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Vice's expression softens, the creases around his eyes deepening. “She's a sweet girl. When will she be back?”
“Save it.” The words are sharp in the space between us. I’m not in the mood for his fatherly concern. He raises an eyebrow at my tone but simply nods.
“Will do. Gotta go,” he says, and strides away. His hasty exit catches my attention, and I scan the room, searching for the cause of his urgency. That's when I see her and my heart sinks. I don’t have the energy for this shit. Can’t the universe give me a break for one damn second?
“Hello, Walker.” Cara makes her way toward me, her voice a purr that grates on my nerves. My jaw clenches as I force a neutral expression, though every fiber of me is disgusted by her presence.
“Hello, Cara.” The words come out colder than the ice chilling the bourbon behind the bar.
She saunters closer, her hips swaying, confident and unwelcome. “You really did a number on that girl.”
My fists clench at my sides. “She just got some bad news that doesn't involve work,” I say, my voice like steel.
Cara pouts mockingly, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Aww, poor thing.” Her feigned sympathy is as transparent as glass, and it only fuels my dislike of her.
“Excuse me,” I say, sidestepping her before she can try to rope me in with whatever she's planning. She's a distraction, an annoyance, and right now, all I can think about is Isla —the tremor in her voice, the tears in her eyes.
I stride across the floor, putting distance between us, each step heavy with thoughts of Isla. Concern for her gnaws at me, and Cara's insincerity and forced flirting fade into background noise. Isla's pain, her need to escape—it's fixed in my mind, and I can't shake the feeling that I have to do something, anything, to help her.
But first, I have to deal with the present nuisance. With every inch I put between myself and Cara, I feel a fraction more in relaxed, ready to face whatever comes next.
My gaze shifts back to the bar, the polished surface reflecting my harsh expression. I need something to occupy my mind, to distract from Isla's absence. Cara's presence is a thorn in my side, her every move now a silent dare, inviting me to lose my cool and touch her. I’m much closer to firing her, to be honest. But right now, her help is a necessary evil, and my hands are frustratingly bound.
“Looks like Liam needs something.” Cara purrs the words at me, nodding toward the other end of the bar where he’s signaling me. “Maybe I can help.”
I can’t get away from her. She’s like my shadow, except too loud, too annoying, and too desperate for attention.
A pang of irritation hits me; she's been slacking off, relying on Isla to cover for her laziness. It grates on me – Isla's easygoing nature shouldn't be exploited because someone else can't carry their weight. Cara's offer to assist rings hollow, but before I can brush her off, I find myself moving toward Liam.
“Can I talk to you, boss?” Liam's voice is a welcome escape from Cara’s persistent company.
“Only if you call me Walker,” I say, trying to bring some humor to the moment and mask the worry and anger mingling deep in me. He gives a nod, the corners of his eyes crinkling with unspoken amusement.
“Do you need Cara to do anything?” My question is met with him blowing out a deep breath and ruffling the back of his neck with one hand as if he’s not sure what tasks he can even trust her with. I don’t blame him.
Liam plants both hands on the bar and leans forward. “Sure, she can do the basic prep, stack glasses, wipe tables, sanitize surfaces, get clean towels... that sort of thing.”
“Got it.” I turn back to Cara who’s still right on my heels. Fixing her with a look that warns she has no choice in the matter, I simply say, “Thank you.” The curt words seem to startle her and her eyes widen, before narrowing ever so slightly, a glint of calculation behind them.
Her game is clear, now. She thought she could coast by, charm her way into my good graces and get paid to stroke my ego, but she's sorely mistaken. My interest is non-existent, my thoughts obsessing over another. With a huff of frustration that mars her usually composed and pretty facade, Cara heads off to do what’s asked of her, her shoulders tense with indignation even though her hips still sway in that exaggeration motion designed to get all of the eyes in the room on her.
The tension leaves my body as she moves away. It's temporary relief, but I'll take it. Because right now, all I want is to figure out how to mend the pain in Isla's tear-filled eyes, and nothing else matters—not even the bitter annoyance of dealing with Cara.
As the doors open and people begin filing in, the clink of glasses and the murmur of conversations fill the space as I lean against the bar, arms crossed. Liam stands near me, taking orders and giving drinks, a frown creasing his forehead. “What happened with Isla?” he asks, scratching the stubble on his chin as if that’ll hide the worry in his voice.
I shrug. “I'm not sure. I think she received some bad news and she'll be taking some time off.”
Liam's gaze narrows slightly. “How long?”
“Can't say,” I admit, feeling the edge of frustration chewing at me. “She has my number, but we’ll be playing it by ear until I know more.” My voice is steady, but inside, I’m anything but.
*
Over the next few days, the bar runs smoothly enough, but there's a quiet, an emptiness that overshadows the clatter and laughter—a void only Isla can fill. The regulars feel it. We feel it. Only Cara seems unaffected.
I find myself reaching for my phone, writing out a quick message, my thumb hovering over her contact before pressing send. Each text I shoot her way returns with a one-word answer that tells me nothing. Fine. Okay. Busy. It's killing me—not knowing, not being able to fix or help whatever's got her world turned upside down.
Finally, I give up and call an old friend—one who owes me more than a favor or two. “Hey, it's Walker. Need a favor.”
