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“This is Juliet,” I reply tentatively, not recognizing the voice of the caller.
He breathes what sounds almost like a sigh of relief. “Juliet, this is Jason Markum, the manager down at Jokers. We met this afternoon.”
“Right,” I chirp, straightening my posture as if he can see me through the phone. When I left my interview this afternoon, the manager told me he’d be in touch about the job, but I didn’t expect it to be this soon. “What can I do for you, Mr. Markum?”
“Jason,” he corrects. “Look, I know this is last-minute, but we’re short staffed as it is and one of my cocktail servers didn’t show up for her shift tonight,” he rushes out. I can hear the stress bleeding into his voice, even through all of the intrusive background noise. “Do you still want the job? If you can get here in the next twenty minutes, it’s yours.”
“Wow, really?!” I ask excitedly, gripping the phone tighter in my palm.
“So is that a yes?”
“Yes!” I practically squeal. “I’ll uh…” my voice trails off as I suddenly realize that I don’t actually have a way to get to the club. But hell, I’m resourceful. I’ll figure it out. I’ll take a damn cab if I have to. “I’ll be there soon,” I finish, grinning from ear to ear.
“Use the entrance around back, Max will be there to let you in.”
I open my mouth to respond and to thank him for the opportunity, but the line goes dead, indicating that he’s hung up. I guess phone etiquette is an afterthought when you’ve got a busy club to manage.
Shit, I still need to figure out how to get there.
As if I’ve somehow telepathically summoned her with an SOS, that’s when Shay shows up at my bedroom door, knocking on it softly to announce her presence before letting herself in.
“You about ready to go?” she asks as she steps inside, giving a low whistle when she sets eyes on me. “Girl, that skirt is fucking criminal.”
She’s right- the tight black miniskirt I’m wearing is probably the shortest one I own, and paired with the black stilettos on my feet, it gives my bare suntanned legs the illusion of being impossibly long. No time to discuss clothes, though, because if I don’t get to Jokers soon, I can kiss this job opportunity goodbye.
“Change of plans,” I say breathlessly, crossing the room to Shay. “Do you have a car? I got a call from the manager at Jokers and if I can be there in twenty minutes, I’ve got the job.”
“Wait, really?!” Shay squeals, reaching out to grab my hands, her enthusiasm matching mine. “I don’t have one, but Sam does. I’ll go grab the keys!”
She whips around in a blur of black and fuchsia hair, sprinting out the door, and five minutes later we’re sitting side by side in Sam’s red Dodge Charger, speeding out of the underground parking garage and toward downtown. Shay and I chat excitedly the whole way while she breaks a few traffic laws to get me there on time. She promises to call the girls and reroute everyone to Jokers tonight instead of Hydra so I have moral support for my first day on the job, and before I know it, we’re pulling up behind the building with a only a minute to spare.
“Thank you so much, girl. I owe you one,” I breathe, unbuckling my seatbelt and throwing the passenger door open.
“Good luck!” Shay calls as I step out, tossing me a wink when I twist to push the door closed behind me.
I turn back around and blow her a kiss over my shoulder, swaying my hips exaggeratedly as I strut up to the back entrance of the club and raise a hand to knock. Before my knuckles even make contact with the metal door, a big burly guy pulls it open, staring down at me from the other side assessingly. “You Juliet?”
I smile brightly, raising a hand and twitching my fingers in a little wave. “That’s me!”
He doesn’t return my smile. If anything, his frown deepens as he steps aside, flicking his head to beckon me to enter.
I step over the threshold and glance around, taking in the painted cinderblock walls and concrete stairwell. Not the glamorous ‘behind the scenes’ view of the club I was expecting.
“Manager’s office is up top,” the big guy provides, nodding toward the staircase. “Jason’s waiting for you.”
“Thanks!” I reply cheerfully, unaffected by his surly demeanor because holy crap- I can’t believe I’m here right now! It’s all happening so fast that my brain has barely had time to process it.
Going to that interview today was a completely impulsive move. I came to Denver to get an education, not a job at a nightclub. It’s not as if I need to work to pay my way through school or anything, and my family would flip if they found out. It honestly just sounded fun, so I went for it, never expecting that I’d be back here less than twelve hours later about to start my first shift. Part of the reason I came to Denver was to seek life experience, right? Getting a job totally fits the mission.
Gripping the cold metal railing, I start up the staircase toward the manager’s office. I’m definitely second-guessing this skirt now, because it’s highly likely that I’m giving the door guy a show on my way up. I don’t hazard a backwards glance to check.
There’s a single door at the top of the stairs, and my knock echoes through the stairwell as I rap my knuckles against it. A few moments later, Jason pulls it open, looking relieved when he sees me standing on the other side.
“Good, you made it,” he breathes, ushering me inside with the wave of a hand. I follow his cue, taking in my surroundings with wide eyes as I enter. The office is impressive. Large windows line one of the walls, providing a full view of the club below, and the room is comfortably furnished with a seating area on one side and a large wooden desk on the other. A small bar is set up in the corner with glass decanters containing various liquors, an abandoned tumbler of amber liquid resting near the edge.
Thisis the glamorous view of the club from the inside that I was expecting when I turned up tonight. It doesn’t disappoint.
Jason paces past me toward the other side of the room, leaving me to watch after him as he approaches a filing cabinet behind the desk.
