Just what I needed. Standing up those three additional hours behind the bar today will be a blast. Damnit!
He hopped around the cluttered bedroom, pulling on a pair of fresh gray underwear, and the charcoal gray dress pants he wore the night before. He searched for a clean shirt, ignoring the dazzling sight of a blood orange sun hovering low over turquoise waters behind the iconic Hercilio Luz Bridge. The stunning ocean views, framed by double floor-to-ceiling balcony doors, were the features that had convinced Tristan to rent that oceanfront apartment in downtown Florianópolis, instead of a house closer to therestaurant.
That was not the time for contemplating the city’s exuberant natural beautythough.
Having put on socks and shoes in record time, Tristan buttoned up the crispy-white shirt with one hand, while the other shoved wallet and keys in the back pockets of his pants. He crossed the spacious living room toward the front door with a fewsteps.
In the elevator, he thumbed his cell phone, scrolling down the screen to call the restaurant bar. “Hey, Moira. What’sup?”
“Tell me you’re parking,” her low growl sounded nothing like Moira’s usual sunnydisposition.
“I will be in about fifteen,” he flinched at the torrent of high-pitched graphic words that pricked his ear as Moira cussed in her native Portuguese. He had learned enough of the language to gauge just how pissed she was at him. He apologized, “My bad.Sorry.”
“Puta que pariu! Shit, man! You’re already fifteen minutes late, dude. I’ve got to take Dani to thedoctor.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” He screwed his face at his ineptitude to come up with a more eloquent reply to Moira’s concern. She deserved better, so he tried again. “Listen, you’ll make it in time. I promise. I’m on my way. Just wanted to let you know I was running late. I’ve got togo.”
As the elevator doors opened, Tristan jogged to the convertible parked two spaces to the right and hopped into the driver’s seat without bothering to open the door. When he exited the garage, the sun glinted off the polished red hood, blinding Tristan for a moment. He hastily grabbed the sunglasses from a small compartment in the dashboard to the left of the steering wheel. As he merged into traffic on Beira-Mar Norte Avenue, he revved the engine of the M4 GTS, and sped up toward the freeway. Luckily, all the lights remained green, and he got on the southbound lane without hassle. Late afternoon traffic was surprisingly light, which allowed Tristan to make it to the parking lot behind the restaurant in record time. Not meeting any cops on the way certainlyhelped.
Moira must have been stalking the parking lot entrance through the restaurant windows because she stormed out of the backdoor as he pulled up to his reserved spot. When she stomped past him on the way to her car, long blond curls bouncing off her back, she slowed down just enough to gift Tristan with a farewell scowl. She turned on the engine of her battered green Jetta and started backing out of her spot before he was out of hiscar.
“’Bout time, man,” she shouted through the half-open window before peeling off. Tires screeched while pedestrians jumped backwards to avoid her maniac maneuver worthy of a fucking driver of a bank robbery getawaycar.
After watching his employee’s red tail lights disappear around the corner, Tristan hung his head and shook it, as he walked to the door, grumbling, “Today can’t get anyworse.”
While evening shifts were the busiest at the restaurant, happy hour shifts were the busiest time at the bar. So, when he agreed to cover for Moira, Tristan knew he was in for a long, stressful double shift. Yet he couldn’t deny her request. Busting her ass off to raise her kids since the ex-husband moved to another state, Moira rarely asked for anyone to cover for her. He had no doubt she needed money to pay bills and raise the kids. Happy hour tips were the most generous, it made sense she would not give up that shift. As adorable as her small children were, providing for Danielle and Felipe kept Moira’s finances constantly on the brink of collapse. Not comfortable. Tristan knew all too well what it took for a single mom to raise a kid. His was loaded, money not booze, yet it didn’t mean he had an easy childhood, so he did what he could to help Moira. Another good reason for beating himself up for being late and letting herdown.
I shouldn’t have taken that afternoon nap. What was Ithinking?
Problem was Tristan hadn’t been sleeping well. Aside from the distraction Bruna turned out to be, he wasn’t getting much sleep, even when he didn’t respond to her booty calls. Or didn’t make some of his own. Insomnia had been a thing of the past until a couple of months ago. Family issues mixed with bad investment decisions had triggered old demons. He had convinced himself the sleepless nights had nothing to do with recent tabloid headlines. He made a point of ignoring tabloids anyway. He steered clear of gossip as much as humanlypossible.
No. I’m worried about money. That’sall.
2
Tristan
Pullinghimself out of his bleak thoughts, Tristan grabbed a cloth to clean a spotless bar counter. Moira ran a tight ship and was borderline OCD withcleanliness.
“Two Caipirinhas, table five,” Ana handed Tristan a slip of paper that he stuck to the counter, getting the ingredients for thedrink.
He mashed wedges of lime, added mountains of sugar, and poured generous amounts ofcachaça, the Brazilian distilled liquor made from fermented sugarcanejuice.
Ana watched him work as she engaged in conversation. “Hey, too bad Moira’s kid is sick, but I’m glad you’re covering for her. I never get to see you,boss.”
Tristan ignored the wink the cheeky waitress threw his way. Most people thought Ana was a flirt, but he didn’t fall for that. He thought her act was intentional to distract people from the fact she never talked about herself. Even if she did mean to flirt with him, Tristan didn’t mix business withpleasure.
Notanymore.
He had learned that lesson the hardestway.
That didn’t mean he was abore.
Winking back, he quipped, “More like you avoid the night shifts like the plague,Missy.”
“Boyfriend’s too jealous,” Ana replied, flipping her long red hair over her shoulder, and laughing outloud.
She didn’t have a steadyboyfriend.
