His jaw tightens like he’s fighting a reaction, then he dips his head once in acknowledgment.
We don’t speak.
We don’t need to.
I step inside, and the club hits me just like the night before—music, heat, bodies, flashing lights.
I keep my head down and move quickly. I’m determined to be professional tonight. Determined to be normal. Determined to act like last night didn’t happen.
Like Orpheus didn’t happen.
I head straight toward the back so I can grab my supplies and get to my section. I figured Meg would want me on the floor again. If I stay busy, I won’t have time to think. I won’t have time to remember my dreams.
I’m halfway there when Meg steps into my path.
It’s like she appears out of thin air, arms crossed, eyes sharp, her expression already annoyed, like she’s been waiting for me to screw up.
“Not so fast,” she says.
I stop so abruptly I almost bump into her.
“What?” I ask, instantly wary.
“You’re not working the floor tonight.”
The words hit harder than they should.
My stomach drops like the ground just vanished under my feet.
“What do you mean?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady. “Did I mess something up last night? I figured that’s where you’d need me tonight.”
Meg’s eyes narrow. “If you messed up, you’d already be gone. Relax. You’re not working, just not working the floor tonight.”
I exhale a shaky breath, even though my mind still spirals.
If I’m not working the floor, what am I doing?
Am I fired?
Am I being punished?
Did Orpheus decide I’m a problem?
Meg rolls her eyes. “You’re not fired.”
“Okay,” I breathe. “If I’m not working the floor, I’m behind the bar with you, right?”
Before Meg can answer, Miriam barrels into us like she’s got springs in her shoes.
“Bestie!” she squeals, grabbing my arm. “Oh my god, you don’t know yet.”
I blink at her. “Know what?”
Her grin widens. “You got promoted.”
I stare at her. “Promoted to what?”
Meg sighs. “Upstairs.”
