“I’d like to be considered for the management position. I’ve worked here for some time now, and I think as someone vested in the business...shit.”

I drag a hand over the back of my neck, my muscles now so tense with stress they ache. “I sound like an overeager douche,” I mutter. With a disgusted groan, I stare up at the large wooden beams crisscrossing the vaulted ceiling of the storeroom where I’ve been pacing, attempting to give myself a damn pep talk in preparation for my quarterly review meeting.

I’m not only planning to ask for a raise but I also plan to toss my hat into the ring for the management position. This is my chance to finally have something more. To be more than just On Tap’s bartender.

“Reid?”

My head whips around at the interruption to find one of our waitresses, Lea. She offers a reassuring smile and tips her head in the direction of Tom’s office.

“Boss is ready for you,” she says. I nod and walk over, reaching her in two quick strides. She lays a comforting hand on my shoulder and says, “You got this. Just be your usual self.”

The whole wait staff knows I’ve been biding my time for a year now, waiting for the perfect opportunity to ask about the position. Lea and a couple of the other girls have made it their mission to get me that job as soon as it became available last week. We all just found out Big Al is retiring to his family estate in Georgia.

Lea turns and leaves the storeroom. With a sigh, I rake a hand through my hair and watch her disappear down the hallway leading to the open bar area. My “home” away from home for the past five years, the high-top tables and stools are placed throughout, and the artfully cut bar top is a multi-colored slab of wood, much like a butcher’s block.

On Tap’s mix of modern and rustic makes everyone feel comfortable. The combination of wooden beams with the shiny, silver-colored ceiling fans placed accordingly help to ward off the usual heat and humidity that goes hand in hand with Miami, Florida. Our outdoor seating overlooks a small section of Biscayne Bay, and those who don’t mind the heat often take their drinks outside and enjoy the calm serenity offered by the Bay view.

A diamond in the rough, On Tap is treasured among the locals, and within the past few years, we’ve garnered the attention of tourists. Even the food and beverage critics have been impressed with our unique craft brews, some of which are my own concoctions.

Smoothing a hand down my dark-blue polo shirt, I put my game face on and head over to Tom’s office. After I quickly rap my knuckles on the closed door, his voice calls out for me to enter. You got this in the bag. You’ve been here for five years. No one is more qualified for the position.

With a relaxed yet what I hope is a confident smile in place, I enter and close the door behind me. Striding over, I settle into a well-worn, high-back leather chair across from his desk. I brace my arms on the cool metal armrests and meet my boss’s gaze head-on. With authority. I can do this. I am going to be assertive. No more “Reid’s just a bartender” shit.

Tom’s bald head reflects like a freshly polished pint glass in the florescent lighting as he sits at his desk. A wide smile crosses his face when he lifts his head and his gaze meets mine. “Reid! You ready for your performance evaluation?”

I stretch the taut muscles in my neck. Now or never. “Yes, sir.”

I like Tom. He’s always been a good boss. Fair. Never smarmy with the waitresses. Maybe a bit stingy with his alcohol whenever he’s mixing behind the bar, but I can’t fault him for wanting to save a little money here and there.

He shuffles a few papers on his desk and then meets my gaze again. “Your performance lately is impressive. I’ve noticed you’ve taken on extra shifts, even going as far as to make sure customers get a ride home after last call.”

Good to know that my overtime hasn’t been overlooked. I’ve put in a shit-load of hours, and now it’s time to see if it’s paid off. “Thank you, sir.”

Do it. Ask for it.

“I know Big Al just retired last week—still getting that damn glitter out of the seat cushions, by the way—but we need to get a new manager in place ASAP.”

“Yes, about that...”

I swallow hard. The words are right there on the tip of my tongue. Give the position to me. This is what I want.

“I found the perfect replacement.”

“Oh?”

Maybe I didn’t even need to ask and he was just going to give it to me. Perfect. This is going way better than I expected. Give it a few more years, and I’ll have enough money to open my own bar. This experience will solidify exactly what I need to know in order to ensure my place is successful. I straighten in my chair, feeling bolder now.

Tom reaches for his desk phone and punches a programmed key labeled for the phone at the waitress station. “Becky, can you send Callie in?”

What?

The door squeaks open, and I crane my neck to see who the hell this Callie is.

Seconds later, she hovers nervously in the doorway before Tom calls for her to enter. I’ve got to say, I’m not entirely sure what this woman’s doing here or what contribution she’ll have to my review meeting, but damn, I sure as hell don’t mind the sight of her.

My eyes trail from her red peep-toe shoes up the expanse of the silkiest-looking legs I’ve ever seen peeking out from beneath a dark-blue knee-length pencil skirt. Her simple sleeveless white blouse has delicate pearl buttons, and my gaze stutters briefly over her full lips, painted a muted shade of red. Her straight nose flares slightly at the tip, and long dark lashes frame her brown doe eyes. Her hair is a plain shade of brown with a smattering of golden highlights. It’s the kind of hair I can easily imagine tangling my fingers in.

Abruptly, I shake off the thought and get my mind back on track.

Maybe she’s my replacement. With legs like that, she’ll be making bank on Fridays and Saturdays. Most jobs aren’t focused on looks, but a pretty smile and a nice ass won’t hurt when you work at a bar.

Tom waves a hand, gesturing back and forth between the two of us. “Reid, I’d like you to meet Callie Anderson, our new management trainee. Callie, this is Reid Morgan, my lead bartender.” He turns to me. “Reid, since you know the brewery the best, I’d like you to be the one who shows her the ropes. I trust you.”

My boss’s words fade off into the background as my mind registers what he just announced. Rapid-fire, my brain shoots off a painfully jarring recap.

Management trainee.

Callie Anderson.

Not me.

Lead bartender.

Show her the ropes.

Fuck.

The woman reaches out her hand, a polite smile gracing her lips. “Hi, Reid. Nice to meet you.”

I eye her outstretched hand for a beat, my eyes flickering between it and her eyes. Like a juvenile, it crosses my mind to refuse to shake her hand and to scowl at her menacingly, making my feelings about this situation completely transparent.

But I don’t.

Her features tighten, her mouth forming a slight frown. Finally, I reach and grasp her hand and give it a curt shake. My nostrils flare as I fight to restrain my anger and resentment. By the way her eyes widen, displaying her nervousness, it’s clear she’s not one hundred percent confident.

Guess I’m not entirely successful at masking my emotions right now.

“Hey.” That’s it—that’s as much of a greeting I manage to force between my gritted teeth.

“So great to meet you.” Her expression shifts to more earnest. “I look forward to you showing me around.”

Yeah. It’s so great.