Glass Hearts by Lisa de Jong

attractive man with short dark hair walks out of the back room. I notice his eyes first. They’re blue but very dark: almost black. His facial expression screams, “Don’t fuck with me” as he walks in our direction, focusing his eyes on me. He’s not classically handsome, but he has a rough, dark look that makes it hard to keep your eyes off him. The way he stands and walks commands the attention of everyone in the room. His expensive Armani suit is doing great things for him, but he has nothing on Dane. I’ve never met a guy who can stand next to Dane and draw a woman’s attention away.
    “Dane, are you harassing this lady?” the mystery man asks, keeping his eyes glued to me. He’s making me feel like the queen on a chessboard the way his dark eyes remain on me, unblinking.
    Dane grimaces, turning immediately to face the guy in the suit. “No, this is my girlfriend, Alex. She’s here for an interview.”
    “So you’re my interview. I don’t usually do them myself, but my manager is out sick today. I’m Reid Murphy, I own the place,” he says, offering his hand to me. I catch a glimpse of Dane out of the corner of my eye. His jaw is clenched, and his eyes are focused on the lights above. He’s not amused, and I bet if he knew he could get away with it, he’d put me over his shoulder and carry me right out of here.
    “Nice to meet you.” I reach my hand to meet Reid’s. I don’t know who I was expecting, but the guy standing before me definitely isn’t it. He’s so young and screams money.
    “Follow me,” he says, motioning toward the office door he just came out of. The somersaults that ended in my stomach while I had Dane’s comforting body against mine are back again and, this time, they are working overtime. I nod and follow him, not taking a second glance back at Dane, but I can feel his eyes on my back.
    Reid’s office is decorated differently than the rest of the bar. It’s sleek and contemporary with dark mahogany furniture and light grey walls adorned with colorful paintings. I can usually tell a lot about a person by the art they choose to display. His art is very bold and unique. Memorable, to say the least. I take him as a man who likes to be noticed; he definitely likes attention.
    The floors are covered in hard woods, but a large white shag rug sits in the center of the room under two black leather chairs. “Don’t be shy. Have a seat,” he says, motioning toward them. I don’t feel comfortable in what I’m wearing anymore. He’s wearing freaking Armani in a college bar for god sakes.
    “So, Alex, tell me a little bit about yourself.” He sits back in his chair, crossing one of his feet over his knee. The intensity in his eyes throws me off center, and I have to work to regain my composure.
    I take a deep breath and clear my throat. “Well, I grew up in Connecticut. I’m currently a student at NYU, studying Art and consider myself to be a hard worker.” Crap. I’m blabbering.
    “What part of Connecticut did you grow up in?” he asks, twirling a pen in his hand.
    “Greenwich,” I say, softly. Here comes the part where he asks what the hell I’m doing here. He squints his eyes at me, and I swallow hard. Maybe I should just leave and tell him I don’t think this is the right place for me. I’d rather walk away than listen to him go over all the reasons I won’t be getting this job; I’ve heard those enough already.
    “Really, I knew someone from there once,” he says, throwing his pen on his desk. I stare at him, not sure what I’m supposed to say to that. I don’t want to go through a whole list of people he knows, and who I’m more than likely trying to forget. “Anyway, tell me a little bit about your experience.”
    “Well, I’ve never worked in a bar before, but I’m a quick learner, and I’ve helped at charity fundraisers, so I know a thing or two about service.” He stares at me, but doesn’t say anything; the silence is making me extremely