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"You're going to make us crash," he teases. "You would seriously rather get in a car accident than admit we're friends?"
"It's not a bad alternative."
He holds the résumé out the window and I instantly cave.
"Okay, okay! We're friends."
Smiling triumphantly, he hands me the résumé and closes the window. "Now, was that so hard?"
I roll my eyes while trying to smooth the paper. "You crumpled it."
THE BAR LOOKS LIKEalmost any other I've been to, just maybe a little less fancy. Davi always liked going to the most prestigious places—the kind where you need to be on a guest list to get in. I didn't mind them, per se, but this one looks more like my scene. There's not many people here, but that probably has more to do with it being the middle of the day than it does the popularity of the place.
"Can I help you?" a girl with dark blonde hair asks.
I put on the best smile I can manage. "I'm Tyeler Morgan. I have an interview."
She lights up. "Oh, right. Hi. I'm McKaylah. You can come with me."
We walk past the bar where two girls stand behind it, serving the few old men who are more than likely alcoholics, and head to the back corner. McKaylah slips into one side of the booth while I take the other.
"I brought a copy of my résumé with me," I tell her as I slide it across the table.
"Oh, thanks." Her eyes graze over the paper before she chuckles. "You don't have much work experience."
Fuck. "I don't have any, honestly, but I'm a quick learner, and I'm willing to do what it takes."
She smiles. "I don't doubt that at all. I'm just wondering how you made it to almost twenty-two without needing a job."
The topic itself makes me uncomfortable. There's no easy way to explain that once my best friend and her parents saved me from the house of my childhood horrors, I never had to pay for anything, but now that she's dead and I moved across the country for revenge, I have to support myself. Yeah, there's no way that would go over well, so instead, I go with something a little less intense.
"Just got lucky, I guess," I reply with a shrug.
"I guess so."
McKaylah asks me a few questions, role playing situations that could happen with customers, as well as quizzing me on the ingredients of certain drinks. I think I answer them pretty well, if her reactions are anything to go by.
"And lastly, what's your favorite drink?"
My brows furrow. "Mine?"
She nods. "A drink can say a lot about a person, believe it or not. Don't worry. There is no right or wrong answer."
"I'd have to say tequila on the rocks.”
Pursing her lips, she hums. "Straightforward and strong. Not trying to fool anyone or mask the bitterness. Just loved for what it is."
Wow. "You got all that from a drink?"
She chuckles and slides out of the booth. "It's a practiced skill."
The two of us go over to the bar, where the other girls are giggling about something. One has long brown hair, while the other is almost the definition of a blonde bombshell. They're both gorgeous, as is McKaylah, and I'm guessing this place has a certain criteria for bartenders.
Well, as long as it makes me some money, I'll take it.
"Tyeler, this is Kennedy and Amelia," she tells me. "You'll be doing the working part of the interview with them."
The blonde one, Amelia, chuckles. "Since when do we do working interviews?"
