Chapter 1
Wesley
Present Day
I wipe down a glass as a new person shows up at the bar, waving their hands to get my attention. Placing it down, I approach the cute woman with round glasses in a sexy purple mini-dress.
“What can I getcha’?” I ask, leaning in to hear her over the loud music playing on the speakers.
“I’d like a Sazerac, please,” she says, leaning against the bar.
I pull back, giving her a nod, and make the drink.
After the bar I was working at in New York burned down, I decided it was time for a change. Not only did I move out of New York, but I moved out of the country. Having dual citizenship in Canada via my mom became an advantage when I found a job in Vancouver. I’ve been working here at Sweet Cocktails for roughly a year.
It’s a pretty nice city. You see the same hustle and bustle in New York, but everyone is a bit more polite in Vancouver. Most people in New York are too busy or not interested in talking to you, so they just pass by you. Here in Vancouver, I’ve gotten more “Hello’s” walking to work in a week than I ever did in New York. It was new and kind of nice. It’s something that I’ve gotten used to over the year that I’ve been here.
I start the drink by rinsing a chilled glass with absinthe. In another glass, I pour an ounce and a half of whiskey, half an ounce of cognac, a quarter of an ounce of simple syrup, and then a dash of some bitters. I then add some ice to the glass and mix it briefly before getting a strainer and pouring the red liquid into the chilled glass. Afterwards I get a strip of lemon, twist it, then rub it around the rim before setting it in the glass and handing it to the lady.
The smile on her face says it all. She likes it. And I like that she likes it. Being a bartender used to be just a job for me, and it still is, but in the midst of working, I found myself loving the job—making cocktails and drinks. The creativity of it. I could possibly get that creative satisfaction somewhere else, but at least here, I’d get paid as well.
Another person returns to the bar and asks for a refill on their whiskey. At that moment, someone catches my eye. I look up at the second floor of the bar. Behind a gold railing, I see Pierce Donnelley, my new boss, staring down at me with his piercing blue eyes and hard stare.
The ex-manager was replaced just over four months ago with the one guy I thought I’d never see again.
Pierce Fucking Donnelley.
My one-night stand from six months ago.
I didn’t even know he lived here, but apparently, he moved for this job right after I met him.
I was shocked, to say the least, but that shock turned to anger when I got a minute alone with him, and he said he didn’t know me. I mean, the guy was inside me, and he doesn’t remember me?
The nerve.
I remember that moment like it was yesterday. Our manager, Alex Faulkner, brought all the bartenders up to meet the new boss, and my jaw was on the floor when I saw who it was.
“This is your new boss, Pierce Donnelley,” Alex says as I walk into his office, which he was turning over to Pierce as his new office.
A man stands up from a chair, and just from the back, I know who it is. I know it's him just off of the scent of him that wafts my way as he stands.
Pierce.
“Hello. My name is Pierce Donnelley. It’s nice to meet you,” he says, sticking out his hand to me.
I don’t move. I can’t.
Wait? He’s my new boss? And why is he introducing himself to me? He was literally inside me two months ago.
Pierce's eyes narrow and he moves on to Marco, another bartender standing next to me. They shake hands, and then he introduces himself to Derek, Tony, and Marie.
They are all talking about something. The questions circling in my mind are drowning out their voices. Mostly, I’m thinking of the odds. What are the odds out of every person on earth that he would be my new boss?
By the time introductions are done, everyone leaves the office. But I’m still stuck in place. When the door closes, I shake my head and then walk over to Pierce who’s about to leave the office as well.
“Yes?” he asks, seemingly confused about what I’m still doing here. “Do you need something?”
“Dude,” I say, my arms out like I’m getting ready for a hug or something.
Okay, you could have done better than “Dude,” dude.
“Excuse me?” Pierce narrows his eyes and I feel a little ball of anger forming in my gut.
“What are you doing? It’s me. Wesley. From the bar in New York? It was only a couple of months ago. You couldn’t have possibly forgotten it already.”
“I’m sorry, but I have no idea who you are. Maybe you’ve mistaken me for someone else,” he says, walking past me and opening the door.
He holds the door open for me, indicating that I must leave, too. And I do. Because I don’t know what else to say. So I walk past him—and his heady cologne—and head downstairs to where all the bartenders are chatting.
I brushed it off after that, thinking that maybe it wasn’t as memorable for him as it was for me. But some part of me thinks he’s lying. Something about the way he keeps looking at me from his perch on the second floor.
He watches me—more than the other bartenders. I’ve noticed that when I flirt with the customers, he gets mad. But I’m not sure why. The last manager didn’t mind, in fact, he told me it was good for business.
Is he jealous?
I don’t know him well enough to be sure, but if he is the type and remembers me, perhaps he does. But he says he doesn’t remember, and I’ll have to take his word for it at some point.
Every time he asks, well more like demands, I go into his office, I ask him if he’s sure he doesn’t know me.
I get the same answer every time.
“No.”
I don’t know why I keep asking. Maybe because I can’t believe it. Or perhaps because I don’t want to think I’m crazy. It is the same guy. I just know it. And I don’t know about the rest of the world, but if I had mind-blowing sex with someone, I wouldn’t forget who it was with.
At some point, I gave up. But that doesn’t explain why he’s picking on me.
Pierce treats me differently than the other guys. He’s harder on me even though I’ve been working here longer than the other guys. And I’m not an idiot. I know how to be a bartender.
At around 10:30 p.m., I take a small break and head to the break room for a bottle of water and a snack. There are generally two of us at the bar at one time unless it’s a weekend or a holiday, and then there are three of us. Marco is usually the one with me. We’ve become pretty good buddies, and we work well together. We can put on a show for the people, tossing bottles and shit, and it gets the crowd pumped, which makes them buy more drinks and overall benefits us all.
I sigh, taking my first seat since I got to work.
I’ve always been a night owl, so the hours aren’t bad, but being on my feet for multiple hours can be challenging. I work out quite often, so I’m not out of shape. I look down at the brown loafer that I wear every night.
I blame the shoes.
The old manager had a specific way he liked his bartenders to dress, and Pierce didn’t bother changing the rules. White button-ups, slacks in dark colours, and dress shoes or loafers. The bar even gives us money to buy the clothes. Which, considering the prices of some of these items, is a relief. I hear the door to the breakroom open and close, and then I hear the sound of a chair scraping on the floor.
I look up to see Derek sporting a smile from ear to ear.
“What’s up?” he says, slapping me on the leg.
“Nothing much,” I say slowly. Judging by the way his knee is bouncing and the light in his eyes, he wants to say something. Generally, I don’t particularly appreciate talking during my break, but he looks like he’s about to burst.
“What?” I ask.
“I got it in,” he whispers like it’s a secret.
“Got what?” I ask, confused.
“I got into UBC!” he says excitedly.
Derek is in his late thirties and never went to college. A few months ago, he said he wanted to finish his education but thought he couldn’t. He didn’t have the resources or the time, but I guess that’s changed.
“That’s great,” I say, giving him a slap on the shoulder. “Tell me all about it,” I ask, both because I care and because it means I don’t have to talk.
He tells me all about his courses and that his wife got a high-paying job which will allow him to go to school and get a higher paying job afterward. I’m happy for him. Whenever I’ve seen him, he’s always had his nose in a book. He’s smart, but you can only get so far without a degree. I guess they won’t just take your word for it.
In college, I took biology. I didn’t know what I wanted, but my parents wanted me to attend school. I’m glad I did. Minus my love life, it went well for me. Got an excellent education that I didn’t end up using, but I know that I have a backup plan in case this all goes to pot.
I check my watch and see that it's time to get back out there. Tossing my wrapper into the garbage, I finish my water and head out.
The crowd is really intense now. From around 11 p.m. to 1 a.m., everything is busy, even on weekdays. As I pour a drink for a man, I catch someone out of the corner of my eye at the bar. I see that it's my childhood friend, Minnie.
“Fuck,” I say under my breath.
I haven’t seen Minnie since I moved from New York, where we both grew up. We’ve been attached to the hip since we were in diapers, but since I moved across the continent, we haven’t seen each other. I approach her, leaning down to give her a weird half-hug.
She gives me a huge smile. She always had the biggest smile. It helps that she has a bit of a big mouth, or maybe you’d call it wide. Either way, when she’s happy, I’m guaranteed a radiant smile.
“I can’t believe you’re here!” I shout over the loud sounds.
“I know. I can’t either! I was going to call you and tell you I was coming, but I thought I’d surprise you instead,” she shouts back.
“Listen, I’m in the middle of my shift, but I’d love to talk. How about you stick around, and when it starts to quiet, then we can talk? Or maybe when my shift is done. Whichever comes first.”
Minnie nods, then she heads to a booth with a beer, and I get back to work.
The rest of the night goes by pretty slowly. Figures since it’s always when you want the day to end that it decides to slow the fuck down. But at about 1:30, things start to cool, and only a few drunk people and some others left.
Minnie comes back and takes a seat at the almost empty bar. I grab a towel and wipe it down as I make my way to my friend.
“So…” Minnie says. “I see you got yourself a job. Good for you,” she says sarcastically.
Ever since we were kids, I’ve always been the one who wasn’t interested in getting a job. I wanted to play, go out, and have fun. I thought jobs sucked out the soul. Then adulthood hit me, and I realized without a job, I’d be genuinely fucked. Thankfully, I like this job.
“Very funny, Minnie.” I slap her with the towel and she giggles.
She’s got on her usual red and white polka dot glasses and is wearing a pair of black jeans and an off-the-shoulder purple sweater. She looks super pretty.
I’ve known Minnie for so long that she’s become like a sister to me. I’m an only child to a single mom, so it was nice to know someone I could have fun with. Plus, it gave my mom a break since it meant that whenever I wanted to play, it was with Minnie.
“So, how have you been?” I ask, leaning over the bar.
“Pretty good. Actually, I’m moving here.”
“What?” I gasp, a smile pulling at my face.
“Yeah, at the Vancouver Chronicle. I’m so fucking happy. Not so happy with the fact I have to do a ton of visa stuff to get the job but I’m happy I can start actually using my journalism degree.” She laughs.
Since graduating college over a decade ago, Minnie hasn’t been able to get a job working at a newspaper, which is what she wants. Instead, to pay off the school debt, she’s been a waitress and then worked for a blogger. She wasn’t the blogger but an assistant.
“That’s great,” I say. Then her happy smile starts to fade and is replaced by her “oh shit” smile.
“What's wrong?” I hold my hands over hers as she grasps the beer bottle she’s been nursing for an hour.
“Oh, nothing. I just… I have nowhere to stay. My apartment fell through. I only found out when I got here. I have a hotel room for tonight, but after that, I’m kind of fucked.”
“Well, why didn’t you say something? You can stay with me. I have two bedrooms at my place. You can stay as long as you like.”
“Oh, come on. I can’t take over your space. You know I come with a crap ton of boxes and shit.”
“It’s nothing. Seriously, it’s fine. Where’s your stuff now?”
Minnie does come with a lot of baggage—the literal kind. But she’s always been there for me, and I want to be there for her. Even if my apartment gets filled with a million boxes.
“The movers will be here in a couple of days, and some of my stuff is being sent by mail, so I have no idea when they’ll show up.”
“That’s fine. I have a storage unit and lots of room. It’s cool.”
“Are you sure?” she asks.
I can see in her eyes she really wants me to say yes.
“Of course, Minnie. What are friends for?”