I scramble for something that might make him actually fucking think for once:
She’s drinking with a bunch of guys who’d crawl over broken glass to fuck her. Show up, and she'll probably get mad enough to let them. This is NOT a Thrasher situation. Do NOT roll in with the dramatic He-Man act. If you try a power play, you will lose, and you will lose her. Permanently.
He doesn’t respond, and I know exactly why. I can just see him grabbing his keys as he heads for the door.
“Shiiiit…”
“Cee?” Davis calls from the fryer. “Is Ada in trouble?”
“Not as much as Jake is,” I say, pulling open Instagram. “Sorry, I’m not cooking but?—”
“No,” Davis says firmly. “I’ve got this. You do what you need to do.”
Gratitude seeps around my panic, so strong it almost floors me. I swallow the lump in my throat and search for @mrsjennysharpe. Her Jake post is gone, but there’sa new one. Jenny in a skintight blue bodycon dress, looking like Blake Lively swallowed an even younger, hotter Blake Lively.
I rake a sweaty hand through my ever-sweatier hair, and picture Will Sharpe comparing the two of us.
Stop, says the last sane voice in my head.Focus.
I check the Afterglow inbox for messages from Jenny. There’s one right at the top:
Good evening, please find attached photos from the social media accounts of one of your employees. I’m sure you will agree that this behaviour is deeply inappropriate and reflects poorly on your establishment.
She’s sent two screenshots. The first is Ada’s now-infamous revenge selfie, her smirking like a vixen with Jake’s tattooed arm in the background. I nearly dropped my phone when I first saw it, half-horrified, half-awestruck by how far Ada was willing to go to torch a lover. The second picture is from the official Afterglow feed, a screengrab of a video Addy posted of her behind the bar, rocking the tiniest branded tee in existence, and practically fellating a maraschino cherry. The caption reads:
Make Afterglow the cherry on your weekend!
It’s bold. It’s sexy. It’s got thirteen thousand likes, and it’smarketing.I scroll back to Jenny’s message, and the words ‘deeply inappropriate’ land like a slap.
Sure, the cherry video issuggestive, but so are beer ads, music videos, and Jenny’s own fucking Instagram, where her tits could qualify for a separate account. She isn’toffended, she’s just pissed because she lost. Because Jake didn’t chase her. Because, once again, she took a swing at Ada and found out Ada hits harder.
And now that scheming bitch is trying to fuck up what she thinks is Ada’s employment out of spite. And she’s thick as two planksbecause, despite ample evidence, she clearly has no idea thatIown Afterglow. Blood pounds in my ears as I type a reply to Jenny:
Your concern has been noted and will be given all the consideration it deserves. We are proud of our staff at Afterglow and see no need to police their personal social media accounts or the approved content we choose to post.
I hit send and pray Jenny chokes on her next Lancôme Juicy Tube, then I return to the fryer. Davis silently shifts aside to let me through. He’s crushed the backlog. We’re down to one lone order of prawn twisters.
“Thank you,” I exhale. “You’re an angel of manly beauty.”
Davis grins, and I’m too strung out to cringe. Heisan angel of manly beauty. He even makes a ketchup-stained kitchen apron look good. I sling enough crustaceans to satisfy a beluga whale and set the fryer timer for five minutes.
“What’s the latest?” Davis asks.
I groan. “Ada’s wasted. Jake’s on the warpath. And Jenny, that bitch who posted the photos of Jake, is in my DMs. She wants me to sack Ada for her ‘deeply inappropriate’ posts.”
Davis laughs like that isn’t completely fucking insane. Something about the low timbre and how it rolls over me blunts the frayed edges of my panic. I grasp at it, that abstract feeling of comfort that slides through me, but all too fast, it’s gone.
“You gonna tell her Ada doesn’t work here?” Davis asks.
“I’m not giving her the satisfaction,” I wipe my hands on a tea towel. “She doesn’t even know it’s my bar.”
“Didn’t she go to school with you?”
“Yeah, but she’s a self-deluded cow. Anyway, I told her we’re very open-minded here, and she can go have the day she deserves.”
“Nice.”
I know I sound brave, butwhen my back pocket buzzes, I flinch. My fingers tremble as I pull it, wondering what fresh shit-storm has rolled in.
