For the few hours before opening, Verity continues to show me around the place, taking me through drink orders and making sure I know at least a few dozen of the more popular cocktails.
“Just grab one of us if you have any bother,” she offers a few minutes before the doors open for the night. “Everyone’s here to help.”
The friendly atmosphere is a refreshing change. People at the restaurant might have been pleasant but when you’re overworked, it’s hard to keep a smile on your face or carve out the few minutes needed for a catch-up.
That doesn’t appear to be a problem here. Even when the place has been open for a few hours, there are more staff than customers. An imbalance even more noticeable when Patrick and Verity pull me away from the front to take me on a tour around the back.
“Lock mentioned your dad has a gambling problem,” he says without a trace of embarrassment. By bluntly addressing the issue, I find it far easier to respond than I might otherwise have done.
“Yes, he does.”
“If you want to steer clear of rooms being hired for private gaming, just let Glen know. There’s usually a wide enough spread of staff available that no one needs to be anywhere they’re uncomfortable.”
“Oh, I don’t have a problem with it,” I say, then bite my lip. To be honest, I’ve never really thought about it.
“Let him know,” Patrick repeats. “It’s okay if things change around, too. Just keep him updated.”
“I’m sure he has a lot more important things to organise than a gambling-free roster.”
That makes him laugh. “It’s literally his job. If you’re not nit-picking about hours and tolerance levels, you’ll leave the poor man with nothing to do.”
“And the devil finds work for idle hands,” Verity intones with ominous glee. “Not saying that we sometimes make things up just to see how he handles it.”
“See?” Patrick raises his eyebrow as though her teasing words were court-worthy proof. “Compared to this lot, you’re no trouble.”
He stays with me in a room where there’s a roulette table and a handful of bidders. The slender operator glances over at me, doing a double take and frowning at Patrick who shrugs.
“What’s that about?” I ask, growing bolder as everyone seems perfectly happy to be open about everything. “Have I stumbled into the middle of some secret language?”
“Hardly secret.” He points to the croupier, a man in his mid-twenties who must spend at least half of the hours he isn’t working lifting weights at the gym. “Miles just expressed alarm at your age, and I assured him you weren’t part of any clandestine agreement.”
Patrick tilts his head, another smile playing at the edge of his mouth. “He should know by now that I let people get at least five years’ experience in adulthood before I suggest some of our more advanced employment clauses.”
After the bluntness earlier, his sudden dance around the topic becomes even more suspicious. “What clauses?”
He nudges me in the ribs. “Never you mind. Come back to me with that question when you’re twenty-three and I’ll give you a graphic demonstration. Until then, it’s none of your concern.”
“Why five years?”
He bursts into laughter. “Because any sooner and you can’t be sure the adult part of adulthood really stuck.”
I shake my head as the entire conversation flies right over it. I decide since Patrick told me not to be concerned, I won’t be. If that proves to be a mistake, I’ll know better in the future.
“There’s a private bar in the corner,” he continues now, then drops his voice low. “If you really don’t mind gambling, these rooms come with far less chance of rowdy customers. If anyone tries to cop a feel, we’ll kick them out, but it’s easier all round to keep clear.”
“Sounds good.” I smooth my apron, growing more unsure of myself the better the workplace appears. All these options make my head spin, and the overstaffing is something so opposite to every other place I’ve worked, I’m anxious for no reason. “Would you like me to stay here now?”
“Did Faisel give you a reference guide?”
“For the mixology?” When Patrick nods. “Yeah.”
“Then why don’t we leave it there for the day? If you’re really keen to keep working, you can review the material from home. Glen will email your schedule.”
“Do I take the uniform?”
Verity shakes her head. “Follow me and I’ll show you the hamper. Just put your uniform in there at the end of shift or if someone spills a drink on you. We send it off to a commercial laundry and the shelf is kept stocked.”
When we’re safely inside the staff room, I whisper, “Doesn’t it bother you that men can come in here while you’re changing?”
