After Hours: Black Lace Classics by Crystalle Valentino Page B

cope,’ he said offhandedly, then turned and to her shock kissed her lingeringly on the lips. ‘See you, then,’ he said huskily, his eyes glowing warmly into hers.
    Venny was uncomfortably aware that the rest of the staff were watching them and grinning hugely. Again, he was undermining her authority. Again, he was trying to gain the upper hand. Well, two could play at that game. ‘Fine,’ she said coolly, and stalked outside.
    What am I doing? wondered Venny as she sat in her car not far from the Pig and Plume, the East End public house where the hen night was being held. What am I doing? Passers-by gave her the occasional look as dusk gathered about the city streets, but she pretended to be checking her road map when they did so.
    She had been sitting there for almost an hour, watching the women going into the pub, seeing their excited faces, hearing their raucous laughter. The bride had been instantly identifiable – the poor sap was dressed up in veil and L-plates. On a fluorescent pink poster pasted to the outside wall of the pub was the announcement that a private party was in progress and so the bar would be closed for normal custom.
    Normal custom, thought Venny. She was beginning to feel distinctly uncomfortable with this whole idea. It was something she would never admit to a living soul, but she had never been to this type of thing before. Shehadn’t ever seen a male stripper on stage. She hadn’t even seen the Chippendales perform. And hen nights, where unclad males might – and probably did – stroll among the female audiences inviting bawdy comments, made her squirm. But here she was, waiting for nine o’clock so she could go inside and watch Micky Quinn jump naked out of a cake. She had the nagging suspicion that what she was doing was actually stalking Micky Quinn, like some sorry old perv in a tatty raincoat.
    Dani was in there, working. Dishing up food to the female troops, keeping their enthusiasm up as the evening wore on. Micky must also be in there by now, although Venny hadn’t actually seen him go in. She’d been too busy keeping her head down, looking inconspicuous. But now it was ten to nine, and the cake event was happening at nine, so she had to move.
    She got out of the car, careful of the traffic speeding past. Several male motorists gave her interested looks, but she kept her head down and ignored them. Still wearing her oatmeal work suit with brown kitten heels, she went over to the pub and hesitated in front of the main entrance. Music pounded out a powerful beat as someone slipped past her and went inside. Venny tried for a peek, but the door swung closed too fast, muffling the compulsive sound of the music and the almost overwhelming swell of overexcited women’s voices. She was suddenly full of doubts. Suppose they had bouncers on the door? Suppose she was very publicly flung out? Suppose Micky should realise amid all the hooha and fuss and bother that she had come to gawp at him likesome silly lust-struck teenager? God, how embarrassing would that be?
    Cautious as ever, Venny instead walked around the side of the old building and, by looking for whirring extractor fans and wide-open windows, found the pub kitchens. She considered going straight back to the car, going back to work. What the hell was she playing at, doing an underhand thing like this? Venny steeled herself and pushed open the kitchen door, just a little. She saw Dani there with her two assistants, unpacking dainty eats onto a salver. No sign of the cake. She let her breath out in a rush and stepped inside.
    ‘Hi,’ she said casually.
    Dani turned and looked at her in amazement. ‘Venny! What the hell are you doing here?’
    ‘Oh, I just thought I’d come and see how it was going,’ said Venny, aware that this might not be the most convincing excuse ever invented. The roar of the voices in the public bar seemed even louder from in here. In fact, there was something primal about the sound, something a bit