by Nina Kaye
‘Hi, Liv.’ Josh shakes my hand firmly, but in a friendly manner. ‘Good to meet you. Welcome to the team.’
‘Thanks.’ I blush a little, feeling like an exhibition piece as his eyes linger on me just a little too long. ‘What department do you work in?’
‘I’m the Operations Manager. So, basically, all over.’ He sweeps his arm out to illustrate his point, giving me just the slightest teasing taste of the bulging bicep underneath his shirtsleeve.
‘Right. Great.’ I offer him my best supermodel pout to ensure that’s what he remembers, rather than the inelegant guffaw he witnessed when he first walked in. ‘I guess we’ll be seeing quite a lot of each other then.’
‘I certainly hope so.’ He raises an eyebrow at me then turns to Reyes. ‘Everything all right for this evening?’
‘Yes, all ready.’ Reyes nods confirmation. ‘We are about to start the basic training. Liv will do the easy drinks tonight and I train her on cocktails tomorrow afternoon.’
‘Sounds good. Thanks, Reyes.’ Josh gives her a wink and starts to walk out the bar. ‘Have a good evening, ladies.’
As soon as the door closes behind him, Reyes turns to me excitedly.
‘You like him! I can feel this.’
‘Who wouldn’t?’ I give her an incredulous look. ‘He’s incredible. I can’t remember the last time I came across a man that smoking hot. Don’t tell me you don’t see it – even if you are married.’
My eyes land on the huge diamond ring on her finger, which sparkles alluringly.
‘Wow, that’s some ring!’ I grab her hand. ‘That must be a carat, at least.’
‘You are correct.’ Reyes examines her ring adoringly. ‘What about you, Liv? You are not married?’
‘No way.’ I shake my head deliberately. ‘I don’t have time for men in my life.’
‘Not even a man like Josh?’ She gives me a wicked look. ‘With all his charming and his muscles.’
‘Definitely not. My rule is to enjoy looking, but not to touch. They never turn out to be as good as the fantasy anyway.’
‘Aww, Chica.’ Reyes offers me a sympathetic look. ‘I am thinking you have been hurt, yes?’
‘Who hasn’t?’ I screw up my nose, then properly consider her question. ‘It’s complicated. They just don’t seem to be able to understand or accept my level of ambition. I want to be a top communications and PR executive, to be running my own business.’
‘This will be good, I can see that.’ Reyes shrugs. ‘A big achieving. Lots of money…’
I’m relieved that she doesn’t question how I’m going to fulfil that particular life goal by working in a bar.
‘But there is more to life than work and money,’ she continues. ‘Travel, love, family and experiencing happiness – that is what I think important.’
‘I guess that must be where we differ then.’ I smile at her.
‘I think you are right. But we can still be amigas.’ She gives me a playful nudge. ‘And I can work on you.’
‘No chance.’ I shake my head. ‘I’m on a one-way path. Nothing will change that.’
As I say this, the creeping doubts over my ability to fulfil my dream start to intrude into my consciousness. I give my head a firm shake to scatter them and send them scurrying back to where they came from.
‘Nothing will change that,’ I repeat, more for my own benefit than for Reyes.
‘We will see.’ Reyes’s eyes glint mischievously, as she pulls out the bar training manual from a cupboard under the sink.
Chapter 8
A few hours later, the dimly lit bar is half full and the orders have been coming in steadily. A smooth funky beat pounds through the speakers, peppered with lively chat and sporadic peals of laughter from the punters. It may only be Monday, but the vibe almost rivals a Friday night party atmosphere. Reyes and I have been joined by Amir, who is doing table service, sending in orders via the Waiter Pad and delivering the trays of drinks we make up. After a series of abysmal attempts to pull pints, I have been relegated to spirits and mixers, and bottled drinks.
‘You are good, Chica?’ Reyes shouts over to me, as I’m making up two double Teasmith’s gins with Fever-Tree tonic and a Tanqueray No. 10 with slimline, to add to a handful of gin cocktails that Reyes has been mixing.
‘Yeah, fine,’ I call back, flustered. ‘Nearly done.’
Despite having by far the more complex part of the two orders we’re working on, Reyes has her drinks ready before me. Between faffing around trying to find the right glasses, and taking an inordinate amount of time locating the right gins from the array of bottles in the bar, I’ve completely failed the efficiency test.
‘Done.’ I breathlessly plonk the drinks on the waiting tray, which is instantly whipped away and delivered to the waiting tables by Amir. ‘What’s next?’
‘Next. You breathe,’ Reyes instructs me. ‘We have no more orders for now.’
I lean on the bar and let out an enormous sigh.
‘This is exhausting, Reyes. I’d totally forgotten how much energy is required for a job like this. It’s only been busy for a couple of hours and already I’m done. My feet are insanely painful!’
‘Aww, Chica. I am sorry. This is not busy at all. Wait till the weekend.’
‘That’s not what I need to hear – at all,’ I whine.
‘You go for your break now,’ says Reyes. ‘Have some resting time.’
‘Are you sure? I could actually do with a breather.’ I give her a grateful look. ‘Sorry, I’ll get better, I promise.’
‘It is fine. You go.’ Reyes blows me a little kiss. ‘I know you will be better. You just need time and some more training. Now, go!’
I head out of the bar to the staff area, to retrieve my phone from my locker. As I press the home button and the screen illuminates, I see I have a Messenger message from Dylan from an hour before.
How’s your first shift going?
I quickly tap out a response.
Awful. Horrible. Exhausting. Boss from hell. Hate you for making me do this!
He replies almost instantly.
Glad it’s going well.
Irritated by his response, I quickly compose and send another message.
What part of that made you think it’s going well?? I hate it!!
Annoyed, I shove my phone in my tunic pocket, leave the changing rooms and wander down the corridor; unsure of where to go or what to do. As I walk, I feel a buzz on my hip and pull out my phone again. Another message from Dylan.
You’re still there, so it’s going well. :) Still good for lunch tomorrow?
‘Arrghh, sod off, Dylan!’ I shout at my phone.
My words echo through the long, empty corridor.
‘You all right, Liv?’ A voice unexpectedly comes from behind me, causing me to jump.
My shock quickly turns to humiliation on realising that the voice belongs to Josh.
‘Oh… hi!’ I swivel round on the spot and beam at him, planting my previous pout back on my face. ‘Didn’t see you there… Have you been there long?’
‘Long enough.’ He chuckles. ‘Lovers’ tiff?’
‘What, that? No, not at all.’ My face is starting to burn. ‘Just, err… stupid voice recognition on my phone. Can’t seem to get a signal.’ I wave my phone around to emphasise my fib.
‘Interesting name for a device personal assistant.’ He eyes me curiously.
‘Hmmm…’ I pretend to be distracted by my phone signal to try and curb the conversation.
‘Are you on your break?’ Josh asks me.
‘Yes, actually.’ I look at him. ‘Is there anywhere I can sit for a bit?’
‘Yeah, there’s a staff canteen. Has no one shown you where it is?’
‘No, but that’s probably because Aaron showed me around the other day. I skipped the tour with Clara, so maybe I haven’t seen everything.’
‘You skipped the tour with Clara?’ His smouldering chestnut eyes are filled with amusement. ‘How did that
go down?’
I regard him awkwardly, unsure. He’s given me a sense that he knows what a nightmare she is, but I’ve only just met this guy. What if it’s a test? I don’t know whether I can trust him.
‘It’s all right.’ He gives me a reassuring look. ‘I know she’s a mare. I’ve seen her in action, although she doesn’t actually know that.’
‘Right.’ I decide to opt for cautious sharing to keep him on side. ‘Well, yes, she wasn’t best pleased. In fact, she wasn’t best pleased that I’m here at all.’
‘Yeah, I heard you’re one of Aaron’s favourites from years ago.’ Josh’s lips curl up in a satisfied smile. ‘That won’t have gone down well.’
‘The words lead and balloon come to mind.’ I grimace.
‘Oh dear.’ Josh chuckles. ‘Well, just let me know if she’s making things difficult for you. I’ll sort her out.’
‘Thanks.’ I feel a wave of relief knowing that I have someone with some clout looking out for me; I couldn’t go to Aaron with something like that.
‘So, you hungry?’ Josh asks. ‘Want to get some food?’
For a moment, I wonder if he’s asking me out, then realise he means the staff canteen.
‘I could eat,’ I say. ‘Although I hear the food’s not up to much either.’
‘I bet Reyes told you that.’ Josh laughs, as we wander down the corridor together. ‘She’s a total food snob. Her husband’s family owns a two-Michelin-starred restaurant, among other successful ventures, in Spain. They’re totally loaded. I still can’t work out why she and her husband are over here slumming it like they are.’
‘I see.’ I nod slowly as recognition dawns. ‘She kept that quiet. Although, now the humungous diamond ring makes sense.’
We reach the end of the corridor and Josh leads me into a large room filled with white tables and black plastic chairs; a smattering of people sitting at them. The walls are bare and white, and the floor a nondescript grey linoleum: making the whole area look quite clinical. To the left is a self-service food area, with what looks like quite a range of hot and cold dishes on offer. In the far-right corner is the only saving grace to the room’s lack of character: a cluster of mismatched armchairs and sofas, a large wall-mounted TV blaring out the latest goings-on in EastEnders to a non-existent audience, and a pool table.
‘You any good at pool, Liv?’ Josh’s eyes follow my gaze.
‘I’ve played a bit.’ I shrug disinterestedly. ‘Not for a really long time though.’
‘Maybe we can have a game after?’
‘Sure, why not.’ Although I really don’t fancy it, I decide it’s best to humour him for now.
We approach the food counter where Josh hands me a plastic tray and we work our way along the offerings, helping ourselves. It’s no gourmet cuisine, but I’m far from disappointed, especially after Reyes made it sound so awful. There’s a salad bar with a wide array of cold meats, chicken, quiches and different types of salad, and a hot buffet bursting with delicious-smelling, steaming hot steak pie, macaroni cheese, roast chicken, a nice-looking fish dish and huge metal trays of potatoes, chips and vegetables. Although I’m starving, I opt only for a few bits and pieces from the salad bar, and a couple of chips, unsure of the etiquette of the place. I quickly realise I needn’t have bothered; when I turn round to ask Josh if he has a preference on where to sit, I see that his plate is piled mountainously with what looks like about three meals in one.
‘Is that all you’re having?’ He looks at me in astonishment. ‘This is all you’ll get till you go home late tonight.’
‘Err… yeah, I’m not that hungry.’ I silently kick myself for not taking more, now too embarrassed to return and fill my plate.
‘You women.’ Josh shakes his head. ‘All on bloody diets. It’s tragic.’
‘I’m not on a diet.’ I raise my eyebrows at him. ‘I’m just not hungry. And I object to the sweeping sexist comment.’
‘Ooh, she’s a feisty one.’ Josh grins. ‘Sorry, didn’t mean for it to come across that way.’
‘Apology accepted.’ I soften my tone, realising that I’d be best to keep my argumentative side under wraps, particularly when I’m going to need all the allies I can get against Clara.
We take a seat and start chatting over our food. I finish mine at least ten minutes ahead of Josh. He tells me about his job, how he worked his way up through the hotel, and about his beloved dog, Bruno, who his neighbour looks after while he’s at work. Josh asks me a whole load of questions about where I grew up and what I did before starting at the hotel – all of which I expertly parry. Instead I keep the conversation light and banterous, which isn’t difficult. I can tell Josh is one of life’s less serious types.
‘Game of pool?’ he asks, as he clears away both our plates.
‘Maybe just a quick one.’ I nod, deciding that, not only is bonding with Josh good for my survival in this place, he’s also immensely pleasant to talk to and look at. ‘I’ll need to get back to the bar soon.’
‘Great.’ He heads to the pool table, inserts a couple of coins into the machine and the balls come clattering out from inside the table.
Josh quickly sets them up in a triangle on the green felt table-top, expertly shifting the balls around to ensure they’re all in the correct position.
‘You can break.’ He hands me a cue and a cube of blue chalk.
As I chalk the top of the cue absent-mindedly, the action unexpectedly triggers a something in my mind, causing me to drift off momentarily…
‘Where the hell have you been, you nasty little waste of space? Put the pool cue down and get your arse home – NOW. What have I told you about hanging around with that little scrote?’
‘Don’t call her that, Mr Hamilton. I don’t care who you are. Liv’s done nothing wrong.’
‘Who asked you? I suggest you disappear – fast.’
‘Dylan, please go. You’re just making things worse.’
‘No way, Liv. He’s out of order. He’s dangerous. I’m not letting this happen again.’
‘Dylan, please! You’re just making this worse for me.’
‘Be a good idea to listen to the girl. Or Broken Arms won’t just be the name of the pub.’
‘Liv? Are you going to break? Won’t be a quick game if we have to wait all night for you to come up with a game plan.’
‘Oh. Josh. Sorry.’ I drag myself back to the present. ‘I… err… must be more tired than I thought.’
Feeling thrown by the unwelcome memory that has just surfaced – one I had buried deep within my consciousness a long time ago – I completely miss the white ball on my first attempt, and end up half-sprawled across the pool table. My second is not much better, as the white ball rattles off the side cushions without so much as grazing the red and yellow triangle of balls at the other end.
‘Two shots to you.’ I hand him the cue and slump away from the table, cheeks burning, trying to think of an excuse to cut the game short.
‘Wow, Liv,’ Josh teases me affectionately, completely oblivious to the raw turmoil in my mind. ‘From what you said, I thought either your skills would be passable, or that you had lulled me into a false sense of security. That was quite something.’
He approaches the table and proceeds to break the triangle with a bullet of a shot, sinking one of the red balls, then pots two further reds in swift succession.
‘Over to you.’ He grins, eyes twinkling as he hands the cue back to me.
His arrogance acts like some kind of spell-breaking potion. What a cocky sod. He may be hot, but much as his self-assurance is very attractive, I realise I can’t let this joker win. My energy is suddenly diverted from the scars of my childhood to a re-ignition of the hard drive and determination that helped me get out of the estate and to where I was just over three months ago.
‘All right, don’t go getting above yourself.’ I give him a warning look. ‘That was just bad luck.’
‘We’ll see.’ Josh drapes himself across the armchair conf
idently.
I step forward to the table, size up my best option, then lean down and take aim. It’s looking good, but as the pool cue moves through my fingers and makes contact with the white ball, I feel a slight shift to the left and I know I’ve fluffed the shot. The yellow ball simply ricochets off the cushions to the side of the pocket, and comes to a standstill two-thirds of the way down the table.
‘Nearly.’ Josh gets up smugly. ‘At least you hit something this time.’
I’m now fizzing inside: with frustration at myself; and with unwavering determination. I have to win this. Not just to wipe the smarmy look off Josh’s face. But also, to retaliate against the sickening memories that have just dared to infiltrate my conscious mind; to face up to all the crap that I’ve dealt with over the last few months – and tell it exactly where to go. Suddenly it’s not just a friendly game of pool, but a test of whether I still have the fight left in me. I watch, in frustration, as he pots a further two red balls with effortless ease, and self-righteously hands the cue back to me.
Eyeing the balls and angles on the table, I carefully plot my next moves. Taking great care, I line up my first shot, and follow through, the cue this time moving fluently through my fingers. A first yellow ball drops noisily into the pocket and I feel a surge of confidence. I follow up by sinking a further three balls, before I finally miss a shot.
Looking up from the table I see that the smug smile has disintegrated from Josh’s face. The easy banter between us has fallen away. Saying nothing, Josh takes his next shot and comes up empty-handed. The tension mounts as our natural competitiveness locks horns; both trying desperately to seal the win. Eventually, we’re both down to the black ball, and after several failed attempts on both our parts, I triumph – and score the win. I walk round the table to a dejected Josh and offer him a conciliatory handshake.
‘Good game.’ I’m trying hard not to behave in the way that he did previously, but it’s almost impossible not to let some pride leak through; particularly given the high stakes I had set for myself.
‘You got me.’ He holds his hands up in defeat, but he’s now smiling graciously. ‘It was just as I thought. You lulled me into a false sense of security.’