6. Skye
“Still waiting on that beer, sweetheart.”
I glance up from the register, cursing my rotten luck. The computer is frozen, and a few people are waiting to be served.
“Give me just a minute, sir.” I glance down the bar at Tony. “Hey, Tony, is your system frozen?”
There are only two registers available for us to use. If they both go down, it’s really going to put a damper on the rest of the night. We won’t be able to run credit cards, and we’ll have to do the math manually. I cross my fingers, hoping that Tony’s is working.
“Yep.” He shrugs. “I restarted it, but it still hasn’t booted back up. I’m getting the spinning wheel of death. I haven’t seen Waylon, but I did text him to let him know. He said he was gonna try and get a hold of Rogue.”
Groaning, I pull out my phone. I guess we’re doing things old-school tonight. I pass a long neck to the man who’s been waiting for a while.
“Sorry, our machines seem to be down at the moment.”
“No problem. Here,” he says, tossing down a ten-dollar bill. “Keep the change.”
He disappears into the crowd, and my breath whooshes out of my body. I stare at the money like it’s a snake that’ll infect me with its venom if I touch it.
This can’t be happening. It’s too busy tonight for systems to be down.
Friday nights are always packed, but the crowd is bigger than normal because Apple is signing in thirty minutes, and she always draws in the customers.
I jump and whip my head to the side when I’m tapped on the shoulder.
“Are you okay?” Tony asks, and I nod. “Waylon said to write down all the credit card numbers, keep track of those running a tab, and try to get customers to use cash going forward. Tell anyone using a credit card that we’ll have to run them manually, and their cards will be charged once the systems come back up.”
I plaster a smile on my face, but my stomach seizes with anxiety. I look at my cell to check the battery level. For once, I’m thankful that I didn’t spend my break scrolling through social media. My phone is still at eighty percent which should get me through the rest of the night. I breathe a sigh of relief as I start filling orders.
“Would you mind writing down the credit card numbers with the names?” I ask hopefully. “I’m more than happy to do the cash transactions.”
Please say yes, please say yes, please say yes.
I’d much rather deal with giving back change to customers than possibly messing up writing down numbers and causing a huge mess. I can see it now… Waylon would try to run the cards once the machines come back up, and none of them would work because I missed a number or wrote down the wrong ones.
“Sure, I can do that,” Tony agrees.
I reach out to fist-bump him. “You’re the best!”
Waylon appears from the back and drags his hands through his hair. “Sorry, guys. The computers won’t come back up.”
“Not a problem, boss.” Tony winks. “Me and Skye have it covered.”
“Okay, I’m gonna go fill in the waitresses.”
When Apple takes the stage, the crowd gets deathly quiet, but it doesn’t last long. As soon as the music starts, chaos ensues. She starts the set by singing Malicious Intentions, one of my favorite songs, so I lift my phone and record the performance. As soon as the song is over and she starts to belt out another tune, I flip back to my calculator.
Lana sashays up to the counter. “Can I have three shots of tequila, two beers, and a bottle of water?”
“Absolutely.” I place the shot glasses on the counter and start filling them before grabbing the beers and bottle of water. “Here you go.”
“Thanks.” Lana loads her tray and heads directly for the V.I.P. section. Mel and Cece lift their shot glasses up to me, and I give a small wave back before turning my attention back to the bar.
“Can I get four beers?” a large man asks.
“Sure thing.” I fill the mugs and calculate the total. “Twenty-six dollars.”
He hands me thirty, and I give him his change. Another customer steps forward, but the red battery bar of death on my phone taunts me.
Three percent. What the fuck?
As I swipe through the phone, I could kick myself. A Solitaire game and my camera app are running in the background. I can’t believe I didn’t swipe up on the apps to close them out. Now my battery is drained, and I still have two hours to get through before this hellish night is over.
Another man steps up to the bar. “Can I get a couple shots of Jack and a couple of beers?”
Sweat drips down my back, and I wipe my palms down my jeans before taking a few steadying breaths to calm my heart rate. I can probably use my phone a few more times before it dies. I finish up the order and wave to Tony.
“What’s up?”
“I need to run to the bathroom real quick,” I explain.
“Should be okay.”
Holding my phone tight, I head toward the employee break room. I dash toward my locker, yank it open, and riffle through my purse.
Shit!
My phone charger isn’t here. I can clearly see it sitting on the counter in my kitchen where I left it this morning. In my hurry to get to work, I forgot to bring it with me.
No… no… no. This can’t be happening. I vigorously shake my head in denial, but there’s no way around the inevitable. I’m totally fucking screwed. I don’t even have my backup calculator.
You can do this! Go slow, and use your damn brain.
I grab a small notebook and pen and hightail it back to the front before Waylon comes looking for me. The counter is a mess when I get back, and Tony’s shoulders slump in relief when he sees me.
“Jump back in quick, Skye.”
Nodding, I stroll up to the next person in line. “What can I get ya?”
“It’s about fucking time,” the asshole mutters. “I want five beers and three shots of bourbon.”
I bite my tongue while I write down his order and try to do the math in my head. Asshole throws a fifty on the bar and raises his brow. I silently count, but I can’t get the numbers right no matter how hard I try. Just as I grab everything he ordered, my brain fires the answer I’ve been waiting for.
“Forty-two fifty,” I blurt, grinning.
“Here.” He pushes a fifty toward me, and my brain goes haywire again. I send up a silent prayer, hoping he’ll say keep the change, but nope, no luck. He holds out his hand, and I grab two quarters and a five from the register and set it on the bar top in front of him.
“What the fuck is this?” he asks.
“Your ch-ch-change.”
“Bitch, I wasn’t giving you a tip. I want my money.”
“What’s the problem over here?” Waylon asks, pushing me out of the way.
The dick points his finger in my direction. “That bitch was going to pocket the rest of my change she owes me.”
I hold up my hands in surrender. “I swear, I just counted wrong.”
Waylon’s head swings between the two of us. “How much does she owe you?”
“Ten bucks.” He smiles smugly.
I know I don’t owe him ten, but I’m not about to fight with him over it. As I hand the arrogant ass his ten dollars, I bite back my retort.
After the guy walks away, Waylon flips around to me. “What the hell were you thinking keeping ten dollars from a customer without being told to ‘keep the change’?”
“It was an accident, Waylon. I swear,” I plead. “I’ve been here a long time and haven’t ever made a mistake like this.”
“I think I’ll stay here and make sure no more mistakes happen tonight.”
Great, just what I need.
I try to focus on my work, but it’s hard to concentrate with Waylon watching my every move like I’m a thief in the night. Never again will I leave home without my phone charger or backup calculator.
“What’s taking so long?” Waylon asks as I count out the change for another customer.
Every time he interrupts me, I get more flustered. Instead of helping Tony and me, Waylon simply leans against the back counter with his arms crossed. “You’ve been counting that change for over five minutes.”
I might be bad with math, but I can tell time. It’s only been a minute, two at most. “I’m counting his change.”
“How hard is it to give him back six twenty-five?”
“It’s not.” I sigh as I get the correct change.
Jared, Waylon’s best friend and constant thorn in my side, steps up for another beer. He thinks he’s God’s gift to the female species when in reality he’s a slimy worm.
“Hey, Waylon,” Jared calls out. “Did you hire Einstein over here?”
Waylon snorts. “I didn’t hire her. Rogue did.”
“It’s a good thing she has a nice ass and great rack to look at while you wait, otherwise your customers would get bored and leave.”
Waylon and Jared howl with laughter, and my face heats with embarrassment as I fill his order. I can’t even threaten him with my knife. The last thing I need is to get fired for whipping out a weapon and holding it to his jugular. I know Rogue said I wouldn’t have to put up with this shit, but I’m not about to go running to the big guy over some words.
“Unless you want my steel-toed boot to rearrange your dick to an innie instead of an outie, I suggest you keep your comments to yourself.”
Jared reels back as if I slapped him in the face. “What the fuck?”
“Why don’t you go and help wipe down the tables?” Waylon suggests. “I’ll take over here. I’m sure your drawer is going to be a huge mess. Based on what I’ve seen here in the last hour, I’m gonna be here all night balancing it out.”
I want to argue, but instead, I lift the bar flap and head out to the floor. I keep to myself the rest of the night and avoid talking to anyone. Cece and Mel call out to me as they leave the bar with Soul and Abyss, but I only wave in acknowledgment.
After the last customer leaves, I help Lana put the chairs on the table tops and mop up the spilled beer and food around the bar floor.
“Skye, get over here,” Waylon bellows.
I rush toward him. “Yeah?”
“You’re short seventy-three dollars.”
I gasp. “Seventy-three dollars?”
“I didn’t stutter.” He glares at me. “You got any tips?”
“About two hundred.”
I know I should have more than that, but I slipped in portions of my tips on each order to make sure that my drawer wouldn’t be short. Truth be told, I was hoping that my drawer would have too much money, but no such luck.
“I’m gonna need that money until the computers come back up and I can verify every transaction that was made tonight. You understand, right?” he asks condescendingly. I blink back the tears threatening to fall and pull my shoulders back. I dig into my pocket, pull out all my tips, and hand them to him. “As long as no more is missing, you’ll get back what you’re owed. If there is more missing, I’ll have to take it out of your tips and dock your paycheck to cover the amount.”
“How lo?—”
Waylon holds up his hand. “I suggest you get out of here and let me figure out what the hell you did.”
“Sorry,” I apologize. “I should’ve dou?—”
“Yeah, yeah.” He waves me off. “Go home. Looks like I’m gonna be here for a while.”
Fifteen minutes later, I enter my apartment with no idea how I got here. I was so upset from the events of the evening that I allowed myself to be distracted while I drove home.
Dropping down onto the sofa, I let my tears finally fall. I promised myself after Clint’s death I would always be aware of my surroundings when driving my car.
Let’s just add that to my list of sins for the night.