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At fifteen til, I step out of my car and inspect my appearance in the reflection of my driver’s side door. My black pencil skirt is still lint-free, and my striped blouse is mostly unwrinkled. All in all, I look presentable and professional. Dare I say, hire-able? I sure as hell hope so.
The inside is your typical modern steakhouse. Polished concrete floors give way to dark-colored walls—save for the ones accented in the same stone from the exterior. The ceilings are tall, and the chandeliers are extravagant. A large, curved partition conceals most of the dining room from view, but I take a quick peek. Generously sized booths, with plush leather benches—the kind that curve around the table in a half moon—make for a highly luxurious dinner spot. Maybe that’s what the plus is for…to let people know this isn’t your ordinary cowboy-style big-chain steakhouse?
A hostess in a low—and I mean very low—cut top stands behind a massive wood and stone podium. “Welcome to Buck and Lesli, how can I help you today?”
Her voice drips with sugar, the genuine kind, and it immediately sets me at ease. If everyone here’s as nice as she is, then I’ll get on just fine. “Hi, I’m Stacia. I have an interview at noon.”
Her green eyes glitter as she takes me in. “I’m Cari.” She extends a hand my way. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Thanks, you, too.”
She eyes me for a moment longer and smiles. “Oh, yeah. I think they’ll like you. C’mon, I’ll take you back to the office.”
Her statement strikes me as odd, but I follow along all the same. She leads me to the back of the restaurant, stopping in front of a matte black door that blends into the wall so well I would have completely missed it on my own.
Cari knocks and then turns to me. “Keep your chin up. Smile. Don’t let him rattle you—no matter what he says or asks, be confident.”
“Uh, thanks?” I think. Unaffected by my less than stellar gratitude, Cari smiles brightly and sashays back toward the hostess stand.
“Come in,” calls a gruff voice from behind the door. I shoulder it open and step into the dimly lit office. It takes my eyes a second to adjust, but when they do, I’m a little taken aback.
Gone is the polished, chic space of the steakhouse dining room, and in its place is quite possibly the seediest office I’ve ever seen. Black walls give way to black floors, and there’s a thin layer of smoke lingering in the air. A cluttered black desk is positioned a few feet in front of the far wall, and behind it sits the largest man I’ve ever seen. He’s tall and wide—strapping really—with a severe haircut and a massive beard, but his kind eyes temper his otherwise intimidating appearance.
“Can I help you?” he asks. He sounds like he eats gravel for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
“Hi, yes. I’m Stacia Kellan. I have an interview at noon.”
He checks something on his desk; though what, is hard to tell because there’s literally book on top of book. “Great. Take a seat.”
I do.
“Name’s Buck.” He doesn’t offer me a hand to shake, and I’m kind of okay with it, because he’d probably crush every bone in my hand with a single squeeze.
“Is there a Lesli?” I ask before I can think better of it.
His eyes spark, and his entire face comes alive. “There is. Lesli will join us in just a bit.” He glances at his desk again and then back at me, his mustache twitching. “Gotta make sure you’re worth meeting before she comes in.”
I can’t tell if he’s joking, so I say nothing at all.
“Your application doesn’t show any serving history.”
“That’s correct.”
“What’s fifteen twenty-five from forty-six fifty?”
Oh. Math. Easy. “Thirty-one twenty-five,” I say, cocking my head to the side. “Why?”
“Gotta make sure you can do basic math.” I nod, because that makes sense. “You comfortable serving men?”
I start to scrunch my nose, because what a weird question, but Cari’s earlier words ring back to me and I hold his gaze. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Ain’t my place to judge.” Buck lifts his shoulders and lets them fall. “How about if they get a little handsy? We have a no tolerance policy, but…”
“I mean, I’d rather not be fondled by patrons, but I wouldn’t shank anyone with the cutlery.”
Buck’s facial hair twitches in what I think might be a smile. “You know how to walk in heels?”
“I do.”
“You comfortable showing a little skin?”
These questions are getting a little weird, but I press on. “I’m confident in my body.”
“Tattoos or piercings?”
I quirk a brow at him. He sighs.
“How many of each?”
“Too many tattoos to count. Piercings: ears, septum, nostril, nipples, and…” I trail off, not particularly wanting to disclose my clit ring. “…Other places.”
Buck nods knowingly. “Lemme call Lesli.” He picks up a phone from somewhere on his desk and taps around on the screen. “Come on back,” he rumbles into it. Here’s to hoping that meeting Lesli is a good thing.
