I nearly laugh.
“My club?” That’s not happening. “We hired the last of our summer staff back inApril. We turned down over two hundred applicants.”
Every year, twenty-somethings from all over the world flock to Ibiza with the hope of working and partying their summers away in paradise, and most of them have their sights set on Aura. We take care of our employees. We provide housing and competitive pay, but all that pales in comparison to the privilege of wearing one of our uniforms.
“I have nothing for her, not even at my new restaurant. We completed the hiring process there last week.”
“What do you mean you have nothing for her?” Her haughty tone reminds me of my late grandmother. “Never mind. She’ll find work elsewhere. She’s beautiful—someone will hire her.”
I don’t want to give into her, but still, in memory of my abuela, I can’t completely turn down her request. Even if findinga random girl on Ibiza is like searching for a needle in a haystack, I still feel like I owe her some shred of hope.
“Isabel, you said?”
“Isabel De Vere, yes.”
I commit the name to memory. “Right. Okay. I’ll look for her.”
“I knew you would,” she replies, and I can detect the slightest bit of smugness in her voice.
Chapter Four
Isabel
I know I’m not making the best first impression. Ideally I wouldn’t be marching up to Aura with a heavy duffel bag weighing me down, but I have nowhere to leave my stuff, so I push my shoulders back and smile.
Even in daytime, a bouncer is positioned in front of the club with an earpiece and a clipboard. From a distance, I watch employees arrive to work and realize this isn’t just a simple wave-as-you-walk-in situation. The bouncer takes every single ID and cross-references it with a list on his clipboard before the employees are allowed to enter.
I get in line behind two guys who peer back at me with curious glances but otherwise don’t attempt conversation. It’s probably the duffel bag. I’m wincing under its weight; I have Winnie’s entire summer wardrobe crammed in this thing. The guys are allowed past the bouncer, and then it’s my turn to step up and offer a little wave and chuckle.
“Hola.”
I came prepared. Just before I left the café, I looked up the Spanish phrase forCan I apply for a job?and have been repeating it in my head on my walk over. Only now, sadly, the words are a jumbled mess.
“ID card,” he says sternly. His accent is Scandinavian, I suspect. I’m relieved I don’t have to force my Spanish.
“Right.” I was expecting this. “I don’t have one of thoseyet, but—”
He sighs and leans past me so he can beckon for the girl behind me in line. “ID card.”
She steps around me and presents her ID, shooting me an apologetic smile when she’s certain he isn’t looking. He checks her card and waves her forward, all while I stand dumbly looking on. Once the line’s gone, he pulls out his phone, ignoring me.
I inch a half-step closer and adjust the strap of my heavy bag on my shoulder. “I was hoping maybe I could apply for a job.”
He grunts and shakes his head without looking up. “There are no openings.”
“None at all?” I ask, my voice lilting with hope. “What about as a barback? Or a dishwasher?”
I can wash a dish as good as anybody.
“None at all,” he replies harshly before he pockets his phone and prepares to check in the two employees walking up the sidewalk behind me.
Right. No jobs means no jobs. I could stand here pestering the guy, but from his sharp glare, I can tell I wouldn’t make much headway. Even still, I try once more after the two employees have disappeared into the tunnel.
“Is there a manager I could speak to just in case?”
My hopeful smile says,Please take pity on me.
“No point. He will give you the same answer.”
