There’s a piercing need ticking inside his chest urging him to get to the bottom of this friction between them. Frustration hangs over every shift now. But he’s worried he’ll only make it worse if he attempts a peace treaty because he still can’t stop thinking about the night with the shirt in his bed and how real his fantasy felt. No, not even a fantasy. More like a premonition.
Or so he thought at the time. Now it’s more like a bad omen.
What wires are crossed in his brain that make him attracted to someone so scowly and brusque and so set on icing him out?
“Everybody has a work nemesis,” Rufus continues. “Mine is an admin assistant for one of the firms I work for. His name is Kyle, and whenever he calls, he barks orders at me like I’m an AI set to appease his boss’s every whim.”
Jessica nods while rubbing Rufus’s shoulder. “He’s right. My work nemesis is a shift manager named Nadine. She’s like fifty-two, has purple hair, is constantly breathing down my neck, and tells me I’m slicing the chicken wrong or not leaving the tortilla in the press long enough for a burrito when I’m doing it exactly as I was trained.”
“Julien is yours,” Rufus says plainly.
Greg ponders this on his drive to Martin’s Place, not liking the idea of having a nemesis—work or otherwise. Moving to the Lehigh Valley was about leaving negativity in New York. He doesn’t want to be sullen or reserved or resentful like he was as a student at the academy where he was forced into uniforms and routines that both chafed.
At least, as he parks his car and walks into Martin’s Place, he’s here early to have a nice conversation with Martin about a juicy raise before he must face the grumpy guy he’s keeping his distance from.
Only when he steps through the ajar office door, a second head snaps in his direction. Messy hair. Long face. Dark eyes. Hoop earrings. The grumpy guy of his R-rated fantasies is sitting in a chair facing Martin’s desk.
The vibe in the room is...less than stellar.
“Greg, thanks for coming in early,” Martin says flatly. He’s wearing a black polo, a pair of round glasses, and a rankled expression. “Take a seat.”
JULIEN
What’s he doing here?
Julien shifts uncomfortably in his chair, angling his body away from the chiseled mixologist who has intruded on his meeting. Well, maybe intruded isn’t entirely true because it seems like Uncle Martin was expecting Greg when he thanks him and tells him to take a seat.
Julien had to admit when he saw the text from his uncle asking him to come in early, he audibly groaned...but then reconsidered. The last time they had a one-on-one meeting, Uncle Martin dropped the bomb that he was hiring Greg. Maybe this time he’s going to drop a second bomb about letting Greg go.
It makes a certain sense. Greg has been messing up orders, monopolizing the tips at the bar, and as far as Julien can tell, his TikToks are lagging when it comes to view counts and comments. Not that he’s still regularly checking them from his burner account:jb2041xy7.
Okay, maybe he is. But not nearly as much because every small peek through the filtered window of Greg Harlow’s life leads him to throw more and more pity parties. Greg has access, money, designer clothes, hot exes, charisma, and to top it all off, he’s well traveled. He has had the life Julien dreams about, and being reminded of that during every shift has worn him down to disgruntled dust. He would very much like to go back to his safety zone—to studying wine, Stanley Tucci, calming runs, and App Guys, but that seems highly unlikely unless this meeting is about Greg’s imminent departure.
Uncle Martin hands each of them a packet of printed papers stapled in the top right corner. It takes Julien a moment to realize what he’s looking at. They’re online reviews. Recent ones. All from the last few weeks.
“Let me know when you’re finished reading them,” Uncle Martin says with an exhausted, displeased air.
Julien starts at the top. An anonymous poster has written:
Came here on a first date. Our server blanked out while taking our order, made us repeat ourselves, and then ghosted us for the rest of the meal. The calamari was cold by the time he brought it to us. He forgot to take our entrée order. Only good thing: the cocktails.
2/5 stars.
Recalling the couple from more than a week ago, Julien bites his lip nervously, heart thudding. He reads the next.
Outrageous! Greg the bartender here has no sense of decorum or morals. My husband stopped here on a work trip to decompress and when I found a bar napkin that read MARTIN’S PLACE with Greg’s number on it in his pants pocket while doing wash, I knew I needed to write a review because my husband is too polite to. He says the bartender was overly flirtatious and nearly demanded my husband take his number!!! Not only is this wildly unprofessional, but did the bartender not notice the wedding band he was wearing?! BEWARE THIS PLACE!
0/5 Stars.
The reviews go on like that for pages. People complaining about Julien’s tableside manner and spacey serving. Others detailing Greg’s overly flirty nature, which seems to be causing rifts in more than one relationship. Julien swallows a thick wad of spit lodged in his throat as he skims and then reads the final review.
Our server dropped an entire tray of our drinks next to our table. Accidents happen. We can forgive that. What we really can’t forgive is that when the drinks finally got to us, they were the completely wrong drinks. Then they were corrected, and they were DISGUSTING! Too sweet. Not enough alcohol. I will not be returning.
1/5 stars.
“I think you both know what I’m about to say, so I’ll spare you the lecture.” Martin’s tone is unnervingly serious, and his eyes a new level of tired. “Martin’s Place is vying for a spot on the Best of Lehigh Valley list. If we miss it again this year like we have the last few... I don’t even know what’s going to happen to this place, but it probably won’t be good, so I’ve come up with a plan to turn this around.” Uncle Martin slides off his glasses and steeples his hands on the desk. “I’ll need your complete cooperation.”
Greg nods before Julien even fully registers what his uncle is saying, which leads him to contemplate for the first time that maybe Gregneedsthis job. It was easiest to assume that Greg was an opportunist who saw a chance to score a decent gig and some cash before moving on to his next place, some sort of sexy modern-day drifter. But on closer examination, why would a guy with a gorgeous New York City apartment and legions of followers on TikTok move to modest Pennsylvania without cause?
