2. Jax
Jax
“Sorry about that, ladies,” I say loudly as I turn back to face the room. “Carry on!”
The tables behind me are almost entirely made up of women enjoying the beginning of their weekend. I can sense the relief in the air as the asshole and his friends are tossed out, but there’s tension, too.
“Somebody’s birthday?” I ask, noticing the balloons hovering nearby. A little blonde in a tiara nods, giving me a tentative smile. “How about I set you up with a better table, then?” I ask, gesturing to the booth that security has just cleared.
There’s an older woman sitting beside the blonde, glaring at me. I’m guessing she’s the mom, and she looks pissed that a fight almost broke out during her daughter’s big day.
“I’ll throw in a free bottle of champagne for the trouble,” I add hastily, scanning the table and noticing a cake in the middle. It’s pink on one side and black on the other, with a name scrawled across the side. “Ashley, right?” I ask, pointing to the fondant. “Let us take care of you tonight.”
The blonde’s face breaks into an excited smile as she rises, urging her friends to follow her.
I help them take the balloons and drinks over to the booth, waving to Marty to come and wipe down the table and take their order. They now have a great view of the club below and fit much more comfortably in the plush leather seats.
I’m about to walk away when the older woman steps up, blocking my path.
I brace myself for a lecture or even threats. These days, a bad review is a powerful tool, and one disgruntled customer can bring your whole business crashing down.
I don’t regret kicking the jerks out, but I know it isn’t how most managers would fix that type of situation. I keep my face carefully neutral as she leans forward.
“Where’d you learn to do that?” she asks, and to my surprise, her tone is almost one of awe.
“Oh,” I say, “well, I’ve worked here a long time. We don’t tolerate touching of any kind. The staff deserve to be safe in their jobs, and anyone who doesn’t respect that will be put in their place.”
“Those guys were being loud and obnoxious to my daughters, and I was about to make a complaint before you came over. I’ve never seen anyone shut a guy up that fast. You’re half his size, and you flipped him like he weighed nothing.”
I smirk. “I’m stronger than I look.”
“I’ll say. You’ve made our night,” she says warmly, glancing at Ashley, who’s gesturing excitedly at the view of the club below.
“So, it’s your daughter’s birthday today?” I ask.
“Both of my daughters. Ashley and Jenny. They’re twins, and it’s their 21st today,” she says proudly.
I look over her shoulder as another girl arrives at the table, having returned from the bathroom.
They’re identical twins, but Ashley wears pastels, and Jenny looks more emo. As Jenny takes a seat, her sister excitedly fills her in on why they’ve moved tables, and Jenny grabs the champagne bottle enthusiastically, popping the cork up into the ceiling and squealing with delight.
I chuckle as their mother rolls her eyes with a long sigh.
“Well, I’m a twin myself,” I say. “That means two of everything, I know the rule. Another bottle of champagne will be at your table soon.”
I leave them to shouts of excitement and hoots of laughter as I head to the bar. After a few minutes, Marty comes over, blowing out a breath as she grabs another bottle.
“Everything okay?” I ask. “Sorry, I know you could have handled that guy on your own.”
“Pfft, I won’t say no to you dealing with him. He was such a douche.”
“Anything else I need to know?” I ask, and she shakes her head before nodding at the VIP lounge.
“Really great group in there. Generous tippers and super friendly.”
The VIP lounge is a smaller space on the edge of the Blue Room. It only has two tables inside, separated by a screen with a great view of the club. It’s expensive to rent out, and when I check the schedule, whoever is in there has booked it for the entire night.
“They’ve been buying the most expensive alcohol we have,” Marty continues, grabbing some champagne flutes. “And they keep slipping me twenties.”
Intrigued, I go to the VIP room and step inside. There’s a bunch of Japanese businessmen at the other table, doing shots, and they cheer loudly as I come in.
The other table is a group of drop-dead gorgeous women. They already have several bottles of wine on their table and are dressed in designer clothes that I don’t often see in Jensons. One of them, a stunning brunette, catches my eye.
“Hey! I saw you out there,” she says with an overly smooth voice. “That was awesome. Ladies, this woman is a warrior; she just kicked that turd out on his ass.”
“Did he cause you any problems?” I ask, concerned.
“Only trying to get us to join him and his slimy friends. Who needs men? We’re here for a girls' night.”
I laugh as they all start hooting loudly and then look down in amazement as the brunette hands me a hundred-dollar bill.
“In case you broke a nail dealing with that jerk,” she says, leaning into me. “Get some new ones on me. This club is amazing; we’re coming back again for sure.”
“Thanks,” I say, smiling as I tuck the bill into my bra, and they all raise their glasses in my direction. It’s a chill vibe, and they’re not so drunk that I need to worry about them. If they’re treating my staff respectfully and enjoying themselves, that’s the most important thing.
After wishing them well, I head out of the room and back toward the atrium, looking down at the club floor. It’s a heaving mass of bodies, arms flailing, jewelry flashing. The DJ is killing it tonight, and the noise and atmosphere send a zing of happiness through me.
My older brother left me and my twin, Scott, in charge of Jensons while he sets up a sister club on the other side of NYC. Scott and I have been running this place for the past six months, and I’m proud that it’s going so well.
But my elation fades as I spot Scott on the other side of the atrium.
He’s leaning against the balcony, staring down at the dancers, his gaze blank.
In the flashing lights, I can see the heavy shadows beneath his eyes.
He’s seemed so stressed lately, and every time I ask what’s going on, he deflects.
It’s nearly 1 a.m., and, while everything is under control, I decide to go up to the office and deal with the accounts. It’s been a long time since I went through the books, and I want to take something off my brother’s plate.
Scott prides himself on managing that side of things and never wants my help. But we both know I’m way better at anything financial. Scott will take hours going over every line of a spreadsheet, when I could do the same job in under thirty minutes.
Before I go to the office, I check in with Aidan, my assistant manager, but everything is running smoothly.
As I slip out the back and navigate the hallways behind the bar, I’m grateful for a bit of peace. I love my job, but the music and the pace of things can get to me at times.
I have my own office on the ground floor, too, but it’s tiny and not air-conditioned. As I step inside the wide space of Scott’s private sanctuary, I breathe a sigh of relief.
Kicking off my shoes, I head to the computer at the far end of the room. A large window behind me looks down at the streets of New York, and I can see a line from the entrance of the club winding around the corner.
I power up the computer and go to the folder where the account spreadsheets are kept. Opening it, I click on the current tax year and scan through the documents inside.
Up until September, everything is in order. The records are neatly filed with gross receipts, variances, and expenses, all listed neatly in columns. I open the latest account sheet, my brow furrowing as I see the number at the top of the screen.
How have we begun the month with an 80k deficit?
Even allowing for expenses, supplier payments, and invoices, that’s a huge variance.
I look through the spreadsheet, squinting at the screen. Everything appears to be in order, except that at the start of each month, there’s a growing deficit from September onwards, which only increases as the months go by.
What the hell? Have I missed something?
As I’m staring at the screen in disbelief, the door bursts open, and Scott trips into the room, as if he’s come at it at a run.
The look of shock on his face quickly morphs into fury as he slams the door behind him.
“What the hell are you doing, Jax?”