Chapter Six
Eden
A guy with shaggy blond hair and earbuds tucked in his ears joined me outside the door of Trinity Bar where my knocking had gone unanswered. He was good-looking in a pretty boy way, and I guessed this could be Hailey’s sunshine and light. He looped the headphones around his neck and folded his hands as if in prayer. “There must be a God. Heaven just sent me an angel.”
I laughed at his corny line, and he rewarded me with a grin.
“You need to use the secret knock.” He whipped out his phone and sent a text.
“Are you Zeke?” I asked.
“My reputation precedes me. But I know we’ve never met because I’d remember.” He waggled his eyebrows.
“I’m Eden. The new bartender.”
“Whoa.” He held his hand over his heart and staggered. “Didn’t see that coming.” He held up a hand and bowed his head. “Just give me a minute to recuperate.”
I couldn’t help but laugh again. “You okay now?”
“Yeah. The shock has worn off.”
“Why is it such a big deal?”
“I’m just messing with you. The T-shirt gave you away.” I looked down at the T-shirt I tied in a knot at my belly button. I paired it with cut-off jean shorts and plain black motorcycle boots. Trailer trash meets vintage shop. “Killian told me about you, so I guess we should stick to a professional working relationship.”
“Sounds like a good plan.”
Zeke snapped his fingers. “Damn. Now you’ll always be the one who got away.”
“I have a feeling you’ll get over it.”
He sighed. “Yeah. I fall in lust at least three times a night. It’s an occupational hazard.”
I shook my head, laughing as the door swung open, and a guy with a deep, dark tan and short dreads let us in. “This is Brody. Resident world traveler and slacker. Eden’s the new bartender.”
Brody bobbed his head. “Cool.”
“That’s all he ever says,” Zeke stage-whispered as we followed Brody inside. “He’s mono-syllabic.”
“Heard that, dude. We’re outside tonight. Watch your back.”
Zeke laughed and wished me luck while pointing me in the direction of Killian’s office. “Zeke is in the house!” he yelled on his way outside.
I followed the sound of voices and stopped outside the open door of a windowless office with a filing cabinet and shelves lined with binders. Killian was leaning against the desk, arms crossed, a scowl on his face. He was wearing an untucked black button-down shirt, the cuffs rolled up to his elbows, with black jeans and beat-up black combat boots. He looked like a rock star, and despite the perma-scowl, he looked as good as I remembered. Maybe even better. The girl sitting in the swivel chair across from him looked to be around my age, with long lavender hair and delicate features. She had creamy skin, and her black eyeliner was thick and winged. Bluebirds trapped inside barbed wire wrapped around her right bicep. She looked like a porcelain doll with a rocker edge.
They were so engrossed in their argument, they hadn’t noticed me.
“Take down the photos of me,” Killian growled.
“You’re so weird about social media. The customers love seeing your pretty face. It’s good for business.”
He glared at her.
I knocked on the doorframe, announcing my presence, and they both swiveled in my direction.
Killian’s eyes locked on mine, and all the air was trapped in my lungs. He held my gaze for a few seconds before rubbing his hands over his face, like he was trying to erase the memory. I knew the feeling. I’d done the same thing last night when he’d kept invading my thoughts.
“You must be Eden,” the girl said. I turned my focus to her and nodded, incapable of speech. My heart was hammering against my chest so loudly, they could probably hear it. This was ridiculous. She gave me a smile that made me feel like she was in on a secret I wasn’t aware of. “I’m Ava. The brains behind this operation.”
Killian snorted, and Ava smirked at him.
“Nice to meet you,” I told Ava.
“You too.”
I dug around in my backpack until I found the folded application. Ava was watching me with curiosity, her head tilted, her index finger pressed against her lips. I smoothed out the creases, and Ava took the application from me. Fishing out the twenty-dollar bill from my pocket, I held it out to Killian.
“What’s that?” he asked, arms crossed, making no move to take the money.
“Your money. You didn’t need to pay for my taxi.”
He jerked his chin at Ava. “Give it to Ava for her taxi tonight.”
I offered her the money.
“I get paid a salary. I don’t need taxi money.”
Killian snatched the bill out of my hand and forced it on Ava. With a roll of her eyes, she pocketed the cash, grumbling, “You’re an ogre.” Though, her smile told me she didn’t mean it.
“Come with me,” Killian said, indicating for me to precede him. “How’s your ankle?” His gaze traveled from the big scab on my knee to my ankle as we walked down the hallway. I made a concentrated effort not to limp.
“It’s fine.” My ankle still hurt a little bit, but I’d rested it all day and wrapped it. He gave me a skeptical look I chose to ignore.
I followed him behind the bar and stowed my bag in a cupboard Killian locked up. He introduced me to Chris, a tall, lanky guy wearing a backwards baseball cap, who was checking the lines for the kegs.
Killian showed me the setup and talked me through the wine list, all the different tequilas, seven craft beers on tap, and a selection of bottled beers. The hour flew by as I performed the opening duties on the checklist alongside Chris—chopped fruit for garnishes, filled the ice bins, stocked the clean glasses, set up bus tubs. When six o’clock rolled around, I was organized and ready. Or so I kept telling myself.
“Is Killian okay to work for?” I asked Chris, keeping my voice low while Killian went to unlock the front door.
“If you follow his rules, it’s cool. He won’t hold your hand, though. It’s baptism by fire.”
“Oh God. I don’t want to go down in flames.”
Chris laughed. “He won’t let you get in the weeds. He’s too much of a control freak.”
Okay, still not setting me at ease. Talk about mixed messages. Was he a control freak or someone who tossed you into the fire to see how you dealt with getting burned?
Here goes nothing, I thought as a group entered the bar.
No need to panic. I’ve totally got this. All I needed to focus on was mixing drinks, serving them, and ringing them up. How hard could it be?
Turned out, it was harder than it looked.
Killian wasn’t impressed with my mojitos. Apparently, I didn’t bash the mint enough. He showed me how to do it the right way—his way. Not long after the mojito tutorial, I grabbed two bottles of liquor from the top shelf, spun around, and rammed into Killian’s chest. He steadied me with his hands on my upper arms, but quickly dropped his arms to his side like my skin burned him.
“Sorry. Did I hurt you?” Stupid question. Killian was made of the same steel Sawyer was, forged by hours of exercise and conditioning. You didn’t get a body like his without putting a lot of time and work into it. He was all lean muscle without an ounce of fat.
“When someone says behind you, pay attention.”
“Sorry. I didn’t hear you.”
“Just take it easy,” he said, his tone softer. “Nobody’s life is at stake.”
So, I stopped trying to rush around like a headless chicken, and it worked a lot better. Indie rock music was blasting from the sound system, and I’d gotten into a rhythm. I had a system working, giving a nod to the new customers to let them know I saw them, and serving the ones who’d been waiting the longest.
A man in the corner called me over. He was older than the rest of the crowd, early fifties maybe. A big man, all bulging muscle, with closely cropped dark hair and a hard face, like it had been chiseled from granite.
I set a paper coaster in front of him. “What can I get you?”
“Jack and Coke,” he said, his gaze focused on Killian.
I mixed his drink, side-eying Killian, who was serving margaritas to a group of women at the other end of the bar. A lot of hair-tossing and giggling was being directed his way, but it was in vain. He was either oblivious or not interested. When I set the Jack and Coke in front of the man, he looked me up and down, his steel-blue eyes containing no warmth. “You been working here long?”
“It’s my first night.”
“You one of Killian’s groupies?”
“Groupie? What—?”
The man shook his head and snorted in disgust. “He never learns, does he?”
“What does that mean?” I asked, even though I sensed I should just keep my mouth shut and collect his money. When would I ever learn?
“Beautiful women are nothing but trouble. He should know that by now. But he’s never been the smartest boy.”
Okay, I was dealing with a misogynist who just insulted me and Killian. What did he mean by groupie? I planted my hands on my hips. He raised his eyebrows, waiting for me to say something I’d regret. I bit back the words I was tempted to say and adopted a professional tone. “That will be eight—”
A hand on my upper arm guided me away. I looked up at Killian, whose gaze was fixed on the man. “Take a break. Jimmy will give you food.”
“I need to—”
“Come back in fifteen minutes.”
“But—”
“Go,” Killian cut me off, his tone sharp and face stern.
Did he think I couldn’t handle it? Killian turned his back to me and took my place in front of the man, blocking my view with his body.
“Got yourself a fancy bar with all these pretty people,” the man said. “You don’t belong here, boy. You ain’t cut out for this life. And get a haircut. You look like a fucking pussy.”
“What do you want?” Killian asked, his voice devoid of all emotion.
“When are you gonna smarten up and get back to fighting? It’s the only thing you’re good at.”
Killian kept his voice low, so I couldn’t catch any more of the conversation. Not that it was intended for my ears anyway.