6. Aus
AUS
I keep stealing glances at Thea. She’s sitting at the bar in the East section, sipping a light-blue cocktail.
I don’t think she’s noticed me staring at her. She keeps looking at her phone and then her watch.
Maybe her date is running late.
I’ve been up at the booth for fifteen minutes or so. A little less, because I didn’t start my set at eight sharp like I was supposed to. Thea Storm kept me at bay, and I don’t regret a second I had her hot little body in my grasp.
I’ve been going through the motions, playing one song after another without really thinking about it.
The beginning of the night is usually pretty easy—play a bunch of upbeat songs that get people moving.
Get the mood up, make it more likely that people will wear themselves out and hit up one of the bars.
That’s where Jade makes the bulk of its money.
Since we distill all our own booze, we can mark up the prices for a huge profit.
The covers also help, but they contribute less to our income than you’d think.
They contribute even less after I let hot women in for free.
Why’d I do that? I knew Thea had a date coming, so she wouldn’t be going home with me no matter what.
Maybe I could charge her date double.
That would show him for being late.
How could anyone be late for a date with Thea Storm? She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. Even more gorgeous than Gloriana, who most of the men in this club go crazy for. She’s never done much for me. Guess I don’t have a thing for blondes.
But brunettes with huge tits? Those get my engine running like nothing else.
Plus that damned gingham dress gives her a farm girl energy that is surprisingly sexy.
I’m staring at her again.
Damn.
At least the beginning set is easy to phone in.
It’s later in the evening when I have to lock in more.
Read the room, determine when it’s time to alter the mood.
I have to be careful about slow songs in particular.
They allow people with partners to enjoy each other’s company more intimately but might also ostracize people who came by themselves or with friends.
Of course, they might also drive those groups to the bars.
It’s a meticulous process, one I’ve gotten pretty good at.
I don’t know how I’m going to be able to focus as long as I can see Thea, though.
Maybe I’ll move around. Avert my gaze. Face that asshole Wick in the West section.
Yeah. Wick’s his name. No kidding. Short for Wickliffe. Wickliffe Blackwood. Kin’s brother. Not that you’d be able to tell. They’re as different as night and day.
And if Kin is day, Wick is night. If the essence of darkness had a baby with the Grim Reaper, it’d be him.
Wick’s never done anything wrong, and he’s a great bartender. Lots of women—and a decent number of men—seem to be drawn to his dark aura.
But I get a bad feeling about him.
I don’t want to look at him either. I instead face South.
Scarlet is holding that section down. She tends to gravitate in that direction because she and Gloriana are good friends.
Leo is in North, where a dozen men at a bachelor party are consuming their collective body weight in beer.
Leo is barely able to make it to the bar before they call him over for another round.
What about Jackie? Where’s Jackie?
Jackie Carver, my third and final waitress.
She’s the most vulnerable of my three waitstaff—and that’s saying something from what I’ve gleaned about Scarlet and Leo’s respective backstories—so I’m checking on her more often.
She’s a recovering drug addict. She spent her twenties in and out of every rehab in the Chicago metropolitan area, and while she seems stable now, one misstep could trigger a relapse, and I don’t want that for her.
It doesn’t help that she’s surrounded by booze, which is forbidden by her Narcotics Anonymous group even though she was never an alcoholic.
And… oh, fuck. She’s in West.
Wick is making eyes at her. He always makes eyes at her. I don’t know if she’s ever gone for him. I don’t know if she even likes guys. I have a hard time getting a read on Jackie. She’s never flirted with me, which—not to toot my own horn—is rare.
Jackie is keeping her distance from Wick, so I return to the East.
Thea is still sitting there, her entire poise slightly deflated. Is this fucker seriously standing her up? Standing up Thea Storm? He doesn’t know how lucky he is that he landed a date with her, and now he can’t even fucking show up?
It pisses me off, but I’m also feeling a surge of joy—not to mention direct blood flow to my dick.
I can swoop in on my next break and comfort her. Tell her this guy’s an asshole who doesn’t know a good thing when he sees it. Tip her chin up, brush a tear off her cheek. Act like asking her out isn’t a premeditated act.
We’re already at a club. I can buy her a drink.
Hell, I own the club. I don’t have to buy her anything. I’ll tell the barkeep in any section—East, North, South, anything but that fourth one—to whip up their specialty on the house.
I’ll get her a martini in East, or we can split a bottle of Malbec in South, or we can hit up my personal favorite, North.
It’s not just the beer, though I do love me a Wonderful Whiz. It’s Nora. I’m not supposed to play favorites with my employees, but I have a soft spot for her. You’d think I’d be more drawn to Gloriana like most of the men in this club, but Nora has become a sort of fun-aunt-slash-mother figure.
I don’t have much contact with my parents.
Haven’t for the better part of a decade and a half after I turned down a promising career in law to pursue magic.
My parents are both attorneys, and I was their only chance at continuing their legal legacy.
They got divorced when I was too young to remember and ended up establishing rival firms. I ended up being their only child after my baby sister was stillborn when I was two.
I guess the tragedy drove a wedge between them.
They spent my entire childhood fighting for my love and both hoped I’d eventually join their respective firms. When I spurned the profession entirely, they wrote me off for good.
So after I spent several years floundering in Vegas, Nora filled a much-needed space in my life.
I get along okay with Gloriana. I just don’t buy her Southern-belle act. She’s always been perfectly polite to me, but she has one of those personalities that doesn’t mesh with mine. She does a great job, so I’ve kept her on as barkeep of the South.
Kin is fine, just a little awkward. His nervous stumbles over words get old after a while, but he’s harmless.
And then there’s Wick.
Ugh.
I truly can’t tell you why I don’t like the guy.
He’s done nothing to me. Nothing at all.
I just get a feeling.
But I can’t fire a guy over a feeling. Especially not when his brother works here, too.
I’d have a lawsuit on my hands faster than you can say “abracadabra.” I’m not sure if he’d win it, but it would still be a headache and a waste of time.
And I wouldn’t be able to afford the negative publicity or the legal fees if that happened.
Huh. Maybe I should have become a lawyer.
But that doesn’t mean I have to spend any time in Wick’s presence.
So I won’t be taking Thea to get a drink in the West, which I’ll admit is a shame, because my drink of choice is a whiskey sour.
And Wick makes the best whiskey sour—some of the patrons call it a “Wick-sy Sour”—in the city.
He makes it the old-fashioned way, egg whites and everything, and then garnishes it with a pinch of chili powder, which gives it a little kick.
People love it. Another reason I can’t fire the fucker.
I glance over toward West. Looks like Wick’s making one of his specialties now for a gaggle of sorority girls wearing dresses that barely conceal their privates.
But my whole body steels when I realize Wick’s focus isn’t on the tumbler he’s mixing his drink in, nor on the girls surrounding his bar.
He’s not even staring at Jackie.
No. He’s staring right through her, across the club.
Directly at Thea.