I chuckled softly. “You’d be surprised what a girl can make in a place like this.”
Howlers was a low-key bar that catered to Shifters, and that was my kind of place. I felt more comfortable around my kind; Vampires and Chitahs made me nervous as heck. Some Breeds lacked distinct characteristics and could pass as human, so they weren’t as easy to identify. A Mage looked no different than anyone else, but as a creature of energy, their presence could be felt by a sweep of chills across your body that could easily be mistaken for the shivers. All the Chitahs I’d met were tall, had predatory body language, and eyes the color of amber or firelight.
“Last chance,” he offered.
“It’s gravy.” I opened the door and got out. “I’ll be fine driving myself to work from here on out.”
“Izzy, we talked about this. I don’t want you driving out here alone.”
“I know, but it doesn’t look so bad,” I said, glancing around the parking lot. The bar was sandwiched between a pawnshop and an open field. “It’s not like we’re in the hood.”
“Iz…”
I slammed the door and bent forward, staring through the window as he rolled it down. “Hawk, I know you’re trying to look out for me by driving your girl to work, but if you show up late, then I’m stuck here. If something happens and you can’t make it, I end up taking a cab home, or the bus. Do you want me walking the streets or hanging out with some of these clowns in the bar?”
“No can do. I won’t be late.”
“Kisses, honey. But I’m driving to work from here on out. Pick me up tonight at twelve and wait outside. If you come in and get me fired, then we’re done.”
I strutted across the parking lot and jumped when he beeped his horn. Hawk laughed and sped off.
Jerk.
He always had to have the last word. Sometimes I wondered why I hadn’t already left him. Maybe I liked the idea of having a companion, but the truth of the matter was I had no good reason to leave him. He treated me decently, offered protection, and gave me a place to stay.
“Ho-ly shit,” someone yelled out. “Redhead alert, boys.”
Nothing I hadn’t heard before. Shifters had a soft spot for redheads because there were so few of us. I had wavy, wild hair that favored a lighter shade of red—like copper and honey fused together. Sometimes men complimented my green eyes, but they were always about the hair. I stood at around five-nine and loved wearing heels to boost that up. A few small freckles marked my nose and cheeks. I’d discovered a long time ago that if I freckled or sunburned, it could be erased by shifting. My inherent healing ability took care of it, but I was stuck with the ones I’d gotten as a child. Jericho hated when I did that—he once said I reminded him of a constellation of distant stars. Then again, he was stoned. Funny how Jericho had been on my mind lately.
“Does anyone know where I can find the boss man?” I asked, walking toward the bar.
A few fingers pointed down a narrow hall to my left. I gripped my purse strap and headed down the hall until I came to a door on the right with gold lettering that read Jake.
After three knocks, a voice grumbled for me to come in. We’d only done a phone interview, which was unusual. Most managers of Shifter bars wanted to see a potential waitress before hiring her. But when I’d mentioned my red hair, I guess that sealed the deal. Some bars prohibited redheads from being on their payroll, so it was something I needed to disclose up front.
“I’m Izzy, reporting for duty.”
Jake was a round man with thinning hair. He looked nice in a white dress shirt, but the room was hot, and the fan on his desk didn’t seem to be doing much good, judging by his ruddy complexion. Jake set down his pen and looked me up and down, but not in a creepy way.
“So you’re Izzy Monroe?” he said with a private chuckle. Jake pointed a finger toward the door. “The girls change in the room across the hall. I have a few rules, so pay attention. No sex on the premises. I don’t care if it’s with your mate; that’s the golden rule. No riling up the men without settling them back down. Nothing worse than having to break up bar fights, and it puts a bad reputation on my establishment. And finally, no dipping in the tip jar. I’m pretty fair about letting each worker pocket what they’re tipped instead of splitting an even cut of the gross. But there are two locations in this establishment where customers can tip the bar itself. It’s a way to support the kind of place I run, and every dime of that money goes into fixing things around here. The jars are blue and you can’t miss ’em. You steal from there and you’re stealing a repaired toilet, new shirt, and clean glasses. Make sense?”
“I gotcha. It’s all gravy. My last boss had the same system going, and he made a killing. Except Tony used that money to take us all to the races as part of a work vacation.”
His lips twitched. “Is that so? You’re real good about working your stories into suggestions, Red.”