My favorite thing, though, was the ceiling. I glanced up. It was covered in a sea of gold flowers. It looked as though if a breeze blew in here, they’d all flutter down on us. It was totally the kind of club I would have liked to spend time in.
As I passed the bar, I called out hellos to the bartenders already prepping for the night ahead. I punched the code into the door leading to the staff locker room and wasted no time stashing my bag in my locker.
Showtime. It was Saturday night in New Orleans, and soon, the club would be hopping.
When I got back to the bar, Venus, the head bartender, appeared. She was mid-forties, tall, with her curly, black hair cut very short. Her halter top showed off super-toned arms I’d kill for. She could make any cocktail a customer asked for, and managed the customers with an ease that I’d never, ever have.
“Mila, you’re behind the bar tonight, but if the servers need help on the floor, then you’re up.”
“Got it.”
“And you’re okay to close tonight?”
“Yes. Happy to.”
She blew out a breath. “Great, because Bryce has this dance concert tomorrow. First thing in the morning.” She was a single mom to two boys. “If I can at least get a decent amount of sleep, I’ll be mostly functional for it.”
“I’m happy to close any time you need me, Venus.”
“It’s appreciated.” The woman cocked her head. “Been working on any new cocktail recipes?”
I smiled. “Maybe.”
Venus nodded. “Good. You have a knack.”
I had a knack for mixing up new drinks because I’d also spent loads of nights at home, memorizing cocktail recipes. I’d lied my ass off to get the job here. I said I’d worked in clubs before, all the while praying my fake ID held up.
I wasn’t Amelia Clifton, marketing guru anymore. I was Mila Clarke, bartender. Thankfully, I was a quick learner, and I’d picked up working the bar fast.
A large crowd of clubgoers surged inside.
“Time to water the thirsty masses,” Venus said.
Soon, I was too busy to think of anything. I was grabbing glasses, scooping ice, pouring shots, and mixing cocktails.
“You can light me up any day, sweet thing.”
Sweet thing? Really.
Leaning over the bar, I ran the lighter across the three tall glasses, turning the red cocktails from hurricanes into flaming hurricanes.
The customer licked his lips and smiled. He was already heading well toward drunk. I’d need to keep an eye on him and cut him off soon.
“I’ll add that to your tab.” I flashed him a practiced smile.
“Thanks.” He reached for the glasses.
“And don’t use that line again.” I shook my head. “It’s a bad one.”
He wrinkled his nose and cocked his head. “I thought it was funny. The drinks are on fire. And you’re hot.” He gave a sheepish shrug of his shoulders. “I wanted to take a shot.”
“Mila?” One of the other bartenders, Staci, leaned in beside me. “I need your help with an order.”
“Sure thing.” I gave Mr. Sweet Thing a nod, and turned.
“He’snevergonna make it back to his friends without spilling those.” Staci tossed her blonde curls back.
“Nope.” I was pretty sure Mr. Sweet Thing would have cocktail all over his shirt soon. Such a shame. I noted that Staci didn’t actually have another order. “Thanks for the save.”
