She crossed her toned arms and I scanned over the colorful tattoos running from her shoulders to her elbows.
“Give me a chance to prove myself,” I said, holding my ground.
She pursed her lips. “Listen, you’re not the first girl to come in here with a face that could kill, though yours looks like the first pair of natural lips I’ve seen in a decade. What’s your angle? You want to be an actress? Model? You want to find yourself a sugar daddy to fund your stay in the city?”
I let her barbs glance off and narrowed my eyes on her. It made sense, really. Zoe’s job was to manage a wait staff made up of self-absorbed sociopaths. Why would she want to add one more to the mix? Lucky for her, I wasn’t a sociopath, and I was only somewhat self-absorbed.
“Where’s your bar?” I asked, ignoring her line of questioning.
She tilted her head, confused.
Fine. I didn’t need her help. I could already glimpse the main bar in the restaurant, tucked against the sidewall. There were two guys working behind it, moving like cyclones trying to fill orders as fast as possible. The setup would be simple—bars aren't rocket science. After I’d finished up culinary school and a two-semester bartending program, I’d landed a job working at a dive bar one town over from mine. No big deal, right? Wrong. New York yuppies had nothing on a bunch of burly Texans. They wanted their drinks, and they wanted them yesterday.
I moved past Zoe without another word and bee-lined for the bar. It was hard to navigate through the crowd, especially as they clumped together, trying to get the bartender’s attention. I pushed through them, using elbows and sheer force when needed.
The bar came up to my stomach and there wasn’t an entrance in sight, but I didn’t let that stop me. I tossed my purse over onto the ground and then pushed myself up onto the black marble countertop.
“What are you doing?” one of the bartenders yelled as I swung my legs over the bar.
“Finishing up my job interview,” I threw back, not bothering with any more explanation. My feet landed with a thud on the black rubber mat and then I turned back to the crowd. Half a dozen people were staring back at me with shocked expressions. I let them gather their wits as I washed my hands and reached for a spare drink shaker.
The other bartender waltzed over, his male-model looks completely wasted on me. I had a thing about guys who spent more time in the powder room than I did.
“You can’t be back here,” he said, trying to reach for the drink shaker in my hand.
I pulled it out of his grasp and smiled.
“I’m here on special order from Zoe,” I lied, only somewhat.
His mouth dropped and I turned back to the crowd, bored with him already.
“You.” I pointed at the petite girl in front of me. She had a fifty-dollar bill tucked in her hand and was being crushed by the crowd pushing in behind her. “What are you drinking?”
She stared back and forth between me and the other bartender, unsure of whether she was allowed to answer me.
The bartender threw his hands up and walked away. “I don’t get paid enough for this shit.”
I smirked as I stared at the girl, waiting for her to reply.
“Uh, okay. I need two dirty martinis and a gin fizz,” she stammered.
Easy.
“Do you prefer a certain type of gin?”
She shook her head and I bent down to check out the liquor offering behind the bar. They had a few good brands of dry gin, but I preferred the cucumber and rose flavor that Hendrick’s offered. I set out three cocktail glasses and got to work on the dirty martinis. Ice, gin, brine from cocktail olives, and extra dry vermouth were added to the shaker before I tossed it all together and strained the mixture into the first two cocktail glasses. I rinsed the shaker and reached for lemons, but stopped short when I couldn’t find any gimme syrup. I decided I’d have to bring in supplies for my next shift if I lasted through the night.
Instead of bothering Captain America and Ken doll, I found simple syrup and hoped it would do. I didn’t have time to ask where every single ingredient was if I wanted to actually help the other bartenders work through the crowd.
I directed the woman to pay with the other bartender and focused my attention on the next customer. Though he probably hated it, one of the bartenders, Brian, and I worked out a system within five minutes. I took orders, and filled them, and he cashed out the customers or transferred their drinks to the tab at their table.
I’d finished making two White Russians, a Sea Breeze, a screwdriver, two more dirty martinis, and a slew of gin and tonics before Zoe joined me behind the bar and gripped my arm. I set down my shaker and turned my attention to her.
“I get it. Barbie knows her shit,” she said, pulling me away from my self-assigned station. “Brian keep up the bar. Lily will be back in a few minutes.”
I smiled and let her pull me away. If I was coming back, that meant I’d landed the job.
I followed Zoe through the restaurant, taking in the scenery as we went. Provisions continued to surprise me. The floor plan was spectacular, but the open courtyard in the center of the restaurant took my breath away. I hadn’t seen anything like it before. Customers were crowded around tables, eating under a grove of trees. Twinkle lights hung from the branches, basking them all in gentle light.
We circled around the perimeter of the courtyard and then Zoe led me into a back hallway toward a door that read “Employees only.”
We stepped through the door and the restaurant’s quiet music was replaced with silence. Our shoes echoed through the hall and I reached out to stop her so I could plead my case.