17. Soren
SOREN
The main bar stretched along the far wall beneath shelves of illuminated bottles, their different colors glowing beneath strips of warm gold light.
The bartenders moved with an ease that made the work look rehearsed.
One filled a row of glasses without glancing down, while another spun around to catch a bottle from the shelf behind him before pouring from it.
Phoenix pointed to a tall man with a shaved head and a neatly trimmed beard.
“This is Roger. He’s tonight’s lead bartender. If you don’t recognize a drink order, bring it directly to him. Don’t guess.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“Good answer,” Roger said. He gave me a reassuring smile. “And don’t worry. Half the drinks people order are just ordinary things with unnecessarily dramatic names.”
“That makes me feel slightly better.”
Next came Emilia, who showed me where completed orders would be placed and explained the system of table numbers displayed on small screens above the service counter.
She spoke quickly, but whenever my expression became too panicked, she slowed down and repeated herself without making me feel foolish.
Phoenix introduced me to several more people as we crossed the floor.
There was Nico, another server assigned to the VIP level, Tasha, who supervised the private lounges, and Blake, the security detail on the VIP floor, who seemed to know everyone despite admitting that he had only worked at Club Halo for three months.
By the time Phoenix led me upstairs, I was desperately trying to remember all their names.
The VIP floor was quieter than the main club, though the music still pulsed through the walls beneath my feet.
Instead of a crowded dance floor, there were wide velvet booths arranged around low tables, each separated by decorative screens and hanging curtains that they could close or keep open.
Soft gold lighting reflected from dark glass and polished brass.
The bar in this area was smaller than the one downstairs but far more elegant, with dark marble counters, gold shelving, and bottles arranged beneath soft amber lights. According to Phoenix, most orders could be filled there, although anything unusually complicated would be sent to the main bar.
After familiarizing me with the bartender there, Phoenix guided me to the largest booth near the balcony.
The man waiting there appeared to be in his sixties.
His black hair was threaded through with silver, and he was devastatingly good-looking.
He must have broken a lot of hearts when he was younger. Possibly still did.
He wore the kind of quiet wealth I recognized immediately in his clothing.
His dark suit was clearly custom-made, the fabric tailored to sit perfectly across his shoulders and gold embroidery worked into the cuffs.
I had spent my entire life around men who considered clothing an extension of status, and I knew the tailoring alone had probably cost more than most people earned in months.
Certainly more than I would earn in a year at this bartending job.
The younger man beside him was closer to my age.
He wore a fitted black mesh top that left little to the imagination, the thin fabric stretching across his chest and disappearing beneath a cropped leather jacket.
His high-waisted trousers hugged his hips before falling in a clean line to polished boots.
Gold bangles adorned his arms, matching the large hoops in his ears.
The outfit was bold and clearly expensive, designed to draw attention without looking cheap.
It suited him perfectly. He was stunning, polished nails, makeup, and all.
The older man smiled the moment he saw Phoenix. “Ah, my favorite guardian angel has landed.”
“How can I ignore my main source of funding?” Phoenix replied, to which the man laughed. He rose to his feet, and they embraced, taking a second longer than necessary for just acquaintances.
The boy rolled his eyes, which landed on me. Color flooded across his cheeks. I quickly looked away, pretending as if I didn’t notice his two-faced behavior. We had people like him in court.
“Soren, this is Mr. Calloway,” Phoenix introduced us. “He has supported Halo House almost since the beginning.”
“Please, call me Martin,” said Mr. Calloway.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir,” I said with a nod.
“Martin,” he corrected gently.
I smiled at him, pleased that Phoenix hadn’t been exaggerating at all. He seemed like a sweet man. “Martin.”
“And this is Evan,” he said, motioning to the younger man beside him.
Evan barely glanced up from the phone he was now playing with. “Hi.”
Phoenix gave me a quick look that seemed to say I told you so before excusing himself.
I was nervous to be left alone, but Martin spoke to me and put me at ease.
After I brought the first round of drinks with trembling hands, he asked me how long I’d been working at Club Halo.
When I admitted it was my first night, he looked delighted rather than concerned and told me he would never have guessed.
He was lying, of course, but it was nice of him to say so.
Even when I struggled to hear him above the music and had to ask twice whether he wanted sparkling or still water, he remained patient.
Evan did not.
He ordered a drink I had never heard of, and after repeating the name several times to ensure I got it right, I hurried downstairs to ask Roger for help. A few minutes later, I returned with the glass balanced carefully on my tray.
“What is that?” Evan asked, staring at the contents in the glass as if it were poison.
“The drink you ordered.”
“No, it isn’t.”
My stomach tightened. “You asked for a French seventy-five.”
“I said a French martini.”
I was certain he hadn’t, but if there was one thing I had learned from observing last week, it was that the customer was always right.
“I’m sorry. I must have misunderstood.”
“Evan, it isn’t a big deal,” Martin intervened.
“I didn’t say it was.” His tone suggested otherwise. “But it doesn’t take a genius to get a drink order right. Does it?”
“I’ll replace it immediately,” I said.
By the time I returned with the second drink, Evan had lost interest and wanted something different.
That became the pattern for most of the night. He complained that the ice melted too quickly, as if I had any control over that. Then he complained that the music was too loud, then that it wasn’t loud enough, and that I took too long to return after he placed his order.
Through it all, I smiled, I apologized, and I reminded myself that this was work and not everyone would like me. And that was okay. At the end of the night, I would get to crawl into bed in my Daddy’s arms and forget that some people were assholes.
The night became busier as more guests arrived, and since I’d handled myself so well, Phoenix had me cater to another table as well. Those guests weren’t as nice as Martin either. They mostly ignored me, but I preferred that to all the attention a certain boy insisted on giving me.
As the night wore on, I became more confident with each trip to the bar. Until I approached Martin’s table to replace his drink and someone stepped backward into my path. I shifted to avoid them and the tray tipped. I righted one of the glasses, but the other slid straight over the edge.
Dark liquid splashed across Evan’s shirt.
For one terrible second, the entire world seemed to stop.
Then he screamed. “What the hell?”
“I’m so sorry.” In my haste to help him, I put down the tray too hard, upsetting it, and the other glass dumped onto his lap.
“You did that on purpose!” He shot to his feet, his gray eyes burning with fury. “You idiot!”
“I’m sorry. Someone stepped in front of me. I’ll get you something to—”
“I don’t care! You’ve been messing everything up all night.”
People nearby turned to look, and I wanted to disappear into the floor. Heat rushed into my face.
“I can get towels,” I offered.
“You ruined my shirt. Do you think red wine will come out of this fabric?”
“If you would just—”
“Don’t touch me.” He said it with such scorn, as if I belonged on the bottom of his shoes.
I’d never had anyone talk to me like that before, not even when I was being ridiculed by that cop for insisting I was a prince.
It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him as much, but who would believe me?
What would a prince be doing working in a bar?
And if they followed that sordid story, then I would just be humiliated all over again.
At losing the crown to some dick.
“Evan, enough,” Martin said. “He clearly didn’t mean for that to happen.”
“One drink might have been an accident, but two is obviously deliberate.” Evan pointed at me. “I’ll make sure you’re fired for this. Your kind shouldn’t be working in such a classy place anyway.”
My kind? What the hell did he mean by that?
Before I could ask him to clarify if he meant what I thought he did, Phoenix appeared beside me. He took one look at the wet clothes and the broken glass on the floor.
“What happened?” he asked.
“Your useless server dumped two drinks on me.”
“It was an accident,” Martin said before I could respond.
“I see.” Phoenix rested a gentle hand against my shoulder. “Soren, why don’t you take five? You’re due a break anyway.”
“I should clean up,” I said, tears prickling in the corners of my eyes. I just wanted to do my best tonight, and it had to go wrong.
“We’ll handle it.” His voice softened. “Go take a few minutes.”
I kept my head down as I crossed the floor. By the time I reached the staff locker room, tears blurred my vision. I got my phone out and pressed my hand over my mouth to suppress my cry.
I had made it several hours without ruining anything. Now, one mistake might cost Phoenix a sponsor and me my first job. Why was I such a screwup? Was I destined to fail at everything?
My fingers shook as I typed, the screen blurring from my tears.
Me: Daddy, I messed up really bad.