Page 89 of The CEO's Revenge

“First night,” I admit.

“I can tell. You haven’t gotten the standard Flamingo exasperated greeting of ‘what’d want next’ down yet.”

“Ok, what’d want next?”

Another laughs. “She’ll do.”

“Yeah, she’ll do all right. Here’s a nice simple order to get you started, cream pie. “Five pints of pale ale; three rum and cokes, no ice, and eight shots of tequila.”

I write the order down quickly and flash them another big grin. “Coming right up.”

I go back towards the bar and stand waiting for one of the bartenders to spot me. Greg spots me and rolls his eyes, pointing to the end of the bar. The opposite end to where the entrance hatch is.

“You work here, Amelia, Greg explains dryly. “You don’t have to wait in the line. When you have an order, come straight up here, ok?”

I nod and hand him my ticket. He turns away and another table yells, “Hello, sweet cheeks.”

“That’ll be you,” Greg calls over his shoulder.

“Right.” I plaster another smile on my face and head towards them. When I come back with their order, there’s a large tray waiting for me with all of the drinks for my last order.

“I have to take all of these at once?” I ask the female bartender who holds her hand out for my new ticket.

She nods. “Yeah. And if you drop them, Larry takes the money out of your fucking wages, so watch your step.”

Wonderful. I pick the tray up cautiously. It weighs an absolute ton and my hands are shaking with nerves. Beer starts to slop over the top of the pint glasses and I feel tears starting to form in my eyes. This is not fair. I’ve not even been given a chance to practice. Just thrown into the deep end without a float. I put the tray back down on the counter and blink hard.

The woman behind the bar comes back, obviously taking pity on me. “Like this,” she says.

Then she crouches slightly and pulls the tray to the edge of the bar. She holds her palm out and slides the tray onto it. “Do it with both hands to start with it if you need to.”

I nod. That does look easier than my way.

She quickly tops up the spilled beers and nods for me to go.

I take a deep breath and do it the way she showed me. The tray sits neatly on my palms. Yup, I can do this. I take my other palm off. My arm shakes from the weight, but the drinks hold steady and nothing spills. I take a deep breath and with my spine straight I make it to the table before I realize I have no idea how to get the tray back off my hand.

I look around frantically and watch another waitress. She takes the drinks from the tray one at a time, announcing them and handing them to the people who claims them.

I copy her actions, and I soon have all of the drinks off the tray and on to the table. Breathing a sigh of relief I thank the man as he pushes a ten dollar tip into my hand. I put the money in the tight little pocket in the ass of my skirt and go back for the next tray of drinks.

The next few hours go over reasonably smoothly. Granted I make a few mistakes I run left, right and center, but I don’t drop any trays, and most important of all, I manage to resist the urge to tell any of the customers to fuck off, even when they make comments about my body that men their age really should know better than to say to a girl.

Larry keeps popping out of his door to see if everything is running smoothly. A couple of times he catches my eye and nods approvingly.

Finally, the place starts to quiet down as the night wears on. Eventually, I’m the only waitress still working. The other bartenders also having finished their shifts and Greg is the only one behind the bar.

I know it’s too late to have any chance of finding somewhere to stay tonight now. With the money I’ve made from tips I could probably get a room in a half decent bed and breakfast place now, but I know I need to save the money for a down payment somewhere more permanent. I decide to hang around here as late as I can and then I’ll either sleep in that small locked room or I’ll spend the rest of the night walking the streets. Tomorrow, I’ll try to find somewhere to stay.

My thoughts are interrupted when the entrance door opens and a group of three men enter. They’re all wearing black suits. Two of them hang back slightly from the middle one, letting him lead the way. He is short, but broad with black hair and eyes that are strangely vacant and dead. There is something dangerous and cold about him. One of my tables is waving at me, but I am so transfixed by this trio I pretend not to notice. Even I can tell these men are not here for a drink.

They give off bad vibes and make me strangely nervous.

These men mean business.

At that moment Larry suddenly appears at the door behind the bar, his face is drained of color, and his eyes dart towards the three men making their way towards the bar. He must have seen them on the surveillance screens on his office wall and rushed out.

“Mr. Sorokin,” I hear him say as he flashes the main guy a smile, but his smile looks sick and I can see the beads of sweat that have formed on his upper lip. “I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight.”

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