Page 13 of Waiting on Life
“What about ‘boss’?” I asked with a grin.
He sighed. “Better than ‘sir’ or ‘mister.’ This isn’t a high-class place, and the guys would love to hear crap like that, because they’d never let me live it down.” He narrowed his gaze. “And I don’t want to have to deal with those kinds of problems, you understand? I like my life as stress-free as possible, and lately I haven’t been getting that. With you hired, I might be able to take a day off for a change.”
And he needed it. Prada should have bags like the ones Toby carried under his eyes. Deep, dark rings gave his face a sunken look. Weird that I wanted him to have a day—or more—off so he could finally get some rest.
“I won’t let you down.”
He gave me a half smile. “I believe you. Now, let’s go get you hired.”
We went through a door that took us to a long hallway with rooms spread at equal distances. We followed the corridor that led to an office at the back of the bar. Along the way, Toby pointed out the other areas and told me that was where the extra liquor was stored, the refrigerators and freezers, boxes filled with glassware, and the like. The place looked small on the outside, but was a lot bigger than I thought it would be. Toby was surprisingly patient, taking the time to ask if I had questions—which I didn’t—and asking some of his own to ensure I was paying attention—I was.
When we got to his office, I stopped at the door. I have to admit, I thought the room would be a mess, but I couldn’t have been more wrong. Toby’s computer sat on a clean desk with a lamp overhead. There was a steel filing cabinet to the side that had nothing on top. Another cabinet behind the desk held books on a variety of subjects like mixed drinks, how to turn a profit if you own a bar, and things like that. Along the other wall was a black leather couch. Toby must have noticed me looking.
“Before I got Waldo, I spent a few nights here when I had to work late and come in early,” he explained.
How sad that was. I was suddenly glad he got a cat.
Toby had me sit while he opened one of the drawers and pulled out a stack of papers, which he handed to me.
“Here you go. Before you say anything, when I gave the owner my version of the questionnaire, he added a lot more to it. So my version was short and to the point. His is… well, you’ll see. I have to get out front and check on a delivery. If you have questions, pick up the phone and dial star thirty-two. That rings at the bar.”
“Okay.” I eyed the thick stack of papers. “I’ll be out as quick as I can.”
He gave a sharp nod, then exited through the door.
The paperwork wouldn’t get done by me staring at it, sadly. I took a pen from my pants pocket and got down to business. The fact that Toby told me the bar wasn’t “that” kind of place was belied by the amount of forms I had to fill out. The owner had questions for everything, from allergies to dick size. Okay, that last one was wishful thinking on my part, but still, there were a ton of things he asked. After nearly an hour, I finished, sat back, and swiped a hand over my forehead.
A few moments later, Toby set a soda and a plate of mozzarella sticks down beside me. “Here, have this.”
I peered up at him. “What?”
He gave me a slight scowl. “Don’t read anything into it,” he grumbled. “I’m only doing it because you fed me and gave me a beer last night. It’s me returning the favor, that’s all.”
But the words were said with a frown, like Toby was trying to figure out why he was giving me the food. Based on the cues that I’d been getting from him, I figured I was wasting my time lusting for him. I’d had a thing for more than one straight guy once before, and those never ended well. Plus, I was working here now, so definitely didn’t need any drama.
“Okay, thanks.” I handed him the packet. “That’s very… thorough.”
“It’s fucking ridiculous is what it is. All those questions to work at a bar? Stupid, if you ask me. Which, of course, the boss didn’t, so….”
I picked up one of the cheese sticks and dipped it into a red sauce that was on the plate. From the first bite, I was hooked. I thought they were going to be bland, like mozzarella sticks usually are. Not these. I peered at the filling and noticed the bits of peppers in it. “Jalapeño?” I asked.
“Smoked jalapeño,” Toby corrected me. “Most of our food tends to be on the spicy side. It gets the customers to buy more alcohol.”
“How devious,” I said, grinning at him.
He shrugged one shoulder. “I’d like to think I made some good changes. The owner seems happy with the books, because I’ve had us in the black the last four years. It’s one of the reasons he’s taken a hands-off approach. He likes what I’ve done, and as long as I don’t screw it up, he’s mostly given me free rein to do what I think is best.”
How awesome was that? To have someone trust you that much, they’re willing to put their business in your hands?
“Okay, finish eating. After you’re done, we’ll go up front and you can meet everyone else.”
As eager as I was to start this job, I now had another plan in mind: to get Toby to trust me. I wanted to be there for him to talk to, to unload on—and not necessarily in the fun way—and to commiserate with.
He might not realize it yet, but Toby had become my new project.
Chapter Five
Toby
