Close Cover (Masters and Mercenaries #16)(16)

The cocktail waitress Lisa had named Whiskey because of her throaty voice shook her head. “Nah. Jai likes J?ger. This is a superhot guy. I’m planning on going home with this dude. He’s with the cowboy. Don’t know his name because he always pays cash, but he comes in once a week or so. Usually during the day. Weird guy. I think he actually comes in for the buffet.”

With a wince she turned and poured the beers. Bartending had gotten her through college. By the time she’d gotten into grad school, Will had started making enough from his practice that he’d asked to pay for her school. He hadn’t liked her spending long nights at bars, but the truth was she kind of missed it. There was something deeply human about a good bar. A good bar could be a community, form a makeshift family for those who desperately needed one. Working in bars had taught her that kindness lurked in the oddest of places, and that sometimes those who were the most broken could also be the most human of all.

“What’s up with the daiquiri, New Girl? You don’t know how to make one?” Whiskey asked. She was a tall bleach blonde with beautiful golden-brown skin and a slender body. She had on a tiny mini skirt, sky-high stripper heels, and nothing else. “I could go and get Jazz, but she doesn’t like her breaks getting broke, if you know what I mean. I’m surprised because honestly so far you’ve been real solid back there. I lost a bet to Rosie. Said you wouldn’t make it an hour.”

She opened the fridge and thanked god that at least Jai had a proper bar. There were lots of chilled pub glasses for beers and exactly five classic cocktail glasses. She pulled one out and reached for the shaker. “I’m stronger than I look.”

One part Bacardi. One part simple syrup, but not the crap Jai had bought. Lisa hated over-the-counter simple syrup. Something about the processing gave it an aftertaste she couldn’t stand. Her first boss had taught her to make her own each and every night. Simple syrup was easy enough to make. During her break, she’d gone into the kitchen and met the cook, retired Staff Sergeant William Batten. He’d been more than happy to let her use a sauce pan and his stove top. She’d noticed that a few of the girls had come through looking for snacks and he’d treated even the mostly naked ones with the kindness of a father to his wayward daughters. He would shake his head, avert his eyes, and pass them the sandwiches he’d made.

“Rosie said any woman who can walk in those shoes belongs here,” Whiskey replied.

Her sad, hand-me-down Louboutins reduced to stripper shoes. Although now that she looked at what the other ladies were wearing, she suspected that perhaps Mr. Christian himself was a strip-club fan. She cut a lime in half, shoving it into the juicer and squeezing with a practiced hand. “Good to know I have proper footwear. And the thing about the daiquiri is it’s a little like a test. You know how chefs test each other?”

Whiskey shook her head. “No. Wait. Do they go at each other with knives? Because that’s how my uncle Antony did it and he owned an Italian place back in the day.”

She couldn’t help but smile even as her feet ached. It made her realize how much she’d isolated herself over the past six months. Since the debacle with Vallon, she’d been holed up in her apartment feeling sorry for herself. She was an extrovert. She needed the energy of being around people to thrive. And she was kind of a weirdo, so the odder the people she was around, the better. “No, not like chef fight club. When chefs test cooks coming in, they tend to ask them to cook an omelet. It’s seemingly simple, but easy to screw up. The theory is if you can’t cook an egg, you can’t cook at all.”

Whiskey placed the beers on her tray with a nod. “Ah, you’re saying the daiquiri is a test. It’s like the omelet.”

She shook her simple three-ingredient drink and poured it into the cocktail glass. “Yep. And it’s an old enough style drink that I’m surprised anyone would ask. Most people these days want some kind of daiquiri, not the base drink.”

“Oh, you know my momma loves her strawberry daiquiris,” Whiskey replied.

The music started up again and finally there was no one at her bar. It looked like the main billing of the night was up. Whiskey had explained to her that the really hot girls didn’t perform until after ten. All the tables around the stage were full now.

Jazz strode up, the head bartender looking no more relaxed than she had when she’d walked away for her break. The woman was a good foot taller than Lisa and she was way better dressed for her job. Jazz wore a sexy sleeveless jumper with a plunging neckline that showed off her toned body. Her long hair was back in braids and even white teeth shone against her perfect skin. It probably wasn’t Jazz’s fault that the smile still looked a bit predatory. Jazz stared down at the cocktail in Lisa’s hand.

“We got some weird bridal party in tonight?”

She shook her head. “I think it’s a test.”

Jazz wrapped an apron around her lean waist. “It ain’t Jai. Jai doesn’t know what a daiquiri is. Well, then, go on. I can see that you’re curious, but if you aren’t back here soon, I’ll assume you don’t care about that tip jar.”

Mystikal’s “Shake It Fast” started rocking the building and Lisa knew she couldn’t pass up this chance. She wanted to know who was testing her. She still wasn’t sure it wasn’t Jai, or perhaps the actual owner was here. Jai called it his club, but he was merely the manager.