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“Good. Be here at two,” I instruct. “Waylon and I will get your paperwork done and familiarize you with the place. He’s new too, so you’ll both kinda be learning together.”
“Sounds good.” She looks from me to Waylon and back again. “Which of you is going to be my boss?”
“Does it matter?” Waylon asks.
“Not at all. Just want to know the pecking order.”
“Waylon will be your boss for the day-to-day operations, but ultimately, I’m your employer,” I explain. “You’ll answer to him unless I tell you otherwise.”
“Okay.” Skye stands. “Thank you for the opportunity. I’m looking forward to working here.”
After she and Waylon exit the office, I settle back into my chair. I finally accomplished what Soul wanted me to accomplish: hire a manager and new bartender. And while Skye might be perfect for Purgatory, I’m not so sure she’ll be good for me.
I want her too badly.
CHAPTER 2
SKYE
PRESENT DAY…
“Hey Skye, can I get a beer?”
Purgatory is bursting at the seams tonight. There are wall-to-wall bodies in here, but somehow, Spike managed to push his way through the sea of bodies. I pull an ice-cold mug out of the cooler and place it under the tap of his favorite lager.
“Here you go!” I hand it to him.
“How’d you remember what I wanted?” he asks, perplexed. “There’ve been people who’ve worked here for years who don’t remember what the fuck I like.”
I tap my temple. “Good memory, I guess.”
Spike smirks and tips me for his drink. “What are you do?—”
“Hey!” A greasy-haired, pot-belly man waves his hand in front of my face. “Why don’t you quit flirting and get me a fucking drink? I’ve been waiting for ten goddamn minutes.”
Spike’s eyes narrow, and his smile is replaced with a sneer. He opens his mouth, but I lay my hand on his arm. His eyes meet mine, and I shake my head. It’s my job to ensure all the patrons are cared for. That means playing nice even when I want to throat-punch them for being douchebags.
“What can I get ya?” I ask, plastering a smile on my face.
“About damn time,” he mutters. “A fucking beer, bitch. Is your job that difficult?”
Wrong thing to say, buddy.
Spike pushes away from the bar, but before he can do anything, I use one hand to grab the dickhead customer by his shirt and yank him close while pulling my butterfly knife out of my back pocket with the other. I stab it into the bar top right in front of the guy’s face.
“Call me a bitch again, and you’re not gonna have to worry about the man next to you because I’ll cut off your tiny dick and feed it to you myself.”
Spike crosses his arms and glares at the man in my grasp. His lip curls in a way that says, ‘try me motherfucker’.
The bastard whips his head back and forth between me and Spike. His Adam’s apple bobs, and sweat gather above his brow.
“S-s-sorry,” he stutters.
“That’s better.” I push him back and pull my knife out of the wood. “Now, what can I get you?”
“Beer,” he replies, and I raise my brow. “Beer, please?”
“Sure thing.” I pop the top off a long neck and hand it to him. “Six dollars.”
