Page 18 of Submission

“You’re no one,” I counter, lifting my brows, refusing to be intimidated.

“Is that right? Well, this isn’t school.” She points at me with one of her bony pointer fingers. “You work here, which means I’m the customer, and you have to serve me. Otherwise, you’ll be out of a job that you so obviously need.”

Diana snickers, and I give her a cool look. Instead of heeding my non-verbal warning, she adds her unwanted two cents. “She’s not wrong, you know. If she wants you to secure her table, I don’t see the harm in it.“

“Diana.” My tone is sharp. “I think it would be wise for you not to interfere and do your job.”

“Let the girl talk,” Ashley smirks. “At least she seems to have an ounce of sense.”

Emboldened by Ashley’s encouraging words, Diana adds, “The customer is always right. If they want you, it’s only right.“

“Diana,” I warn. “If you don’t want to be out of a job in the next five minutes, I’d suggest you stop talking.”

It seems that being nice to the servers is pointless. I’m so busy trying to prove that I’m still one of the gang that no one on the club floor respects me, especially this one.

Diana pales. “You can’t just fire me.“

“I can and I will. Now, show this party to a booth or get out of the club.”

With that, I turn on my heel and walk toward the bar, trying not to let my anger show at the blatant display of her insubordination. I’m too angry to deal with the interviewee in the kitchen, so I walk behind the bar and pretend as if I’m checking the register. I need a moment to cool off.

“What was happening over there?” Gage asks, eyeing the group as Diana guides them to a booth in the back of the club.

“Some students from my college,” I grouse. “Here to make trouble for me.”

“You go to college?”

“Art school.”

“I didn’t realize you were an artist. You never mentioned it.”

“It never came up.”

“Why does Diana look so pissed?”

“How do you have time to notice what’s going on with me when you’re supposed to be busy preparing drinks?” I demand, staring at him, and he grins.

Is he keeping a purposeful eye on me?

“I’m just that good.” He begins preparing a cocktail for one of the customers. “So what gives?”

“Diana tried to undermine me in front of the group and I told her off,” I turn and stand behind the counter, rolling up my sleeves since there is an unusual amount of customers today.

As I help out, Gage frowns. “That’s not okay.”

I shake the cocktail mixer a little too rough for the cosmopolitan I’m prepping.

“I’m going to have to do some re-staffing. Clearly, being nice to them isn’t really working.”

“You’re the manager,” Gage responds, pouring out a drink and sliding it down the bar. “It’s not your job to be their friend.”

“I know,” I mutter, mostly to myself. “It’s just that I’ve been in their shoes and thought that I could do things differently.“

“It doesn’t matter what you thought.” Gage shakes his head. “You can’t be the manager they get to walk all over. Being thoughtful doesn’t equal being a doormat.”

He’s right. I’ve been so focused on being considerate that I stopped exerting my authority.

“Were you a manager back in Chicago?” I ask curiously. “You seem to have a lot of sage advice for a bartender.”

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