Page 104 of Rut Bar

The floor hushes while I’m packing everything I care about into a cardboard box. There isn’t much. It barely covers the bottom. I carefully set the framed photo of my family inside, then scan the drawers to make sure I’m not forgetting anything. I leave all the office clutter behind. The stress ball with the cracked IRS logo printed on it, the sticky notes and correction fluid and half-dead pens. I shut the drawer and leave the trash behind.

That’s their problem now.

I drain the last of my coffee and set the mug down, then follow the security guard to the door. He holds his hand out and I give him my badge with the key card. Nobody stops me to say goodbye. I’ve worked with these people for years. The door swings shut behind me and I suck in a deep breath of fresh air.

And like that, I’m gone. Free. It’s a surreal thing. Like the world tilted on its axis and there’s a new magnetic north. I wait to feel a sense of loss or grief, but there’s nothing. Only a numb sense ofhuh.

What now?

I don’t stand there and think about it for long. I go where I want to go. To Rut. To my pack.

I unlock my car and set the box of my things and my briefcase on the passenger seat, and then I drive.

* * *

Anthony

When Brendan walksin through the propped-open back door, no jacket or briefcase or company badge clipped to his pocket and the top button of his shirt undone, I can guess what happened. He sees me and nods, and I return it, then jerk my chin to indicate the stool where he should sit.

He pulls it out, the metal legs scraping along the floor, and settles himself. Then he unbuttons his cuffs and rolls up his sleeves. “Anything I can do to help? I have a lot of free time on my hands now.”

“Got fired, huh? That sucks. I’ve been there.”

When I was first out on my own and struggling to land on my feet, I bounced from job to job and worked under the table a lot. That sort of employment isn’t stable.

I set my juice-covered cutting board on top of the bar and pull some oranges from their netting. I slap a knife down. “Cut those into wedges.”

Without bothering to ask him if he wants a drink, I make him one. Everyone deserves a stiff cocktail after getting fired. Grabbing a bottle of wine and the mixers, I catch the popped cork in a bar towel and whip up today’s new signature drink. I take an orange from his pile and another knife and cut the rind off as a single curl, then balance it on the rim so it’s dipping into the drink. It’s a pink masterpiece. I give him a napkin, then set it in front of him.

He’s only on his second orange, but each edge has been cut with precision. Every single section is exactly the same size. I frown at his tidy pile and almost say something about how drunk people don’t care if their fruit wedges are perfect, then I think better of it. I don’t want to kick a man while he’s down.

Brendan accepts the drink and takes a sip while I wait for his verdict. “Wow, that’s good. It’s bubbly, but not too sweet. What’s it called?”

“A Pink Slip.”Okay, I guess some good-natured kicking is acceptable.We’re pack, after all. Isn’t that what families do?“It’s prosecco, pink grapefruit juice, and a dash of red bitters.” I grin at him.

He gives me a wry look, then hides his smile behind the lip of his glass while he takes a longer sip.

I lean against the bar top and smirk, enjoying the way his eyes linger over the tattoos on my arms. “You know, my uncle could probably use a tax guy.”

He snorts mid-sip, then grimaces, the bridge of his nose wrinkling.

Fuck. It sucks getting bubbly up your nose.

Brendan sets his glass down. “Are you trying to get my other knee broken? No offense, but I’ll probably live longer if I go work at a cubicle in a big box store.”

I roll my eyes at his dramatics. “I meant my uncle Tony, the one who owns the restaurant. There’s work and then there’swork, you know? They know how to separate the two.”For the most part.Although now that I think about it, I suppose it could be a front.Hmm.

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll figure it out,” Brendan says, drinking the rest of his drink.

I take his empty glass and wash and sanitize it, then set it upside down to dry. I feel for him because I was the one who made Brendan put his neck on the chopping block, and then the idiot got himself chopped. Talk about bad timing.

Now that Ireallythink about it, he’s probably right to refuse my tentative job offer. I can’t tell if the dude is lucky or unlucky. He matched with us, which makes him lucky, but then the dude got fired for getting laid. Pretty damn unfortunate.

“I have wondered,” he says before pausing. “If you don’t mind me asking…”

I slap my bar towel over my shoulder and lean on folded forearms. “Shoot.”

“How’d you end up working at Rut instead of being forced into the family business?”

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