Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 86883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
When scumbags didn’t ram you with their car and spray ninety rounds of bullets at you.
“Wow, you’re mean,” she says, and for a split second, she looks hurt and embarrassed and a broken sadness sweeps through her expression. But then it disappears quicker than a flash of light and she straightens her shoulders. “That wasn’t necessary.”
A foreign feeling tightens in my chest. Remorse.
“Forgive me, it’s been a rough morning.”
She doesn’t know it yet, but after I deal with Marco V later today, Harrison Tork will move to the top of my shitlist and I’m going to get her money back.
She lifts her chin. “I may not know a lot about a lot, but you shouldn’t underestimate me, Massimo De Kysa.”
“Is that what I’m doing?”
She swallows but doesn’t say anything. Actually, that’s not true. Her silence is very telling. She’s not leaving here until we formulate some kind of deal.
“Fine, you start behind the bar tomorrow night. Do you know how to fix a drink?”
She scoffs. “I might be a spoilt brat, Massimo. But I’m not useless.”
7
BIANCA
Except, apparently when it comes to pouring drinks, I am as useless as a glass hammer. I don’t know my simple syrup from my liqueurs and I can’t keep up.
Who knew taking a drinks order could turn into a dumpster fire of epic proportions?
It’s a busy night and the bar is three people deep and I’m flailing like a fish out of water.
I can remember the orders. That’s the easy part. It’s working out what alcohol goes where and in what glass, while the customers wait with increasing impatience, that proves to be difficult.
This isn’t a dive bar. It’s not just beer, wine, and basic spirits. It’s all about bottles of expensive champagne that cost more than the average rent, and fancy cocktails in even fancier crystalware.
A man in a suit leans against the bar. “Four shots of Clase Azul Ultra.”
“Of what?”
“Clase Azul. But make sure it’s Ultra not Reposado.”
“Yeah, but what is Clase—what did you call it?”
“Clase Azul Ultra.”
Yep, still no clue. “And that would be a..?”
I can see his mental eye roll.
“It’s a very expensive tequila,” he says impatiently.
He’s already had to wait fifteen minutes as I labored through the last four orders and his patience has hit its quota.
“Coming right up,” I say with a confidence I absolutely don’t possess.
Why can’t these people drink something I know?
“Do you have any idea what you are doing?” snaps Natalie, the other server, when I bump into her as I look for the bottle of very expensive tequila. She grabs it off the shelf, slams four shot glasses onto the bar and fills them before I can blink an eye.
Although, I can hardly blame her for being pissed at me. When I showed up for my shift, the very unimpressed club manager, Dario, kind of dumped me on her and the other server, Elsa.
“This is the new girl. Make sure she doesn’t fuck up too bad.”
There was no time to train me. Clearly I was going to have to learn by diving into the deep end, and here we are. In mixology hell.
My customer hands Natalie his credit card, and she slaps it into my palm. “Do you think you can handle taking payment, or do I need to do that for you too?”
I shoot laser beams at her from my eyes before running his card.
If there’s one thing I know, it’s how a credit card machine works.
The next customer wants a Tom Collins. Which as luck would have it, I know how to make, thanks to my uncle Deno who used to drink them like water whenever he would visit from Boston. When I was a kid, I’d make them for him, and he’d shove a dollar bill in my palm every time I brought one to him. He said working for money gave a man a good sense of purpose, and I should learn it young. He died when I was fourteen in a car bomb meant for my father, and I haven’t earned a single dollar bill since then.
The next four orders are for champagne. Something else I have a lot of experience with. Thankfully, it gets me away from the bar when I have to take the ice bucket and glasses to their tables. Which also gets me away from Natalie and her hateful energy.
I get that she’s pissed because I’m more of a hindrance than a help. But it’s more than that. She decided the moment she met me that I was the enemy. Which is fine by me. I’m not here to make friends.
I’m doing what I need to do to survive.
When it’s time for my break, I head outside to the alleyway for some fresh air.
Except I’m not alone.
A girl in a glittering bikini and fishnet stockings leans against the brick wall, enjoying a cigarette. I recognize her. She dances in one of the giant gilded cages.