She turned back, this time releasing the sigh, and pulled out her wallet.
Two
Erielle sippedfrom the overpriced plastic water bottle Duval had pressed her to purchase as she walked down the road to the biker bar, hoping someone with the authority to hire her was on site. She could have driven, she supposed, but she wanted to see if the distance was walkable. She probably wouldn’t want to walk home in the middle of the night, not this close to the bayou. Ghosts aside, she didn’t want to encounter any wildlife out here on her own. Walking here hadn’t been the best idea, either, because her blouse and jeans were sticking to her as she crested the rise and saw the bar at the edge of the trees.
A couple of battered vehicles and a big truck sat in the crushed shell lot. The screen door was open, and she could see shadows moving within,, so she crossed to it and tugged. The bottom of the door dragged along the ground, but she muscled it open and stepped into the darkness.
Whew, the decrepit outside was nothing compared to the inside, and with no air conditioning, to boot. Well. A window unit rattled in the corner, but it sure wasn’t making any difference in the close space.
Dusty neon signs and mounted game fish lined the wood-paneled walls. The bar wasn’t too long, and had a hole in the wood about the size of a man’s head. Behind the bar was a single line of alcohol, and four taps. A few tables scattered about on the wood floor, two pool tables to the other side of what she realized now was an L-shaped building. Two men, one in a long plaid shirt over a tank top, and the other in a t-shirt, were playing pool, and watching her warily. She honestly didn’t know if a waitress was necessary in a place this small.
The bartender glowered at her, hands braced on the bar. “You lost?”
She squared her shoulders. She would not be bullied. She’d come up in kitchens with more intimidating head chefs than this burly bearded dude before her.
“I’m looking for a job. Waitress, or bartender.” Tending bar with so few options shouldn’t be that hard.
His scowl deepened. “Not hiring.”
She had wondered about that. This didn’t seem to be a hustling place. “No? Why not?”
“Don’t need to pay no waitress. The customers come up to the bar for their drinks.”
She nodded. She needed a job, and this was her best shot. “I can tend bar.” She doubted anyone here would be ordering anything that took more than three ingredients.
“Little girl, our customers would eat you alive,” he said, not moving. “Plus, this is my bar. I’m the bartender.”
She hated the desperation that rolled through her. “But surely you could use a day off, and I could take over.” She stepped forward as she spoke. “I don’t mind hard work, and I’m stronger than I look.” Tougher, too, but she didn’t say so.
“This ain’t no place for a woman,” the man said, shaking his head.
“Ah, Louis, give her a shot.” One of the men who had been playing pool spoke up from the other side of the pool table. “She’s a lot nicer to look at than you are.”
Her heart gave a hard thud against her chest when Samson Guillory stepped out from the shadows, his shoulders stretching out a thin t-shirt advertising a tool brand, his dark hair waving to brush at its collar.
“You!” She couldn’t help the word that burst from her lips.
He leaned on the pool cue and gave her a slow grin. “Me.”
The boy she’d spent her teen years pining for had turned into a—what would her grandmother have called him? A hunk?
But he was the last person she thought she’d see in Phantom Bayou. The boy who hadn’t been able to get out of this place fast enough, ready to get away from the close watch of his pastor father. What was he doing back in town? And more, what was he doing playing pool in the middle of the day?
But she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of asking him, wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing she thought twice about him. Her initial outburst was bad enough, but she could attribute that to her surprise at seeing him.
Face hot, she turned back to Louis, who was watching the two of them, arms folded over his massive chest.
“I don’t like closing,” the man said finally. “Come in at ten. I’ll show you what to do, and you can work ten to close every night. That okay with you?”
“I get an hourly wage and tips?”
He chortled. “Tips? Girl, the only tips you’re like to get is a swat on your ass, maybe a pinch if you’re lucky. Nobody tips around here.”
The knot in her stomach tightened. She needed money, and fast. She stepped closer and lowered her voice, not wanting Samson to hear, and wondering why she cared. “Then can you pay my hourly wage in cash?”
Louis studied her, eyes narrowed above that bushy beard. “You in some kind of trouble, little girl?”
“I just need some money to live on,” she countered, not wanting to give him her life story in exchange for a job. She knew once she was gone, Samson would expose her as Etienne’s granddaughter, but for now, she didn’t offer that information and invite the questions it begged. “You want me to start tonight?”
