Pregnant for my Infertile Billionaire
With a heavy heart and no more tears left to cry, I stood up, changed into my uniform quickly, and stepped out of the restroom.
Music buzzing, bottles clicking, cigarettes, perverted men, how I hate this place, but the pay is good and right now money is the only thing that matters.
“Get me two bottles of whiskey!” Someone shouted.
I turned only to see Mr. Luke, one of our regulars, wasted as usual and was still asking for more.
“Go Maria, serve him,” the bartender handed me two bottles with pleading eyes.
Nobody likes attending to him, because he is loud, rude, and also a womaniser.
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