Page 27 of Bidding War

“You know me. I’m all about making them happy.”

“Think the sugar rush will let him sleep tonight?”

I snort a laugh. “Not my problem, and by the looks of things, not hers, either. I’ve never seen someone so bored.”

“I’ve never seen someone chug the Manischewitz cherry juice.”

“It’s the juice box of adult children.”

“Million-dollar idea.”

I laugh, and another patron flags me to her, so I pop over. “How can I?—"

“These fries are not well done. Did you even ask for them to be well done? How hard is that to remember?” She’s a snotty sorority girl with her friends. Pretty sure she just wants to whine and show off.

Strangely, I am completely unbothered. “I did, in fact. But I’d be happy to ask them to burn some fries for you.”

“I didn’t say burnt?—"

“Well, that’s the next step after that level of doneness, so it’s really your only option at this point.”

She makes a dissatisfied gasp. “I want them well done! Do your job! It’s not like it takes brain cells to get fries right!”

I take her plate of fries away, and she looks startled. “I’ll bring you a fresh order. Be right back!” Dumping the fries, I put in an order for burnt ones and return to Kelsey to barback for him until they’re ready. “You know the nice thing about rude people?”

“No, I really don’t.”

“That you don’t mind if we’re rude right back to them.”

He laughs. “I certainly do not.”

“It’s funny, though. I don’t even care that the sorority girls are being bratty little bitches or that idiot is chugging kiddie wine. This is so low stress here compared to my old job.”

“Really?” He flips out a dozen shot glasses and fills them with the requested variety of shots in under a minute. “How so?”

“No one here will scream at me for losing them several million dollars and shout about how they’ll sue me if I can’t get them a tax break on their new yacht.”

“Guess that does add a certain amount of calm to your day, eh?”

I nod enthusiastically and make a tray of gin and tonics for the stock brokers in the corner so Melina can whisk it away. “Seriously, this is the least amount of job stress I’ve had in years. I kind of love it.”

“If you want the gig, June, it’s yours.”

“I’m in. For now, I mean. You remember?—"

“I know. You want to work in your field. But you see how swamped I am. I’ll take all the help I can get.”

I smile and deliver a basket of nearly black fries to the sorority girl. “Here you are.”

“Thanks,” she bites out at me before turning to her friends.

The rest of the night goes on like that until it’s near closing time, and I am wiped out. But it’s a good tired. The kind of tiredness you have at the end of a long day when you know you’ve accomplished something. As I’m wiping down the bar, I try to think of everything I need to do to solidify my employment. “Oh, Kelsey, I don’t think I gave you my email?—"

He laughs. Hard. “Why would I need that?”

Then, I laugh at myself. “Guess you don’t. Oh my god, a job with no email? I’m in heaven.” I know that it’s not—not by a long shot. But this feels like the easiest job in the world. It’s not that I don’t take bartending seriously. It’s just that my old job was nothing but high stakes. At the bar, I can smile my problems away.

In walks Callie, and I am delighted to see her. “Hey, girl! Drink’s on me.” I pour us some cocktails and sit with her on the other side of the bar.

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