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“Hey! Brooke, right?”
I shove my phone beneath the podium with superhuman speed, slightly embarrassed to have been caught using it during my shift. Brian has threatened to chop fingers off if he catches us on them around the members. Fortunately, when I glance up, it’s just one of the club’s bartenders standing on the other side of the podium. I hardly recognize him outside of his usual post behind the dining room’s mahogany bar, but his silver tie provides a helpful reminder. All the bartenders wear them. Beside it, his nametag proclaims him to be Garrett.
“Hey, yeah.” I smile. “What’s up?”
I glance to my right, where the dining room sprawls out before me. Surely I haven’t already done something wrong. If I have, Ellie is going to kill me.
His smile turns crooked as he inches closer to the podium and lowers his voice.
“I know this is last minute, and you don’t even know me, but I was wondering if you might be able to help me out.”
My smile fades slightly. This dude is about to ask me to stay late. I can feel the request seeping out of his pores. He’s going to beg, I know it, and then, of course, he does. Apparently Garrett has a “hot date” that he “really can’t miss”. It’s with a woman he’s been pursuing for months, and she’s finally giving him the time of day. I feel for him, I do, but closing is for the birds, and I have plans with some cheap wine and a cookie—oh, that’s right. I gave away my only excuse. What is it with men today?
“Garrett, I’d love to help you out, but—”
“Brooke, please. I’ll pick up a shift for you! You name the day and I’ll do it!”
It’s sweet of him to offer, but somehow I don’t think our members would enjoy seeing him traipse around the pool in a pleated skirt quite as much as he thinks. Unfortunately, I’d have to help him out with no promise of anything in return. Who does he think I am, Mother freaking Teresa?
But seeing a grown man beg is kind of awkward, and there are members walking in the door behind him. I don’t want him to cause a scene, so before I fully realize what I’m doing, I agree and shoo him back to the bar.
“You’re the best! Thank you!”
As it turns out, I am not the best. I am a sad sap, which Ellie confirms when I ask her what closing duties entail.ELLIE: NO! Why did you agree?! You need to get out of that ASAP. Do you have any idea what that means?I have no clue. Ellie does though, and she wastes no time informing me over a string of texts.
Basically, the club closes at 10 PM, but in reality, it closes when the last member decides to leave, and for top-paying members—the men and women whose perks extend well beyond the standard service—the doors are open 24/7.ELLIE: You’re going to be there all night! Tell Garrett to go screw himself! I bet he doesn’t even have a date!I glance up and lock eyes with Garrett behind the bar. He layers his hands over his heart and mouths another thank-you. I want to heed Ellie’s directions, but the guy seems earnest, and what if he actually is going on a date? What if it’s his potential soul mate? I’m selfish, but standing in the way of love just seems evil.
I wave back to him and toss my phone back beneath the podium with a grumble. The next time there’s a break in guests, I head to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. Apparently, it’s going to be a long night.
I’m not away from my post for more than a minute, and yet by the time I step back into the dining room, I spot the James Ashwood and his guests waiting at an empty hostess podium.
“Oh come on!” I hiss under my breath.
I pick up my pace right away, all but running across the room. Coffee spills across the front of my dress, but there’s no time to worry about the smell of burning flesh because James Ashwood is watching me (AHHH!), and I’m watching Brian as he darts across the room in a mad dash to get to the podium. If he gets there before I do, I might as well clear out my locker right now…which wouldn’t be so bad considering I hate this place, but I don’t have another job. I can’t get fired yet.
Thankfully, the spare tire around Brian’s waist slows him down more than my high heels. I make it to the podium a few seconds before him.
“Good evening,” I say, embarrassed by how exerted I am.
I work out, so I shouldn’t be breathing like some sort of creepy man hovering over people’s shoulders on the bus, but I attribute it to nerves. James Ashwood is standing a few feet away, and I’m smiling at him while the skin on my stomach sizzles.
