I glance up from where I’m crouching behind the bar, stocking the fridge with containers of sliced fruit and edible flowers and mint leaves—all the random garnishes and ingredients that might be needed for drinks later. “Overjazz?”
She nods as she continues her task of sliding clean wine glasses onto the rack above the bar. “Hell yeah. Pretty sure some of the regulars were about to riot.”
I get to my feet, feeling a little off-kilter. I knew this was a whiskey-themed bar when I got the job, but I don’t remember Gia saying anything about jazz music. I’m really not sure I can do a whole night of it. I know there are people who absolutely love it, but to me it sounds like a whole lot of clattering and screeching with long stretches of boring thrown in-between.
“Is this just a special thing for tonight?” I ask hopefully. “Or is it a regular Sunday thing?”
“No, it’s most nights of the week.”
I stagger back a little in shock and have to clutch the bar to keep myself steady.“Most nights?Isn’t that a little…excessive?”
Gia shrugs. “It’s his bar. If he wants to sing every night that’s his call. And, trust me, peoplewanthim to sing.”
I frown in confusion. “Huh? Who are we talking about?”
She finally turns to look at me, one eyebrow arched. “Jazz, obviously.”
“Wait—Jazz is aperson?”I let out a heavy sigh of relief and slump against the bar. “Thank god. I thought I was going to have to quit. No way can I put up with that much jazz music.”
She lets out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “No, here you’ll just have to put up with an endless string of nineties covers. But don’t worry, he mixes things up a lot. You never hear the same song more than once a month.” Her brows drawing together in puzzlement, she adds, “I don’t get it, though—didn’t you guys meet the other night? He said he introduced himself on Friday.”
I stand up again and run a hand over my face. “I don’t know. Maybe. There were a lot of people here Friday night.”
“Ah, speak of the devil,” Gia says brightly as the front door swings open and Jasper Grimsay strides in, unwinding a scarf from around his neck and shrugging off his leather jacket.
“Wait—thisis who you were talking about?Thisis “Jazz”?” I ask Gia incredulously.
“I think the air quotes are slightly unnecessary,”Jazzdrawls, before his lips curve into a sly smirk and he adds, “but I’m dying to know everythingDamon’sbeen saying about me.”
“Actually, I was just saying how much I hate jazz. Even just hearing the word makes my ears bleed.”
Next to me, Gia lets out a snort of laughter and shakes her head. “This is going to be interesting.”
By about eightpm the bar is completely packed—far busier than it has been any of the previous Sundays I’ve worked here. Or Fridays or Saturdays for that matter.
“What’s going on?” I shout at Gia over the noise of the crowd. “Was there some big event on today I forgot about?”
“I guess word’s got around that he’s back.”
My face screws up in complete skepticism. “You cannot possibly be serious.”
The words are barely out of my mouth when I see Jazz striding to the stage, guitar in hand. And the crowd actuallycheers.
“Jesus Christ, what the fuck’s wrong with everyone? It’s not like he’s Ed Sheeran.”
Gia just shrugs, offering a wry smile. “They love him.”
“Why? He’s such a dick.”
She grins and shakes her head, moving off to serve another customer, while I pour out the cocktails I’ve been shaking.
“Hey everyone, it’s good to be back,” Jazz says, prompting another unnecessary cheer. “As you might have already noticed, we have a new bartender on staff here—everyone say hi to Damon.”
I feel like a deer in headlights as a hundred and fifty pairs of eyes turn to gawk at me. I give a cursory wave and fortunately the crowd is quickly distracted when Jazz starts talking again.
Or, at least, it would have been fortunate if he’d moved off the topic ofme.
“Apparently he’s a massive fan of jazz music,” he says with a teasing smirk. “So I thought I’d give a warm welcome by kicking things off with some Jamiroquai.”
