The Unlucky Ones, page 7
I stepped in, the cool air-conditioning soothing my overheated skin. The dark, sexy ambiance with dim crystal chandeliers hanging from the tall ceilings, dark wood, and soft leather seating, lured me in with the possibilities of how much money I could make here. I was a hard worker and learned fast. If they’d give me a chance.
“Hi.” I forced a bright smile on my face, flashing it at the hostess. She stared down at her phone, looking bored. “I was wondering if you guys were hiring.”
She glanced up at me through eyes lined heavily in black liner and a thick smear of pink gloss on her lips. The girl couldn’t have been older than eighteen.
“Maybe.”
It was the first “maybe” I’d had all day.
“Really? Can I speak to your manager?” I pulled out my resume.
“He’s busy.” She sighed, scrolling through her phone again.
“Can you get this to him?” I shoved the paper to her, covering her phone. Annoyance filtered over her face, but she took the paper, scanning it.
“Are you serious?”
“What do you mean?”
“You have one other job on here.” She snorted. “I have more experience than you do.” She handed the paper back to me.
“Can you please give it to your manager?” I tried to keep my tone pleasant while anger crawled up the back of my neck.
“I’m being nice here. Save your paper. And your time.”
“Excuse me?” I could feel my face cheeks flaming with heat.
“I’m just saying maybe you should get more experience. At a small bistro or possibly McDonald’s.” She lifted an eyebrow mockingly. “My manager will throw this out with the leftovers.”
Her words hit every raw nerve. Suddenly all I could feel were my aching feet, pounding head, dry throat, and growling stomach. I wasn’t some coed looking for extra cash to blow on shoes and makeup. This was survival. The way I could help my mother stay in her facility. How Mia could remain clothed and fed. With a roof over our heads.
My hand started to crunch the paper in my hand but halted instantly. Another drill of resentment shot through me. I couldn’t afford to ruin a resume; I didn’t have a printer at home. I had to get them printed, which cost money.
This little teenybopper had the nerve to belittle me? Life came up and punched me in the face; with my pinched toes and sweaty blouse, this girl was looking down at me. Bitterness nibbled at my bones.
“Actually, thank you,” I gritted out. “You saved me from working with assholes like you.” I spun around and stomped out of the place, the heat blasting me the instant I shoved through the door. The sun seemed even more malicious. I wanted to slip back inside into the dark, cool space and lie down on the benches for waiting customers.
“Screw them,” I muttered to myself, my feet moving without destination. Rage still locked my neck muscles tight, making my aching feet feel like cement bricks.
My cell pinged with a text, my hand pulling it from my bag.
Amelia: “Crissy from the salon called, saying she wants to start me right away. My trial starts Thursday. Taking Mia to park. See you later. Celebrate?”
I was happy for my sister, but her victory highlighted my failure. Leave it to Amelia to get a job on the first day being in Albuquerque. She had that kind of charisma people loved.
It had been a shitty day, and I was nowhere closer to a job than when I left this morning. While she wanted to celebrate, I wanted to drown in my bad mood. I wanted a drink, to escape the downward spiral of my mood.
Normally I would run straight home. My mother had always been a reason to go home instead of going out with friends. Not that I had many of those left other than Skylar. Sometimes the gang at the diner would go out to a bar after closing and hang out, but I never could.
Realization came over me, halting me in my tracks. “Holy shit.” I blinked.
I had no reason to go home. No one needed me tonight. Visiting mom would be the right thing to do. I should see if she was all right. For the first time in years I didn’t want to do the right thing, and I didn’t want to go home. I didn’t want to fake excitement for my sister.
I glanced up at the rustic sign above my head. Engraved in wood by a branding torch was the name Brothers & Thieves Saloon.
There were a ton of bars in this area but only one on this strip. I needed a drink and ta-da, my wish was granted.
Without hesitation, I tugged at the large wood-and-iron doors, stepping into the darkly lit, cool space. The homey design made me feel comfortable. It walked the line between a dive and stylish, welcoming all walks of life. A few patrons sat at the bar and at tables, a mix of ages and types.
Stepping deeper into the space, I looked around. The saloon had the same rustic iron and wood as outside but was trimmed with refurbished lights and funky art. Recycled barrels and oil containers were reshaped into tables and lighting fixtures.
“Hey there,” a woman called from behind the bar. She was a few inches shorter than me, curvy, Latina, and probably in her early thirties. She wore bright red lipstick and winged eyeliner, similar to an old-fashioned pinup model. A tight black tank showed off the tattoos down her arms, her long, dark hair pulled up in a bun.
Beautiful but intimidating, she seemed sure of herself. Strong. To someone like me, who was floating with no solid footing, this woman was like ramming a mirror up to my face and revealing me to be weak and insecure.
“What can I get you, sweetie?” Her red lips parted into a warm smile, dissolving her scary demeanor in a flash. Suddenly I wanted to run up to her and cry on her shoulder.
Slipping onto a barstool, my mind came up blank with what to order. I didn’t go to bars. I didn’t have a drink.
“I don’t know.” I secured my bag on the bar hook, peering at the rows of bottles, overwhelmed by the choices.
The bartender leaned on the bar, her eyes staring straight into me. “What do you like?”
“Tequila.” It was the one thing I’d ever really had besides beer. And beer was not strong enough for the day I had.
“My kind of girl.” She grinned with a proud nod. “You want a shot or maybe a margarita? I make the best in town.”
“Screw it.” I stared back at her. “Both.”
She laughed, pushing off the bar. “That kind of day, huh?”
“That kind of life.”
“You don’t look old enough to have that kind of life.”
“Looks can be deceiving.”
“I hear ya, girl.” She bobbed her head. After checking my ID, she got to work on my order, waving at one of the customers leaving. “See you tomorrow, Rick.”
The older gentleman grinned, winking at her before stepping out into the evening. As he exited, five more patrons came in, settling on the sofas in the far corner.
“Here you go.” She set the drinks on a napkin in front of me.
“Thanks.” I wrapped my hand around the shot glass, pressed the other to my temple.
“They say bartenders are good listeners.” She tipped her hip into the bar, laying down limes next to my glass. “And a lot cheaper than therapists.”
“Depends on how long I stay tonight.” I tipped the alcohol into my mouth, biting down on the lime right after, which cut the burning down my throat.
“Look, I understand having a rough life, believe me. I didn’t have it easy, but…”
“I don’t look like the kind who had it all that rough?” I filled in. I had heard it before. I swear it was the freckles. Freckles seemed to equal wholesome and sweet. If you had them, then your life had to be carefree and easy.
“I’ve seen all walks of life here. There’s an innocence to you, as if there’s still hope, but at the same time, a heaviness. As if you are trying to hold up the world.”
Snorting, I took a gulp of my margarita. “Wow, this really is good.”
“Thanks.” Her shoulders went back with pride. “Now, talk, uhhh…?”
“Devon.”
“Natalia, but call me Nat.” She shook my hand.
“Well, Nat. Do you really want to hear this story?”
“Do you want another drink?” she challenged.
“Not fair.”
“Bartenders hold all the power.” She winked playfully.
I leaned on the bar with a sigh.
“The gist of it is…six years ago my father was killed in the line of duty, five years ago my mother was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, and my sister became pregnant by an abusive asshole who is now a deadbeat dad to her five-year-old. We had to move here since my mother tried to burn down the house, and I can’t get a job to support the facility she’s at.”
“Holy. Shit.” Nat’s mouth parted. “I am so sorry.”
I shrugged, trying to not let my confession turn to tears. Some days it really hit me.
“Shit. You really have been dealt a bad hand.” She patted my arm, her eyes drifting over to the customers making their way to the bar.
“Is there table service?” The guy thumbed back to the sofas holding his friends.
“Do you see anyone else but me?” she retorted.
“No.”
“Then probably not.” She winked, putting a blushing grin on his face. Damn, she was good. Flirting and slighting him at the same time. “What would you like?”
He ordered a mix of cocktails and beers. She completed his order, refilling my shot glass at the same time. Gulping it back, my insides started to warm, shrugging off the weight of the bad day.
The door swung open and another group of people came in, taking up the entire corner section. The place was filling up and as far as I could see, she was the sole bartender on duty.
“When does the restaurant open?” A woman waved a menu at the bartender.
“Six.” She brushed a bead of sweat from her brow, setting up the glasses for her next order.
“You have someone else coming in, don’t you?” I peered around, feeling compassion for her. I still had recurring nightmares about getting too many tables and not being able to get to them all. I think most servers did.
“The owner is coming in later, but for now it’s just me. The other bartender is off tonight, and Lincoln doesn’t seem keen on hiring another server to handle the floor. We only have one on the weekends.”
My head jerked to her, the tequila in my system warming my cheeks, words sprouting from my mouth without thought.
“I can do it.” I swallowed. “It’s what I was doing all day. Going to every restaurant practically begging for a server job.”
“You have experience?” She lifted a perfectly sculpted eyebrow.
“Five years.” I nodded. “At a busy diner.”
She wiped her forehead again, putting her hands on her hips, her lips twitching in thought.
“We really do need an extra hand. Weekends are crazy here, and weekdays are getting too busy for me to handle on my own,” she considered out loud.
“Please. I will do anything.” I sat higher in my chair, my eagerness dripping all over the bar. “I’m a hard worker and dependable.” More so now that I didn’t have to run right home to Mom.
“You know what?” She tilted her head to me, the door swinging open with more people coming in, the crowd at the bar deepening with impatient customers. “Screw him. He made me assistant manager, and I say we need a server on the floor. He can bitch and fight all he wants, but tough.”
I tried to swallow over the nervous lump in my throat. “What are you saying?”
“I’m going with my gut. You’re hired, Devon. You can start tomorrow.”
“Really?” I squeaked.
“Really,” she replied flatly, flicking her eyes at the throng lining the bar. People called out for her as she danced in a whirl behind the bar, trying to get the drink orders ready. “I need you.”
“You don’t want to look at my resume or anything?”
“Leave it so I can contact you, but really…I don’t care. We need help, and you need a job.”
“Thank you.” I pressed my fingers to my lips, trying not to cry, flattening the slightly crumpled resume on the counter. “You don’t know how important this is to me.”
“I think I do. And it’s why I want you here even more.” She grabbed six beers out of the fridge, wrapped her fingers around the necks like octopus legs, and plopped them in front of a guest. “Come in tomorrow around three and we can start training. You can meet the owner, Lincoln Kessler, then. That work for you?”
“Yes. Thank you.” I popped off my seat, feeling the need to get home and tell my sister the great news. Also, it felt strange drinking as a patron when I would be working here tomorrow. I laid some bills down.
“No.” Nat shook her head. “Those are on the house.”
“I can’t—”
“Think of them as ‘welcome, new employee’ drinks.”
Nodding gratefully, I slung my bag over my shoulder. “See you tomorrow, Nat. And again, thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. You haven’t met the owner.”
“Why? What do you mean?”
“Lincoln is a real son of a bitch.” She twirled a shaker in her hand. “Just warning you.”
If money went into my bank account, helping my mother, I could handle anything.
Even an asshole boss.
Chapter Nine
Two hours into my first shift, my head spun trying to keep all the information from floating out. This place ran so differently than Sue’s. I had grown accustomed to the diner and didn’t even have to think about the effortless flow. Now, I was back at ground zero, learning the computer system and the location of all the items, trying to absorb everything as fast as I could.
The skeleton kitchen staff was prepping when I arrived, but it didn’t open until six at night and only served hors d’oeuvres and snacks.
“We used to have a full kitchen, but when Lincoln took over, he revamped it and cut back. He wanted it to be more of a bar than a restaurant, to focus on having the best drinks. And I have to say he saved us. We didn’t have enough tables to really turn a profit for dinner. The food cost more than we made off it.”
“When did he take over?”
“About five months ago, I guess.” Nat strolled behind the bar, greeting a customer I recalled from the night before, Rick, I think, then turned back to me. “His brother owned it before, but let’s say he wasn’t the best business person. The bar was about to go under.”
“Is the brother around?” I shoved my hands into my apron, twirling the few pens I found there. We had no real uniform here. Denim bottoms—shorts, skirt, jeans—it didn’t matter, and a black tank with the bar logo on the back. It was so much better than the button-up polyester blouse and skirt at Sue’s.
“No.” Nat shook her head, pouring a beer for the gentleman without even asking, a sign of a true regular. It was after five o’clock and the place was filling up. “I don’t know what happened, but one day James was gone and Lincoln was here. And a warning for you. Do not mention James. Actually, forget I told you at all.”
“Why?” I eyed the new group entering, grabbing a tray.
Nat’s mouth opened then snapped shut, her head whirling behind me, the sound of the back door slamming closed.
Maybe it was Nat’s warning or something else, but nerves jumped around my stomach. I knew my new boss was behind me. A prickling awareness crawled up my back, coating my skin in goosebumps. It was strange, but without even seeing him, I could sense him fill the room.
My head whipped around, and I beheld the man holding two cases of beers. His eyes snapped to mine.
Everything stopped. The tray in my hands clattered loudly to the floor. I sucked in air sharply, like I had been punched in the stomach, a strange déjà vu spinning my head. I took a step back.
The man stood about six-four with brown hair, tattooed ripped arms, and a chest bulging through his T-shirt as if he lived at the gym…making him intimidating as hell. He looked to be in his late twenties. His full beard defined his sculpted jaw and rugged face. Sexy didn’t even describe him, but the icy-hot sensation burning my body in opposite ways screamed with fear and familiarity.
He stopped dead in his tracks, his jaw locked down, his face expressionless, but his lids lowered, his nose flaring. A muscle along his neck twitched, displaying a tattoo on the side of it. Brown eyes bore into mine.
“Hey, Lincoln.” Nat grinned, popping a hand on her hip, as if she waited for his disapproval.
“Who the fuck is she?” he growled. His voice vibrated through me, clenching my thighs at the same time it made my heart pound with fear. I had a handful of one-night stands in the last five years, but only one man had ever made my body react with desire instantly like this. One I tried to forget.
“Devon Thorpe. She’s our new hire.” Nat’s voice was strong and defiant. No matter what she said about him, she certainly wasn’t scared of him.
I couldn’t stop staring at him, moving over every inch. My chest clenched at the little air my lungs were drawing in. Sweat beaded at the back of my neck and began to drip down my lower back.
“No. She’s not.” His voice was gravelly, deep. Sexy as hell. So was the man, but also terrifying. He unsettled me.
“Yes, she is. I need help. You made me assistant manager for a reason. And I made the decision.”
He finally tore his intense gaze off me, softening a bit as he turned to Nat. “And I can unmake you an assistant manager.” He set the boxes down on the corner.
“Please.” She rolled her eyes, going back to mixing a cocktail. “You couldn’t function without me.”
“You want to try me?” he rumbled, his fists clenching.
“You think you scare me?” Nat tipped her head back like she was talking to a toddler. “Cabron, please. I grew up with five brothers. Three of them in gangs.” She shook her head. “This place is growing in popularity. You have one weekend server and two bartenders total. We’re drowning here.”
His jaw went back and forth, flexing his hands. “I do the hiring. Not you.”
“Fine. From now on you can hire.” Nat winked at me.
“No. From before her. Did you even ask if she’s worked in a bar before?”
