Page 2 of His Kidnapped Irish Mafia Virgin

Every locker had a number on it. There were aprons folded up on a shelf next to new order pads in one basket and used ones in another. Someone had put pens in a coffee mug on the counter. The staff room was organized enough that I felt even more out of place.

When I went out into the hallway, I noticed more of the same. Empty trays were stacked up beside the kitchen doors and clean trays were kept near the bar. The staff always went into the kitchen through one door and came out through another one. Nobody had to tell anyone where to go. They just knew.

They moved around each other like a choreographed dance. If I could learn the steps, maybe I wouldn’t feel so out of place. I fixed my apron one more time, took a deep breath, and followed the sound of people talking back to the bar.

I hoped that my feet would cooperate with the heels enough for me to get through my first night of work at the bar. The moment I stepped back onto the floor, the bar felt even busier than it had minutes ago. Every member of staff knew where they needed to be. I stood there wondering how anyone could possibly remember where they were supposed to go.

A man carrying three dinner plates slowed down when he saw me standing near the service station. He adjusted the plates in his hands.

“You must be Nora,” he said.

News travels fast in this place.

“I’m Ethan,” he said. “Come on. I’ll show you around before this place gets even busier. The kitchen is through those doors,” he said, pointing ahead. “Food comes out on the left window and goes back through the right. The bartenders handle all the drinks. If you need something from behind the counter, ask. Don’t reach for it.”

I nodded. He pointed toward a fridge tucked beside the hallway and glanced back at me. “That’s where we keep staff drinks,” he said. “You can help yourself during your break. Just don’t take a customer’s drink by mistake. It happens more often than you think.”

I let out a laugh before I could stop it. “I’ll remember that,” I said.

“I’m sure you will,” Ethan replied.

As I kept walking with Ethan, I found myself paying attention to little things. Empty glasses quickly went back toward the bar and fresh drinks followed them immediately. Servers carried two pens tucked neatly into their apron pockets.

“You okay?” Ethan asked. My cheeks turned red as I looked back at him. “You’ve been watching everybody.”

I was feeling okay, but still a little overwhelmed. Before I could say anything, another server came over.

“Ethan, stop talking. Let the girl breathe.” She had a stack of menus under her arm.

“I was helping,” Ethan said.

She rolled her eyes, then turned to me. “I’m Chloe. It’s nice to meet you.” She handed me an order pad and two pens. “Keep these with you. You’ll use them all night. Don’t worry much; everyone survives their first Friday.” A group of customers came in, and another big group followed them.

The bar got louder. People were all talking at once. Chairs scraped against the floor. The calm atmosphere was completely gone.

“Nora!” Chloe called. “Table six needs water. Clear table nine when they leave. Then check if table twelve wants another round.” I repeated the table numbers in my head, picked up a tray, and stepped onto the floor. The first hour was a blur. I filled water glasses, cleared plates, and took drink orders. I said sorry whenever I thought I was moving slowly. I almost bumped into another server a few times, but everyone was nice about it.

After a while, I started to get the hang of it. I didn’t have to think about where the kitchen was or which side of the bar to go to. My feet still hurt in the heels, but I was starting to feel better. I thought I might actually make it through my first night.

Then one of the bartenders called my name. He put a pitcher of beer on the counter and pointed to a table across the room. “Can you take this to table fourteen?” he asked.

“Yes.” I wrapped my hands around the handle. The pitcher was heavier than it looked.

As I walked, the beer swayed gently against the glass. My heels still didn’t feel right, but I kept my pace steady and watched where I was going. Table fourteen wasn’t far away. I could see the group laughing and making room for the pitcher.

All I had to do was get the pitcher to them without spilling it. It sounded easy, but the crowded floor made every step feel hard. I adjusted my grip on the handle and reminded myself not to rush.

Then a couple stood up from a table and another server hurried past me. I swerved to avoid bumping into them, and my heel landed awkwardly on the floor. It wasn’t enough to make me fall, but it was enough to throw me off-balance. The pitcher tilted forward before I could stop it.

Cold beer poured over the rim, soaking the man standing in front of me. The beer splashed onto the floor around his boots. The pitcher slipped lower in my hands, and I tightened my grip just in time to stop it from crashing to the ground.

My heart stopped beating as I stared at the mess I’d made. Beer dripped from his T-shirt onto the floor. His leather jacket was shiny beneath the lights.

He looked different from the other men in the room. He was taller than any of them, with a solid build that made the leather jacket sit snugly across his shoulders. A few strands of dark hair had fallen across his forehead, and the stubble along his jaw gave him a rougher appearance than the neatly dressed men around him.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,” I said. I reached for the napkins on the table and tried to wipe the beer from his jacket. Then I realized I shouldn’t be touching him, so I pulled my hand back. My face burned with embarrassment.

“I’m so sorry. I wasn’t paying attention. I mean, I was paying attention. I just...I’m really sorry,” I said.