Daddy’s home.
And much like us hearing our dad’s foot hit the floor after a late night shift when we were younger, everyone suddenly straightens up and shuts up. Everyone but the sobbing mess in front of me.
They have no idea how much they’re going to regret those tears in a minute.
“What seems to be the problem here?” I hear him before I see him. I peek over my shoulder to see all six-foot-three of my brother standing in the doorway, his presence commanding attention. True to his style, AJ’s chestnut hair is perfectly slicked back and faded at the sides, his freshly shaven face accentuates his strong jawline, and his grey eyes promise a world of hurt for anyone who crosses him.
Only he can walk into a room in an outrageously overpriced Armani suit and still look effortlessly cool and intimidating. His tattoos peek out at the neck and left cuff from beneath the black material of his shirt, adding an edge to his otherwise polished appearance.
He takes a step forward and everyone who can find an excuse to scatter does just that.
“Samantha’s a bit upset,” I throw over my shoulder.
AJ stuffs his hands into his pockets, his casual stride giving no indication of the storm brewing inside him. He gives the kitchen a quick once over ensuring there is no build-up or hazards that could indicate an accident. “I can see that.” He gives them the once over, checking for any signs of cuts or burns and finding none. “Did you hurt yourself, Samantha?” He asks, knowing full well by this stage that they did not.
“No,” they shake their head and sniff pathetically.
AJ’s eyes narrowa fraction.
Great, this is going to be another disaster for me to clean up.
“Then what seems to be the problem?”
They roll back their shoulders and say, with too much gusto for somebody being so unreasonable, “I Identify as—”
AJ holds up his hand, cutting them short. A hint of a smirk appears on his face. “Samantha,” he purrs, removing a piece of invisible lint from their shirt. “I have a restaurant full of hungry patrons outside. I’ve had to come in to man the bar because we are so understaffed.”
I can see his jaw tic and I know he’s going for the kill.
“The only thing you should identify as when you’re on my time is an employee,” he states firmly. “Your personal preferences and identities are irrelevant when I’m paying you to do a job. Now, you have two choices,” he pauses with a snarl, letting their anxiety grow in the tense silence. “You can either wipe the snot from your face and get your arse back out there and do your job or get the fuck out and sign on the dole first thing Monday morning.”
“I…” They gulp, shocked that my brother is not sympathetic to those who feel entitled to special treatment.
AJ strides right on by them, heading straight for the office. “When I come out of here, you better either have a tray in your hand or a bag on your back. Believe me, you don’t want me to make that decision for you.” Then he disappears.
I see Samantha turn for the staff room. Bag it is by the looks of things. Great, now we’re a server down too.
I march through the kitchen and out to the bar, full of eager patrons. AJ is the better bartender, but I think I’ll wait here until he graces us with his presence. I do not want to be in that kitchen for round two if Samantha tries to cause a scene.
I immediately get a group of women ordering; I’d put them anywhere from nineteen to twenty-four. After I check I.D., I practically shit myself when they all order porn star martinis—couldn’t be a simple vodka and coke, no?
AJ steps up beside me while I’m googling how to make them. “Move,” he brushes me aside, grabbing the cocktail shaker and vanilla vodka and getting to work. “Can you cover her tables?” he asks, watching Samantha storm past the customers with a furious expression on their face.
“Their,” I correct, and he glares at me. “I’m on it.”
Thankfully, everything else runs somewhat smoothly until one of the lads comes in to take over for me. AJ must have called him while he was in the office. I hurry back behind the bar seeing AJ “accidentally” knock over someone’s drink and get straight to work on making her up a fresh one. His fingers press on the earpiece all our bar staff wear for these occasions and he half-turns away from her, keeping an eye on the man to her immediate left to make sure he doesn’t go anywhere.
Two of our “security guards” escort the bloke to the back rooms, while AJ continues to serve the woman. He pushes a fresh drink in front of her with a charming smile, making sure to apologise for the spill before taking his earpiece out and passing it to me. “I’ll be back in ten,” he says, not stopping to clarify what the hell is going on. He doesn’t need to. It happens too much in the nightclub to warrant an explanation.
It’s not always someone spiking a drink either, sometimes they sneak in syringes to jab unsuspecting patrons. Trust AJ’s Hawkeyes to notice the sleight of hand when others fail to do so.
The bar stool directly in front of me is immediately taken by a young woman with long auburn hair and cognac eyes. She’snot too dressy, not too casual and I can practically see FUCK OFF! Tattooed on her forehead in neon letters. I only hope it’s as obvious to all straight men.
“What can I get you, love?”
Her expression instantly changes to a warm, inviting smile. “Can I get a Smirnoff Ice, please?”
I must make the “hmm” face because she lets out a nervous laugh. “What?”
