Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
One year later
S carlett Mortenson adjusted in the hard wooden chair, hoping to keep her rear end from falling asleep. There was something about the chair’s height that seemed off and, as she sat there longer, she thought maybe it was lower to the ground than most.
It could have just been that she was nervous.
As she looked around the tiny office, she wondered for the millionth time if she was doing the right thing. While her eyes took in every detail of the cramped space, from the books and binders on a shelf above boxes holding rolls of receipt tape and order pads to the clock on the wall that looked like it hadn’t been dusted in years, her mind recycled the same thoughts she’d been pondering over the last two weeks.
Yes, this was the right thing. Not the best thing, but it was a step in the right direction.
She tried to focus on the sounds of rock music coming from outside the room, but it was muffled, and the underlying smell of old alcohol kept distracting her—but not in a good way. It just kept reminding her that she was jittery.
The manager, a forty-something guy with thinning dark hair and a formerly athletic body, stepped back in the office. “Sorry about that,” he said, closing the door and walking around to his desk again. Scarlett was able to relax a little, no longer feeling the need to watch the open doorway.
“That’s okay.”
“I guess that’s something I should tell you up front,” he said, moving the computer keyboard to the side of the desk. “I tend to be a hands-on manager overall. I know that drives a lot of people crazy, because they’d prefer the boss wasn’t around. Is that a problem?”
Scarlett shook her head. “Not at all.” And she meant it. Although she was a little wary of men these days, it was comforting to know that, in a bar like Tequilaville where it seemed like half of Silver City showed up on the weekends, there would be someone who had her back.
Of course, that was an assumption. Her interpretation of hands on might have been far different from his.
But the vibes she got from him weren’t creepy—and, ever since leaving Pueblo, she’d listened to her instincts. After all, they’d saved her so far.
“So…” he said, glancing down at her application again, a quaint paper one that seemed like it was from the dark ages, “you don’t have much experience working in a bar.”
“Oh, I do. I was at Sheldon’s for a year and a half.”
“As a server.”
“Well, yeah, but it wasn’t just a restaurant. It was a bar and grill, and sometimes I had to step in behind the bar to help out.”
If this guy called Sheldon’s, he’d find out quickly how false her statement was—but it was a chance she had to take. She’d helped behind the bar exactly one time—and it was just to fill two beer mugs. So it was a lie, but not completely.
When she’d moved to Silver City, she’d needed a place to stay, and the apartments above Tequilaville were the cheapest spot in town. There was definitely a reason why the rent was low, but it was preferable to laying a pillow in the backseat of her car. And it was because of her new landlord that she was applying here—he’d told her he owned the entire building and, although he didn’t own the bar, they paid him rent.
When she’d come by this morning, she’d dropped his name and the manager had had her fill out the application on the spot. For some stupid reason, if they needed help, she figured she’d get a job simply by showing up. Unexpectedly under pressure, she’d made her application look as legitimate as possible.
Already, it was backfiring.
As he continued poring over her work history, she bit her lip. She’d also way overdressed for this. She’d worn the one suit she owned, a dark gray number with slacks and a jacket and an old navy blouse she used on special occasions. She’d always called it her interview suit , but this was the first time she’d actually worn the jacket and slacks.
At least she’d learn from this mistake.
Her hair and makeup, at least, wouldn’t be held against her. She’d pulled her now brown hair up into a loose bun and kept her eye makeup subtle. Working nights in a dark bar meant she would wear heavier makeup on the job, but in an office—even a cramped one like this that also partially served as a storage closet—she knew she looked okay from the neck up. It was her clothing choice that still had her kicking herself.
She hoped to distract him from digging too deeply by heading him off at the pass. “And then, as you can see, I worked at Chili’s for two months tending bar until I had to leave.”
“So why did you?”
“I moved here.”
One corner of his mouth turned up. “You care to share why?”
That answer would at least have a sliver of truth to it. “I had a bad breakup and had to move out of my boyfriend’s place. I decided I wanted a complete change of scenery. My grandparents used to live here in Silver City until they died a few years ago—but I always had fond memories of this place.”
Please don’t ask who my grandparents were.
Although that part was true, that she’d visited them as a kid, she wanted to avoid talking about her personal life as much as possible, because that could expose all the lies.
“You know, I could complain about Silver City like everyone else around here—but one place is just as good as the next. It’s what you make of it.” His eyes shifted back to the paper and Scarlett could swear she could feel the tension in her veins as her blood pressure notched up.
“I really want to get— stay —in this line of work—and I’m a fast learner.”
All of that…mostly true. True enough.
Fortunately, her last words were enough to make him look up from the paper again. “So why didn’t you apply at the Chili’s here in town?”
Shit. Good point—aside from the fact that she’d never actually worked for the one she’d said. “Have you ever been in a Chili’s?”
“Good point.”
Holy hell. Scarlett wondered if she should be excited that she was actually good at deception.
Picking up a pencil on the desk, he began twirling it in his hand. “Before I came back in here a few minutes ago, Denise stopped me.”
“Denise?”
“Yeah. She’s the bartender you talked to when you first walked in. She was impressed with your attitude and thought you’d be a good fit.”
Scarlett hoped she was managing to keep her expression neutral, but she wanted to roll her eyes.
Nope. That was the old me. Her new self didn’t have a hint of snark or sass. Still, she couldn’t stop herself from saying something . “How did she figure that out when we barely talked?”
The manager—was Al his name?—gave her the biggest smile yet. “Bartenders get a good feel for people. That’s something you’ll learn when you get more time on the job.”
Had she heard him right? Although her mood was starting to lift, she had to be sure. “Am I hired?”
“I tell you what. There’s something about you that tells me you’ll work out.”
A smile appeared on her face as she let out a sigh of relief—until he spoke again.
“For now, though, it’s on a temporary basis. It might not look like it right now, but this establishment does a hopping business. Once the sun goes down, it’s balls to the wall—and on the weekends, forget it. You’ll be lucky to have a minute to take a piss—that is, if you can even make your way to the bathroom. You saw how big the floor is out there. Right now, we have tables scattered around and two, maybe three, regulars sitting at the bar. But picture the room packed with excited happy thirsty people blowing off the steam of the week. I don’t know if pouring beer at Chili’s or mixing drinks occasionally at—” pausing, he glanced back down at her application before adding, “Sheldon’s has fully prepared you for the madness of Tequilaville.”
The balloon that had started to fill when he’d indicated she might have a job there was beginning to deflate…but she wasn’t sure what she could say to change it—or if she should even say anything.
“But I’m willing to give it a shot if you are. If you can impress me and my other bartenders and servers, you can stay.”
This time, Scarlett allowed the positive emotions to fill her chest and light up her face. “Oh…thank you so much.”
“If you’re ready, we can have you start today. That’ll give you a few shifts under your belt before Frenzied Friday.”
“ Frenzied Friday? ” It was so crazy, they had a name for it. At least she could prepare for it now. Although she’d intended to go to her apartment to start studying the ingredients for various mixed drinks, she figured on-the-job experience would beat that any day.
“Lame, I know. I keep trying out different names and none of ‘em stick. Frenetic Friday, Fantastic Friday, Fabulous Friday. All lame. But I’ll find something eventually.”
“So what do I need to do?”
“There’s always paperwork. I’ll get you going on that and get you a couple of t-shirts. What size?”
“Uh…medium.”
“Standard uniform is the shirt, jeans, and close-toed shoes. If you make it through the week, I’ll give you another couple of t-shirts.”
She wasn’t about to ask, but she wondered if people frequently left after a short time there. Not a good sign, but it wasn’t like she’d never worked a shitty job before. Still, there was something about this place—the people she’d already met and an underlying feel of fun—that told her she was going to like it.
“Okay. Can I run to my apartment to change before I start?”
“Yep. But let’s do the paperwork first.”
The paperwork. That meant he’d have to see her driver’s license and Social Security card. “Yeah, um, about that…I know it’s unusual, but is there any way I could work for tips only?” And, if he agreed to that, it would probably be easy enough to also convince him to continue calling her Scarlett instead of the name on her identification.