Shoving my embarrassment out the window, I tease, “Yes. Need a stiff one to get through my training?”
Griffin crowds my space, forcing me to back up into the counter and shelves behind me. His hands go to the wooden counter, resting on either side of me, less than an inch away from my body. “I got something stiff, alright.”
Smirking, I return fire. “Is that the best you got, Griff?”
“Not by a long shot, Sunshine,” he says with another smirk.
Don’t kiss the boss. Don’t kiss the boss.
He moves his hand, reaching up to a higher shelf, but his eyes remain fixed on me. As he reaches, he leans in closer. His lipsare a breath away from mine. Then he steps back with a bottle of whiskey in his hand.
“Can you make a Manhattan?” Griff questions as he hands me the bottle.
That’s one way to douse the fire.
“One Manhattan, coming right up,” I proclaim as I toss it frivolously.
I move around the space, grabbing what I need. Vermouth, bitters, a mixing glass, and a maraschino cherry.
“On the rocks?” I ask over my shoulder.
My question is met with silence. Turning my head, I find Griffin’s eyes glued to my backside. I clear my throat, and his eyes snap up to mine. He gives me an unapologetic shrug and answers, “However you want to make it, Sunshine.”
Shaking my head, I dismiss his shenanigans. “On the rocks it is.”
At Euphoria, I wasn’t just a dancer and plaything. I also had to help out with waitressing and bartending. Seven years at that horrible place, and thankfully, I walked away with more skills than just being able to do the splits.
I stir the mixing glass until it’s cold to the touch. Griffin places a stemless glass on the counter next to me. I add the ice, then pour the drink in.
“One Manhattan on the rocks.”
Griffin takes the drink from my hand. “Bottoms up.” Then he downs the cocktail like it’s a shot and doesn’t even wince.
“That’s good,” he says to the glass with an impressed expression on his face. “Okay, let’s go for another. Margarita on the rocks with a twist.”
“Oh, come on. Give me something hard,” I reply in jest.
I clean my mess and gather the next set of ingredients. Griffin hands me another glass when I’m almost done mixing. Isalt the rim, add the ice, and the drink. And once again, Griffin downs the cocktail like an experienced frat boy.
“Let the girl be, Montgomery,” Benny butts in. “She’s passed inspection. It’s not like the folks here are going to order anything more complicated than that. Most are gonna order a Bud Light and call it good. Now let her pour me another whiskey.”
Griffin gestures to Benny. “You heard the man. Pour him a whiskey.”
A warmth spreads through my chest at their acceptance. “You got it, Benny, my friend.”
Pouring the dark liquid into a short glass, I keep my attention on the task at hand but direct a question to Griffin. “So. Anything I need to know before tonight? Seating, tables, restocking. Any of that?”
“Customers seat themselves. We don’t do table numbers. We’re not that rigid here. And I can show you the rest.”
After Benny gets his whiskey, Griffin shows me around. I learn how to put in a food order, close someone’s tab, clean the tables, restock the bar, and so on. Once I’ve proven that I’m more than competent, he shows me the stockroom, his office, and the kitchen.
In the kitchen, the equipment is all silver, and the floors are plain white tile. There’s a door on the far end that I assume leads to the outside and the dumpster.
A man stands at a fryer removing potato wedges from the basket. He’s average height with light blonde hair.
Griffin introduces us. “Camden, this is Raven. Raven, this is Camden.”
“Raven?” Camden’s brows rise in humor.
