“Michael’s quite a bit older than Jag,” Kyrone said. “But they fit really well together.”
When they went through the final door, they came out next to a raised stage with three poles on it. Chairs and tables were arranged in the large semi-circular space beyond. There was a bar in the back corner—or probably the front corner, if they came in via what looked to be the main entrance opposite them—and there were several curtained areas running down each side. Two men stood behind the bar. Callum put them both somewhere in their forties. They were well-built guys, one with floppy blond hair, the other with very short dark hair. The dark-haired guy spoke in a soft Scottish accent. They were obviously counting stock, but they were also laughing and joking.
“Hi, Kyrone,” the blond man said as he turned and noticed them. “Who’s your friend?”
“This is Callum,” Kyrone said, walking forward. “He’s new in town and in need of a job. Not dancing. Bar work, if you’ve got anything.”
Michael scratched his chin. “Have you done bar work before?”
“No.” Callum felt like backtracking out of the room. Being a coward wasn’t going to get him anywhere. “But I can learn, sir.”
Michael raised his eyebrows. “There’s no need to call me sir.”
Beside him, the other guy—who had to be Mac—chuckled. Michael shot him a look. In response, Mac raised his hands and then carried on counting liquor bottles.
“I’m sorry,” Callum said.
“For being polite?” Michael came out from behind the bar. “That’s nothing to be sorry for.” He gestured to one of the tables and sat down at it.
“Do you want me to stay?” Kyrone asked.
Callum shook his head.
“I’ll go hang out with Jag. Come and find me when you’re done here.”
“Thanks.” Callum really meant it. Neither Jared nor Kyrone had any reason to show him kindness, but both men had.
“So,” Michael said once Callum had sat down. “If you’ve not done bar work before, what brings you in here?”
Callum opened his mouth and then shut it again. He stared at the table for a second, wondering what his best answer was. He decided to go with honesty. “No one wants to give me a chance, s—” He cut himself off. He’d learnt to say ‘sir’ when he’d been detained. “I’m trying to turn my life around, but I need a job to do it.”
“You’ve been in trouble?”
Callum nodded. “I have a record.” He splayed his hands on the table. “I’m only really here because I’m out of options.” He scrunched his eyes and mouth up tight, cursing in his head for his stupid choice of words. “That came out wrong.”
Michael was staring at him with an amused expression on his face. “It’s not the best sales pitch I’ve ever heard. Do you want to try again?”
“I’ve made a lot of mistakes. Kyrone seemed to think you might be willing to give me a chance.”
“That was abitbetter. Are sure you want to learn bar work though? The dancers end up getting paid better.”
“That’s his way of saying you’d look good on the poles,” Mac said from the bar.
Michael glanced over his shoulder. “I might have known you were listening.”
Mac shrugged. “It’s hard not to.”
Callum felt his face flush as he looked at the poles. He couldn’t imagine himself dancing at all, let alone flinging himself around a pole like he’d seen Jag do a few minutes earlier, much less stripping naked for people.
“I’d like to work behind the bar,” he said, desperately trying not to offend. “If you’d be willing to give me a go.” His shoulders tensed. “But…there is something else you need to know.”
Michael tilted his head but said nothing.
Callum fidgeted in his chair. “My dad’s Andrew Black. So, I’d understand if—” He stopped. There was no point.
Michael raised his chin. Over at the bar, Mac stopped and stared. Callum shrank under their scrutiny and waited for one—or both of them—to throw him out.
“I’m going to ask you something, and I want an honest answer,” Michael said after a long pause.
