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“What?” I ask, prying her hand from my arm before she bruises it.
“They want to come over toLa Oficina! Karl said he wants to party, but the band didn’t want to go out because they don’t feel like dealing with fans all night.”
“You think they won’t have fans atLa Oficina? I’m pretty sure they’ll get recognized anywhere they go.”
“Yeah, but you have that private party room. I told them I know a bar with a private room and discreet staff, and they could go there. Karl is all for it. Fritz agreed. Please tell me it’s not booked tonight.”
“No, it’s not, but—” Mandy stops listening to me then as she turns to give Karl a thumbs up.
“Mandy, focus,” I say. “I think Brenner and I got off on the wrong foot. I doubt he’ll want to go to my bar—”
“Oh, they said he probably won’t go. He rarely goes out drinking with the band.”
Leave it to Mandy to know all the inner workings of a band she met only minutes ago.
“I don’t know,” I say. Rock bands are notorious for property damage and rowdy behavior.La Oficinaisn’t that kind of bar, and I don’t want it getting the wrong reputation.
My typical customers are hospital staff or the families of patients. They come to celebrate new babies or near-death recoveries. Sometimes they come to mourn. But all of it is a mellow sort of vibe—the local watering hole. I always knew what kind of ambiance I wanted my place to be, and high-profile expensive clients don’t quite fit the bill.
“Come on!” Mandy whines. “Think about it. You’ll make a killing from them alone.”
Mandy makes an excellent point, and I’m not renting out the private room tonight, so I am fresh out of excuses for her.
“Let me text Joe so he can get things ready—”
“Really? This is amazing! I’m going to party withIndustrial November!” Mandy all but squeals.
I shake my head at this strong, beautiful woman reduced to teenage antics as she fangirls over the German band. “Tell them to use the back entrance. I’ll leave empty boxes they can lift to cover their faces and carry them into the private room so no one will see them go in. They’ll pass for staff.”
“You’re brilliant!” Mandy gives me a peck on the cheek and is about to run off when I stop her.
“Hey, we should get going. I need to be there to help get ready for them.”
Mandy shoots me a wicked grin. “No worries. I’m going with the band.”
* * *
As I speed-walk to Bonnie,I text Joe about the private party, leaving out the details about who exactly our VIP guests are. I don’t need another fumbling idiot beside me. If I wait on the private room, no one else in the bar needs to know who is there. I’ll let Joe know at the end of the night before they leave so he can meet them.
* * *
When they arrive,Mandy beams at me as she goes into the private room, followed by the band members, who all carry in boxes and successfully enter the bar under the radar. So successful is my brilliant plan that I don’t catch that one of the men carrying a box is Brenner Reindhart—the ass. I don’t notice him until I go into the room to take drink orders.
The private room has six tables, and they are packed with the band, their security detail, and various groupies, including Mandy. The only band member not present is the drummer—Adrian, I think.
“What can I get you all to drink?” I ask, ready to start jotting down orders.
“Just get us a bottle of vodka and a bottle of tequila for every table. Waters for everyone too,” Brenner says, not looking at me.
“I’ll have a beer,” Mandy adds.
“And a beer for the lady,” Brenner says, smiling at Mandy, letting his eyes linger on her. “All on my tab,” he adds, still looking at her. He never turns to look at me during the exchange. When he lifts his credit card in the air and waits for me to grab it without so much as a ‘thank you,’ I decide I’ll be over-charging him out the ass for his arrogant entitlement. I can’t believe he had the gall to call me rude when he behaves like this to waitstaff.
When I return, clutching a tray of water glasses and shot glasses, the mention of my name stops me in my tracks outside the entrance to the private room.
“So, what’s the deal with that girl who came to the concert with you?” the voice I recognize as Fritz asks. “The hot one with the short black hair. The one who took our order.”
“Sofia,” Mandy says. “She’s a friend. I kind of dragged her out tonight.”
