In the dimly lit bar, the atmosphere thrums with life as Jawk navigates the bustling crowd. His new position on the staff exposes him to the regulars and their unspoken rules. Among them is Luc, a striking figure who commands attention even in the shadows. Tonight, the air crackles with unfulfilled connections and silent tension. Instinct tells Jawk deeper significance stirs beneath the surface. Wulf, an undeniable force, enters like a whirlwind, drawing attention and igniting intrigue. As conversations weave around them, secrets linger in the air, hinting at deeper relationships waiting to unfold.
Hidden Agendas
"Jawk, how's it going?" Mr. Vandermeer, one of the owners, held out a tray, which Jawk took. "They keeping you busy out there?"
"Oh, yes, sir. We're packed." Ears forward, he gave a short bow. "This place runs smoother than a hoverbot on oil. Everything's right where you can find it. I'm having no trouble keeping up."
"You're doing a great job. I've heard good comments so far." He patted the side of Jawk's arm. "Keep it up. Glad to have you on board."
"Thank you, sir." He bowed. After he put away the tray, he started stocking the bar near Luc's table.
The Man's ability to slug back whiskey and not get drunk was legendary. He sat alone, swirling his whiskey, watching the crowd. He had the biggest booth, all the way in the back, with a view straight to the door. Six different employees cautioned Jawk his first night never to seat anyone there. It was the Man's and no one else's, no matter how busy they got.
Saint-Cyr was part-owner, and when the Man walked in, he got seated. Now.
The immortal had an impressive presence and an imposing height. Six-five, according to the dossier.
Luc sat up straight as a wistful smile bared his heart, but he steeled himself back into icy control and brushed a hand down his tuxedo jacket. "Finally."
With his Kin hearing, Jawk could hear the man's whisper, despite the noise of the club. He turned toward the commotion at the door.
Wulf Gabriel had arrived.
The Empress herself, showering jewels on one and all, could not have staged a more impressive entrance.
Even the staff, who knew better, flocked around him. Wulf's masculine beauty, strong jaw, and chiseled features had rocketed him to the top of the fashion modeling industry years ago, and time hadn't dulled them. In addition to his physical appeal, he was now the producer for the hottest music groups on the scene today.
The club's two owners shooed everyone back to work and hugged him. Their dossier indicated Wulf had known them for years.
Wulf kissed them both like they'd been lovers, and started across the room toward Luc. Every person along the way stopped him to talk and shake his hand. Wulf cast his lover an apologetic smile and made a kissing motion.
"It never fails," Luc whispered. "Every time we meet in public." The drink stirrer snapped between his hands. He flipped the pieces on the table and drummed his fingers. "Patience, old man, patience."
Jawk's wrist ID buzzed, signaling he was wanted in another area. Tonight was the night. Saint-Cyr better enjoy his freedom. After this, he was a marked man. Jawk pulled himself away from his quarry and hustled toward his new section.
Book Hooks is a weekly cooperative blog hop hosted by members of Marketing for Romance Writers as part of the MFRW Authors Blog.
