“Not many.” She thought about it. “Cooking and cleaning. That’s about it. Even before the Garden, I didn’t really have a glittering resumé. I had no resumé, actually.”
“Any objections to cooking for a bunch of bikers and drunks?” Scars asked her. “You’re cool with ex-cons and sketchy types?”
“What?”
“Rebel needs help in the kitchen during rush times in the bar,” Scars said. “I manage Satan’s and I’ve been looking for a part-time cook, but no luck so far. I figure you can help when he’s overloaded, and then when it’s quiet, you can clean the building.”
Iris had almost stopped breathing. “Do you mean that?”
“Damn right I do, but Wolf has final say. As bar manager and club Vice-President, I can make the offer, but it’s his call.”
Iris’ eyes snapped to Wolf’s hard face; the hope was almo
