Fear and anger warred for supremacy inside her.
I will be sure to remember that…and you, Miss Kincaid. The mobster’s words came back to Morgan in a flash.
Yeah, fear was winning. Definitely, fear.
A tight knot formed in her belly. She ran her hand across the back of her neck.
What could she do?
She couldn’t go to the cops. Not yet. Not without solid proof. If they started asking questions, the Bratva would know she was the one that squealed. And she really didn’t want to end up in a dumpster somewhere…not like that poor guy, she thought, staring down at her computer screen.
The hinge of her office door creaked. Morgan jumped up and slammed her laptop shut. Only when it was securely closed did she look up…to see Ty Daniels standing in her doorway.
“Mr. Daniels.” Relief washed through her. She’d worked herself up, she realized. There were no mobsters waiting to fit her for a pair of concrete shoes. Not yet, anyway.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said.
“You didn’t.” The words tumbled out of her mouth too fast. “Just startled me is all. I didn’t realize it was eight o’clock already.”
He shook his head. “It’s not. I’m early. I wanted to see you.”
“Wh-what can I do for you then?” Morgan smoothed a hand down her hair and tried to regain her composure. Ty’s intense stare wasn’t helping any. She figured he was probably just confused by her startled reaction, but there was something about being locked in his grey-green gaze that made Morgan’s heart beat even faster. She tried to tell herself it was just the remnants of last night’s embarrassment, but not even she could trick herself into believing that.
Ty stepped inside, and stopped. His eyes darted around the room. For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Finally, his mouth opened. “Wow. There is a lot of stuff in here.”
Morgan pushed her chair into her desk, and stepped around the side. By now, she was used to people’s shocked reaction to her office. It was so different from the stark, modern look of the rest of the club. Her space was a riot of color and toys.
But that was the point. It was her space. The only part of the club that really was hers. Everything else was Gregg’s vision. She figured that if she had to spend fourteen hours a day in a tiny office she was at least going to surround herself with things she liked.
Okay. So she could see how some people would think she went a little overboard. Posters and artwork lined her walls. Action figures and vinyl toys were propped up on every open surface. She even had a couple of spaceship models hanging from the ceiling near the back corner. But she loved every single piece that she’d placed in here. They all had significance to her. They all made her smile.
“Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Daniels?” she asked as he picked up one of the figurines from the corner of her desk.
“Ty,” he corrected.
“Okay…Ty.”
He held up the doll, dressed in a tweed suit and red bow tie, and showed it to her. His eyebrows arched with a question, making him look even more adorable. She hadn’t realized that such a thing was possible.
“It’s the eleventh doctor,” she said.
“Ah,” he said, looking down at the figurine in fascination. “I have no idea what that means.”
“That’s okay.” Morgan took a step toward him. Her fingers brushed against his as she slipped the doll from his hand. Ty looked into her eyes at the contact, and Morgan drew a breath as the same electric sizzle from last night ran through her.
That was it. She had to get out of the club more often. She was stressed out and needed a release. That was all. One brush against a tall, dark hottie shouldn’t have her panting like a puppy.
Morgan tossed the figure down on her desk and went back to her chair. She gripped her fingers around the back.
“What did you need to talk to me about, Mr…Ty?”
His hand found the two square inches of empty space on her desk, and he leaned against it. “Just thought I should drop by before my shift and see if I still have a job.”
Morgan’s brows pulled together before her eyes went wide. She’d been so wrapped up with her own drama that she’d almost forgotten his conditional status.
“Y-yeah. Of course.” The words caught in her throat as they tumbled out. “You did great last night. The job is yours if you want it.”
“Thanks,” he said.
“No problem.” Morgan would be a fool not to keep him on. She’d seen how the female clientele had fawned all over him. And the waitresses had raved about him all night. Morgan had even overheard Lecia calling him her White Knight.
If she were honest, he’d played that part for her last night as well.
Morgan glanced down at her desk. The images of the Bratva victims popped up in her head.
She had a terrible feeling White Knights didn’t fare so well outside of fairy tales.
Crap.