A sudden crash and a loud curse made them and everyone else crowding around jump, all of them turning to see what had happened.
“It’s fine,” the second bartender declared through gritted teeth, clutching a rag against one hand. Around him lay the shattered remains of the glasses he had tried too late to catch.
“Well, don’t just stand there,” Danny said, tossing a towel over his shoulder and striding down the bar. “No, I don’t mean pick up theglass,” he added impatiently. “Go get yourself cleaned up and make sure you don’t need a doctor. If you do, Benny or Saul will take you. Go on.” He gave the bartender a nudge toward the bar flap. “We’re fine here, and we sure as hell don’t need you bleeding all over the place. Nothing to see, folks,” he added in a louder voice, smiling at the customers who were crowding around. “Give me half a sec to get things cleaned up and we’ll make everyone’s drink a double.”
Vivian wasn’t listening to him; her eyes were fixed on the rag wrapped around the bartender’s hand as he scooted out of the room. It was slowly turning red from the cut on his hand, and the sight of it was too much like the memory of Huxley Buchanan lying on the floor. It took her a moment to snap herself back to the present and realize Danny was saying her name.
“Viv!” he said again as he finished dumping the dustpan full of shattered glass in the trash can and wiping down the bar. “Get back here.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you.” He lifted the bar flap and gestured at her impatiently. “I need an extra set of hands. Grab that bottle of gin and two coupes. French Seventy-Fives for that good-looking couple on your left.” He winked at the customers as he said it, and they preened at the compliment even as he was turning toward the next man in line. “Now, sir, what’s your poison?”
Vivian grabbed the bottle of champagne that was chilling under the bar and set it next to the glasses, then picked up the gin again. “How much—”
Danny didn’t wait for her to finish. “Just count to three while you pour and top it off with as much champagne as will fit,” he called. “It’s an art, not a science.”
“Make it five instead of three,” one of the waiting men suggested, and the other people crowding around the bar laughed.
Vivian laughed along with them, even though her hands wereshaking with nerves and memory both. But she focused on the task in front of her, glad for the distraction and more than a little pleased to discover how much she had picked up from the other side of the bar as Danny called out instructions for the next round of drinks.
That was where Honor found her.
Vivian didn’t see her at first; she didn’t look up until a soft voice drawled, “I didn’t know I hired a new bartender.”
Vivian nearly dropped the bottle of rum she was holding; she caught herself just in time, sliding it across the bar to Danny. He stopped it with a flourish while Honor leaned against the bar with one elbow, watching them.
The other bartender had come with Honor, and he bumped Vivian’s shoulder as he took his place behind the bar once more. “Thanks for the help, Viv,” he said as he snagged a bottle of gin, the bandage wrapped around his hand not seeming to slow him down at all.
“You bet,” Vivian said. But she kept her eyes fixed on Honor as she ducked out from behind the counter without bothering to lift the bar flap. “You got a minute?”
Honor studied her; from the wary look in her eyes, it was clear that she realized it wasn’t a casual question. “You on a break, pet?”
The question felt like a slap, and Vivian sucked in an angry breath. Honor always had time for her employees, even on the busiest nights. It was one of the reasons they were so loyal to her. “No,” Vivian said, trying to keep her voice calm. “But I need to talk to you.”
Honor hesitated, then shook her head. “It’s a busy night,” she said, turning away.
Vivian caught her arm, pulling her a few steps away from the dance floor, closer to an out-of-the-way corner. She didn’t want to make a scene—that would be bad for everyone—but she wasn’t going to take no for an answer. “Seems I should have given my condolences last time we talked,” she said, her voice low and sharp. “Funny you didn’t mention it at the time. Any particular reason?”
Honor had gone completely still, her face at its most impassive and unreadable. “It wasn’t your business,” she said softly, easing her arm out of Vivian’s grip. But there was an edge to her voice, like one instrument off-key in an otherwise perfect performance.
She was hiding something. And she was trying to warn Vivian away from asking more.
Vivian ignored the warning. “Like hell it wasn’t. You gonna tell me what’s going on?”
“Nothing is—”
“Or am I going to make a scene right here?”
“That would be unwise.” The warning in Honor’s voice was even sharper.
“Your call then,” Vivian said. She didn’t look away, and at last, Honor nodded, a barely perceptible jerk of her chin. She turned on her heel and walked toward the back hall.
Vivian glanced at Danny, who wasn’t the only person at the bar watching the quiet confrontation. “Back in a jiff, pal,” Vivian called, flashing him a smile that was all for show. He gave her a jaunty smile and a salute in return, and the small performance was enough to send the few curious onlookers back to their drinks and their dancing partners. But Vivian could see the worry in Danny’s eyes as she hurried after her boss.
Honor was already vanishing from sight up the stairs. Vivian wasn’t sure anymore whether she was supposed to follow. But she did anyway, her heart pounding with every step. The door to Honor’s office was on the landing halfway up; a second door, which was usually locked, led to the apartment rooms upstairs where Honor often stayed. To Vivian’s relief, the office door stood open for her.
She still paused at the threshold, a knot of anxiety clenching in her stomach. She didn’t know what she was about to learn, but things were already strained with Honor. Was it worth making them even worse?
