2. Artemis
2 ARTEMIS
I started working for Antonio when I was seventeen.
It was at Antonio’s first restaurant, actually.
We were both out of sorts, kind of floundering with what to do with our lives.
He fell into the restaurant business, and he said he couldn’t take my moping.
So he put me to work.
First as a busser, then a bartender when I turned eighteen.
I didn’t speak to a single person other than him.
Eventually, I started talking to my co-workers.
But not to any real extent.
The lead bartender talked to the real customers, while I made the drinks that came in on the tickets for the tables.
There was a learning curve, obviously.
But once I figured out that everything has an exact amount, it became more about science and less about alcohol.
A year later, Antonio put me in front of people .
At that time, they were scary.
The prospect of them anyway.
But he must’ve said something to the other bartender, because he worked alongside me, letting me interact with customers at a crawling pace.
Making drinks? Fine.
Conversation? I’d rather not.
After what I went through, everyone was seen as dangerous.
It took a long time to unwind that fear and learn that not all of them were evil.
And from there, other people seemed pretty easy.
Now, I’m grateful for the loud, thumping music.
People crowd around the bar, but they’re not looking to chat with me .
They’re barely able to talk to the person beside themselves without tonguing each others’ ears.
Just the way I like it.
“Artemis,” Antonio calls from the side.
I make my way to him, although it’s a little slow.
I drop off drinks along the way and collect the cash they slide me, until finally I reach the older man.
Cassandra is just behind him.
“VIP bar needs an extra set of hands… and some guidance.” He quirks his lips.
“Mel is drinking with the guests.”
I groan.
“Cassie’s replacing me here?”
“Yep.”
I nod and gesture for her to get back here.
I lean in and tell her, “Tom just went to restock garnishes, so you’re only on your own for a few more minutes.”
Antonio and I watch her settle in for a moment, but there’s really no need.
Cassandra’s been around almost as long as Bow & Arrow.
The only reason she’s not a manager is because she’s refused the promotion twice.
“You good?” he asks me.
I jerk my head up.
Bow & Arrow’s aesthetic is moody.
While the restaurant portion is light and open, with spectacular views, the club is dark.
There are different levels, with caged dancers floating above the dance floors.
Mirrors, dark marble, lights.
It’s all an illusion to keep my idea of luxury and mystery alive.
The fight club, Olympus, does the same thing in a different way.
It’s part of the draw.
People realize they’ll never uncover what’s hiding in all the shadows at this place, but it doesn’t stop them from trying.
I get to the upstairs VIP section, nodding to another of our security on my way by.
It’s almost midnight.
And as soon as I step in, I spot Mel taking a shot at one of the booths.
Fuck my life.
I head straight to the bar.
It’s quieter up here, with less demand.
Or should I say, less crowd and twice the demand.
The rich always expect more—and it’s one area I avoid as much as possible.
“Artemis! I’m so sorry.” Mel leans on the bar.
“I?—”
“Are you drunk?”
She shakes her head once.
Too fast. She’s wide-eyed, for the first time showing a speck of fear.
“Stand up straight,” I order.
She’s all dolled up to work the VIP floor.
Short dress, dark makeup.
Her stance is even on both feet—in heeled boots—and steady.
I grab a pack of mints from under the bar and toss it at her.
“If I see you drinking on the job again, you’re done. Got it?”
“Yes, ma’am. Sorry.”
Who would’ve thought I’d get ma’amed at twenty-five?
Almost twenty-five. Even more fucking disgruntled, I wave her away and focus on the man sitting alone at the bar.
“What can I get for you?” I ask, stopping in front of him.
He looks up from his phone and…
glitches? He stops moving for a long moment, just staring at me.
And I stare back. Because, one, he’s hot as fuck.
And two… he seems familiar—but not in a normal Sterling Falls way, where the locals all recognize each other on a certain level.
This is different.
The more I stare, though, the less I can narrow down how he’s familiar.
Greenish eyes, maybe hazel, and blond hair, muscular…
Where do I know him from?
“Fireball,” he says.
“And Dr. Pepper.”
I wrinkle my nose.
“Really?”
He frowns.
“I thought bartenders weren’t supposed to judge drink orders.”
“I couldn’t help myself with that one.”
He laughs.
It bursts out of him, and I don’t know how to react for a moment.
Until he stops and returns to watching me.
I just weirded out a customer.
“Coming right up.” I clear my throat and turn away.
Coming right up.
Ice.
Shot of fireball whiskey.
I fill the rest with Dr. Pepper from a can and set it down on a napkin in front of him.
He slides me a credit card.
“You want to close out now or open a tab?”
“Tab. Why’d they bring up the big guns?”
I tag his card and put it with the few others, then stop back in front of him.
“Am I the big guns?”
“You seem like you’re in charge.”
I smirk.
Mel catches my eye at the edge of the bar.
When I give her my attention, she nods toward a new incoming group.
It seems almost automatic to take stock.
They appear to be a bachelorette party, a single girl in a skimpy white dress and pink sash surrounded by equally dressed-up girls wearing black sashes across their chests.
There are a few guys in the group, too.
“Want me to take them?” Mel asks me.
I don’t have time to respond—they come straight to the bar.
And in less time than it takes to get their drink order, the rest of the bar is packed.
It’s good, though. It keeps me busy, and my mind just kind of goes staticky.
It’s exactly what I need, and three hours later, I’m sweating, my feet hurt, and all I want is to sit down.
“Last call in ten,” Antonio says over my shoulder.
He pats my back and moves past me.
“Thanks.”
I go down the remaining patrons and ask if they need anything else, finally pausing at Fireball and Dr. Pepper.
“Back again,” he says.
“Indeed. Can I get you another?”
“Only if you have one with me.” He raises an eyebrow.
“Or a drink of your choice. On me.”
I smile.
“On you, huh?”
“It’s called buying a gorgeous woman a drink.”
“Flirting?”
He smirks.
“Something like that.”
“Lucky for you, my boss would be okay with something like that .” I tip my head.
“I’ll come back once everyone is closed out.”
“Do that.”
I make myself a drink and keep it behind the bar, adding it to his tab.
Belatedly, I actually retain his name.
It’s typed in raised print on the credit card.
Reese Avery.
I squint at it.
My chest is so tight, I can’t draw in a single breath.
He can’t be… him . He’s different than how I last knew him.
Taller? Older, obviously.
More filled out.
White spots flicker around the edges of my vision, and I slowly look back over my shoulder.
“Figured me out?” he asks.
I touch my temple.
That weird feeling comes back tenfold, rearing its ugly head like a wave cresting over me.
The white spots are replaced with encroaching darkness—a sure sign that I’m about to pass out.
The last thought I have before I faint is: I never should’ve gotten out of bed today .