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Chapter Three
Bathroom run complete and another round of spilled drinks cleaned up, Ollie silently cursed Cassie for saddling her with this dumb shift.It’s for the money, she repeated, replacing her earlier orgasm mantra for this one. If that wasn’t enough, a patron so very politely said she’d look beautiful if she smiled, so Ollie pasted on a terrifying smile to keep everyone at bay.
She was definitely not the most pleasant person working at the Barrel, but shetried. Some days, she flirted with everyone who stepped up to the bar, she went home with a pocketful of tips and phone numbers and came back the next day to do it again. But on other days, after an exhausting session with toddlers in tutus, she couldn't deal with adults.
She’d been at the Barrel long enough that Killian stopped trying to change her. He accepted that she did a damn good job, didn’t sleep withalltheir customers and was a quick teacher when it came to new bartenders. He would prefer it if she smiled more and wore something more revealing. But he knew she’d punch him in the nuts if he kept on about it.
She was squatting behind the bar to get a break from human interaction with her face stuck in one of the tiny fridges when she heard Brent call her name.
“We’re running out of glasses. Could you check in the back?”
“Ugh, no. I’ve been on my feet all day.”
“It’s just a few more hours, Ollie.”
“Fuck me, this day never ends.” Ollie groaned and straightened to her full height and pressed her hands into her lower back to soothe an ache.
Walking through the doors leading to the kitchen, Ollie found her face stretching into her first real smile of the day. The guys in the kitchen were her favorite people; they fed her consistently and let her hang with them on slow nights. There were five of them—two on dish duty and three chefs. They’d been at the Barrel almost as long as she had and Ollie knew they survived because they banded together.
“There’s our favorite girl!” Harry, the main chef, called out, blowing her a kiss.
“I hope you’re saving some of that for me, Harry. You know I’m a sucker for chicken wings.”
Harry laughed, “Everyone seems to be in the mood for my wings tonight.”
“I’ll save you some.” Joey, one of the guys on dish duty, told her and winked as he leaned in to kiss her cheek. Joey and Ollie shared one hot weekend when they first met, and instead of it being awkward after, they seemed to fit together really well.
“Thanks, handsome. But first, I need all the clean glasses loaded up.”
“Almost done.” Joey smirked and went off to load up the tray with the glasses and Ollie took a minute to admire the way these guys worked. None of them put up with Killian and his bullshit and they all worked their asses off daily. Most nights, they left last, once the kitchen was cleaned up and inventory was taken, and showed up the next day to do it all over again.
As Joey started to slide a tray of clean glasses over, Ollie felt her phone vibrate in her back pocket. Frowning, she pulled it out and saw her parents number on the screen. Gesturing to the phone, she patted Joey on the arm and walked farther into the kitchen and away from the sounds of the cooking to answer. Her parents never called this late, so if they were calling her now, it must be serious.
“What’s wrong?” She said as she answered the phone, using her free hand to massage her scalp.
“Why must something be wrong for me to call?” Ollie closed her eyes and resisted the urge to groan at the sound of her grandmother’s voice. She loved Baby, she truly did, but her grandmother was a traditional South Indian woman and she believed things must continue to happen the way she knew best. Also, she kept speaking in her mother tongue of Malayalam in hopes that Ollie would one day learn the language as well.
“Ammachi,” the South Indian name for grandmother rolled off her tongue in a heavy accent and Ollie sighed softly. “What are you still doing awake?”
“My favorite granddaughter doesn’t call me enough, so I’m calling her.”
“I’m youronlygranddaughter.”
“And that is why you must call me once a week.”
“Okay, I’ll keep that in mind,” Ollie said, leaning against a counter, causing steel dishes to clatter behind her.
“What is that noise? Where are you?”
“I’m still at work.”
“Tsk.” Baby madethatsound judgmental and Ollie had to fight a smile. “You should not be working so much. Your parents have lots of money, just take it.”
“I want my own money, Ammachi, you know this.”
Baby switched to English, “Yes, but can’t you make money somewhere else?”
“I like working here!” Ollie protested and heard how ridiculous she sounded.
