Chapter 42
Harper
“So we just toss the vermouth?” Mindy, one of the bartenders at Gatsby, asks. I don’t know what Ash was thinking hiring her. She’s an airhead. Now that I think about it, a lot of the interviewing falls on Jaylen. And Mindy’s tits are fake so…that tracks.
“You swirl the vermouth in the glass until it sticks, and then you toss it. Unless they tell you they want to keep it,” I reiterate.
“Can I drink it?” she asks while crinkling her nose. It’s an expression I’m sure has worked with other bartenders, specifically men. Unfortunately for her, it will not work on me.
“No,” I say. “I’m pretty sure Mr. Levine wouldn’t be particularly happy if you were getting wasted on vermouth every time someone orders a dirty martini.”
“What a shame,” she says. “I make much better tips when I’m buzzy,” she giggles and looks at the other bartenders. Luckily, they don’t share her sense of humor. I pull my phone out and shoot Ash a text to 86 Mindy.
The day goes on much like this: me training bartenders on how to make drinks. I invented these cocktails at my house while watching The Bachelorette or while drunk at the villa in Costa Rica. The fact that Ash even suggested I be in charge of thecocktail menu was enough to send me over the moon. But my mood is still dampened because a week has passed, and Jaylen has managed to avoid me at the office and at Gatsby. Kudos to him for figuring out how to ghost me on two fronts. At the same time, the stress is killing me. All my life, Jaylen and I have never had a spat that lasted more than a couple of days tops. I guess this is more than a spat.
“So, like…what’s in a Sex on the Beach because that sounds so good,” Mindy pulls the gum from her mouth and twirls it around her finger. Yep. Mindy’s gotta go.
“We don’t make those here,” I say with zero inflection in my voice.
“Damn. Guess I’ll have to try the real thing,” she grins with that nose crinkle again. My phone buzzes with a text from Ash.
Asher: That bad, huh?
Harper: She asked if we have Sex on the Beach…I don’t think she’s talking about the drink.
Asher: LOL. Noted.
I smile, something I haven’t done a lot of lately. I leave the bartenders on their own to make the two drinks I am training them on. I make my way towards the bathroom, but as I approach the end of the hallway, I see Jaylen. He’s coming in the back door, and he stops when he sees me. I stop and stare back at him. I swallow. He blinks, and then he turns around to leave.
“Jaylen,” I say. “Jaylen, wait…”
He doesn’t wait. He B-lines it for the door, but I don’t give up that easily. I’ve been trying to talk to him for days, and after dozens ofleft on readtexts, I am done being passive aggressive and shift to just aggressive.
“Jaylen. Wait,” I say as I haul out the door after him. We are literally sprinting across the parking lot. He’s almost forty, and I’m in my mid-twenties. Honestly, this is fucking stupid. It’s like an episode of National Geographic where an angry lion chasesdown a deer. “Seriously Jaylen! Stop being a pansy and talk to me!” I shout and he stops, spinning around to face me. I come to a screeching halt, almost running right into him.
“What?” he asks, the one word holding the same amount of solidarity as the period at the end of the sentence. Unfortunately for him, I’m not done. Not even close.
“Is this really how it’s going to be forever?” I ask.
“Are you still fucking around with Asher?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say. Not that we have done anything since the big blowout. For one, his mouth is all jacked up, thanks to my brother’s fist. Also, I haven’t been in the mood for anything but sitting around in my pajamas eating my weight in ice cream.
“Then yes. This is how it’s going to be,” he says, turning to leave. I grab him by the arm to physically stop him. Well, I mean, he could still get away from me if he wanted. He looks like the guy from Sons of Anarchy, while I weigh a hundred and fifteen pounds soaking wet.
“Will you stop?” I snap with all the sass of every one of my Irish ancestors. “This is ridiculous.”
“No,” he snaps back. “What’s ridiculous is that you thought you could lie to me and get away with it.”
“And I’m sorry! How many times do I have to say it?”
“Do you know what it was like hearing that from Daniel in front of all those people?” He shakes his head.
“I know, I know,” I cover my face with my hands, but then pull them away. “You have to believe that I wanted to tell you. That I was planning on telling you,” I say.
“Oh really? Why should I believe that?” he asks.
“Because I’m your sister, and I never want you to hurt. I just didn’t know how,” I say.
