Business was good. And I knew how important staff was to that bottom line. But Jesus. Working with Naomi day in and day out? How long would it take before she’d spout off something smart, and I’d pin her to a wall and kiss her just to shut her up?
I kept an eye on the security monitor while I worked my way through the list of stuff Fi needed me to do.
Payroll submitted. Liquor order finalized. Emails returned. And I’d finally gotten around to working on the ads. It was midnight, closing time, and I was beyond ready to call it a night.
“Come on, Waylon,” I called.
The dog bounded out of his bed.
We found the bar empty of patrons.
“Decent night tonight,” Silver called from the register where she was scanning the day’s report.
“How decent?” I asked, doing my best to ignore Naomi and Max as they rolled utensils into napkins and laughed about something. Waylon charged over to them to demand affection.
“Good enough for shots,” Silver said.
“Did someone say shots?” Max called.
I had a deal with the staff. Every time we beat the previous week’s sales the entire shift earned shots.
She slid the report across the bar to me, and I flipped to the bottom line. Damn. It had been a good night.
“Maybe new girl’s our lucky charm,” she said.
“Nothing about her is lucky,” I insisted.
“You still owe us.”
I sighed. “Fine. Line ’em up. Teremana.” I glanced over my shoulder. “Let’s go, ladies.”
Naomi cocked her head, but Max jumped out of her seat. “I knew it was a good night. Fat tips too. Come on,” she said, pulling Naomi to her feet.
I didn’t miss the wince as Naomi stood. She obviously wasn’t used to being on her feet for hours at a time. But I respected her for stubbornly trying to hide her discomfort on the way to the bar. Waylon followed on her heels like a lovesick idiot.
“Boss called tequila,” Silver said, producing the bottle.
Max whistled and drummed the bar.
“Tequila?” Naomi repeated on a yawn.
“Tradition,” Silver explained. “Gotta celebrate the wins.”
“One more,” I said before Silver started to pour.
Her eyebrows winged up as she produced another glass. “Bossman is in. This is a first.”
Max looked surprised too.
“Wait. Don’t we need salt or lemons or hot sauce or something?” Naomi asked.
Silver shook her head. “That’s for shitty tequila.”
Shots poured, we held our glasses aloft.
“You gotta make the toast,” Max said to me when it became clear no one else was going to do it.
“Fuck. Fine. To a good night,” I said.