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“Guess I'm her maid now, too.” I release a pent-up breath as I rinse another cup and line it up to dry. The unfairness of all of it gnaws at me. More work for me, more time Liam has to cover the floor because I'm tied up here, and the rest of the team picking up slack that isn’t theirs to pick up. All because Cara's too busy trying to trap Walker, who seems oblivious to the imbalance she's causing.
I try to shake off the frustration. I need to keep my head down and do the job, not get caught up in whatever game Cara is playing, or drama, or petty behaviors. But even as I try, my eyes betray me, flicking back to Walker, to the curve of Cara's back as she laughs at something he says softly too close to her ear. The way her hand lingers just a second too long on his arm.
“Damn it,” I say, the heat from the water nothing compared to the sting simmering under my skin. It's not my place to feel this way. I have to remember that. I just work here, I’m just trying to finish school, get my degree, and get through what life throws at me. I don’t have the luxury of distractions—especially not ones wrapped in tight dresses and flirtatious smiles.
I plunge my hands back into the soapy abyss, determined to scrub away the unwelcome feelings along with the remnants of lipstick-stained glasses. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to wash away the image of Cara clinging to Walker like she belongs on his arm and at his side.
“Stay out of it.” I remind myself. “It's none of my business.” But as I glance once more at the pair, my resolve wavers, and I realize with a sinking feeling that I might already be in too deep.
The suds build up around my wrists as I scrub with a vigor that would make my grandmother proud. From the corner of my eye, I catch Walker leaning against the bar, his arms crossed, a picture of nonchalant power. Cara is there, too, her body language all curves and whispers, and I can't shake the sense that she's trying to get something out of him.
“Need a hand?” The voice startles me, a jolt of adrenaline spiking through my veins before I register who it belongs to.
I glance over, almost sloshing water onto the floor, to find Vice standing a few feet away, an unreadable expression on his face. Heat floods my cheeks, not from the steam rising off the sink but from being caught watching Cara and Walker. “No, thanks, I've got this.” I attempt a smile that probably looks more like a scowl.
“Are you sure?” Vice cocks an eyebrow, and I can tell he knows exactly what I was doing.
“Positive.” My voice is firmer now, a little cold, even to my own ears. I need to get a grip; getting flustered over a man who isn’t my boyfriend isn't like me. I don’t know why I feel drawn to Walker, but I need to nip it in the bud, now.
Vice shrugs, seemingly collected, and shifts his gaze back to Walker. “He's a good guy, under it all,” he says casually, as if we're discussing the weather.
“Don't let him hear you say that,” I say in a teasing voice, returning my focus to the dishes.
To my surprise, Vice chuckles—a deep, genuine sound that resonates in the space between us. “You're right, he'd be offended.”
“So, what's your angle?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at him in suspicion. Why is Vice, Walker's notorious right-hand man, suddenly playing confidant?
“No angle.” He holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Just an observation. You know, most people don't get him.”
“Maybe they don't want to.” The words slip out before I can stop them. But it's true; Walker's reputation precedes him, and it's easier to keep your head down than try to understand the quick-to-anger boss who could make or break you with a single word.
“Perhaps. Or maybe he doesn’t want them to.” Vice's gaze lingers on me for a second longer before he steps back. “I'll be around if you need me.”
“Thanks,” I say, although I'm not sure what I'm thanking him for. Then again, the offer of help is more than Cara offers, and she actually works here. As I watch him walk away, his confidence clear in every step, I turn back to the sink, my thoughts a tangled mess.
Why am I getting involved? Why does it matter if Walker's a good guy or not? And why does Cara's obvious attempt to get in Walker’s good graces bother me so much? I shake my head, dismissing the questions. They're distractions, and I can't afford those—not when I have glasses to clean and a life to put together, piece by piece. Even though my grades are all A’s now, I can’t afford to slip up or get sidetracked.
I can’t help but steal a glance toward the bar, where Walker's easy smile sends a jolt of unease through me. The curve of his lips, usually so stoic and unreadable, now plays along with Cara's playfulness. My stomach winds up so tight I can feel my lunch backing up my throat like I’m going to be sick. He's fascinated by her, I can tell—even from this distance, even with the light noises of the opening crew getting things ready to open the doors.
I try to ignore them, scrubbing harder at a stubborn lipstick stain. It's been one day—just a single shift—and here she is, burrowing her way into our work lives and relationships like she's always been part of them. Vice, who's usually impassive as stone, watches her with a curiosity that borders on amusement. Liam, ever the stoic bartender, sneaks glances between preparing for opening time. And the bouncers, they're no better; their gazes linger too long, betraying their fascination.
A sudden movement catches my eye—Walker's eyes lock onto mine across the crowded space. There's something there, a flicker of... what? Recognition? Concern? I can't decode it before Vice leans in, saying something to Cara that makes her throw back her head and laugh. The sound cuts through the low volume of the room, drawing the attention of every man in the vicinity.
The glass in my hand slips, the soapy surface like cooking oil in my grip. It clangs against the stainless steel basin, ringing out a loud, accusing gunshot-volume sound that makes me flinch. Heat floods my cheeks as I realize all eyes have turned to me. My chest constricts, and I want to vanish, to melt into the shadows where I can die and never been seen again, alone.
“Is everything okay over there?” Walker's voice meets my ears, and I peek at him. His gaze is unwavering, locked on me, even as Cara tries to snag his attention.
“It’s fine,” I say in a strangled voice. “It just slipped.” I force a laugh, but it's brittle. I need to regain control of myself and not let this... situation rule me.
“Careful,” he says with a hint of amusement, “those glasses are more fragile than they look.”
“Same,” I say under my breath, praying no one heard me as the conversations begin to start back up.
But a moment later, Walker’s voice is low and he’s beside me. “Let me help,” he says, but I wave him off. I don’t want to risk him noticing how much I'm affected by him, how unlike Cara I am—I’m not charming, flirtatious, or the center of everyone's universe for a day or forever.
“I can wash dishes,” I say, straightening up and checking the glass for any cracks or imperfections. Thankfully, it’s fine and I flash him a quick smile, hoping it looks more convincing than it feels. I don't need his help, or for him to rescue me.
I turn back to the sink, my hands working mechanically. But inside, my thoughts are a mess, each one going back to the image of Walker's smile, the sound of Cara's laughter, the look in Vice's eyes.
