved weaving through the crowded tables, soaking in the hungry looks from wealthy patrons.

Sometimes, bold hands would brush against my waist or slide along my bare thigh.

Whenever that happened, I would dodge with a coquettish smile, giving them a teasing glance that always doubled my tips.

Of course, I had my boundaries.

I only wanted to play with their desires, not actually sell myself.

Besides, my real target was our lead bartender, Declan.

He was tall, lean, and dangerously handsome, but he always acted completely indifferent toward me.

I leaned over the mahogany bar, intentionally pressing my chest against his forearm.

"Hey, Declan," I purred, tracing a manicured nail along his sleeve. "How was my performance tonight? Was I amazing?"

His body stiffened for a fraction of a second.

Without looking flustered, he kept wiping down a crystal glass.

"You did fine," he said smoothly. "You always work hard."

What a stubborn wooden block.

I swore to myself that there wasn't a man alive I couldn't break.

I shifted closer until my soft curves pressed firmly against his bicep.

"Come on, I want to know what you really think about me," I whispered, pouting playfully.

Declan finally looked up, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly as he met my gaze.

"What do you want me to say?" he murmured with a faint smirk. "That you're gorgeous and irresistible, and that I should sweep you off your feet?"

*Well, bring it on, pretty boy,* I thought. *I'm waiting.*

"You're terrible!" I gasped with fake indignation. "If you really think I'm doing great, why don't you teach me how to mix drinks after closing?"

He reached out and gently tapped my forehead with his finger.

"Deal," he replied softly. "If you genuinely want to learn mixology, I can teach you every night after our shifts."

A thrill rushed through my veins, though I pretended to hesitate.

"Every single night? Fine, since you're begging so nicely, I guess I can make time for you."

Once closing time arrived, the rest of the staff filtered out, leaving just the two of us under the amber lights.

Declan was organizing bottles behind the counter, his long fingers looking impossibly graceful.

I stepped behind the bar, pretending to be an eager student.

"So, Declan, what drink are you going to show me first?"

He handed me a stainless-steel cocktail shaker.

"Let's start with the basics. The shake."

I took the shaker and tried to mimic his rhythm, but I shook it too hard.

The chilled liquid splashed all over the counter, soaking right through the thin fabric of my vest.

"Oops!" I cried, setting the shaker down in flustered embarrassment.

Declan grabbed a clean bar towel and stepped directly into my personal space.

He gently blotted the damp spots on my chest, smelling of cool peppermint and woodsmoke.

His warm breath grazed my bare collarbone, sending a sudden jolt straight down my spine.

"You're doing it all wrong," his deep voice rumbled with an amused undertone. "Relax your wrists, keep the motion fluid, and match my rhythm."