Emma Chase (8 page)

Chapter Seven

It is Friday night and my first day on the job. 

I am having the hardest time trying to figure out what to wear to work.  All of the bartenders, wait staff, and bar backs wear Holt's tees and jeans.  I, being the manager, need to stand out as such, so I decide on a nice pair of black flare-leg pants, a belt, and a pink button-up short-sleeved blouse.  I go with comfortable black boots with a small heel, because being on my feet for eight hours in high heels wouldn’t do.  I put in some silver hoop earrings and a pink and silver beaded necklace, and I throw my long hair up in a smooth ponytail. 

I
check myself in the mirror of my bathroom. 

This is something I do every day—first thing in the morning and again at night before going to bed.  This is the worst part of my entire day.

I do this now ever since the
incident
.  Ever since that morning when I first saw the damage that had been done to my body by Jose Delgado.  After getting a good look at myself for the first time, I saw that I had not only been damaged, but I was broken.

Now, as I stare at myself in the mirror, I see changes.  The last few months have been about changes.  Building a new Emma Chase.  I have been trying desperately not to allow what happened to me define me as a person, but some days it is easier said than done.

That first morning, after I got to Holly’s apartment, I looked myself over and realized that I was now a different person.  The Emma from before the
incident
was no longer the Emma in this mirror.  I had no idea who I was or who I wanted to be.  I vowed to save myself.  I vowed to never look back.  I vowed to never be the old me again.

Some women live their whole lives looking for someone else to save them, whether that be a man, woman, or even a child they’ve brought into this world because they were hoping for someone to love them. 

What I have learned through this experience is that there is no one out there who can save you.  Only you can save you.  It took me years to figure this out. 

I thought I found my hero in Braden, and in a sense I did, but he can’t fix me.  He can’t fix this.

Hell, I can’t fix this.  I didn’t bring this on myself.  My father brought this on me.  Sure, maybe he didn’t mean to, but he did so nonetheless.

I did, in fact, pay for the sins of my father.

It’s been a week since my loss-of-my-ever-loving-mind moment to which Braden has been here every night.  No joke.  Every night.

The first night, I gave him a pillow and a blanket and showed him to his spot on the couch.  Within five minutes of lying down, my bedroom door open
s, and he made a pallet on the floor next to the bed. 

I couldn’t allow him to sleep on the floor, so I invited him up with me, shoving pillows between us so that the line was clearly drawn.  “This is my side that is your side.  Capisce?”  Apparently he didn’t capisce because I was woken in the middle of the night by an arm
rounding my waist and that arm pulling my body up against Braden’s warm body.  He bent his knees behind mine and we were spooning.  I’d almost forgotten that he was a spooner.

Ever since, he has spent every night with me.  And every night, we fall asleep spooning. 

I like it.  God help me, I like it a lot. 

I know his intentions are to make me feel safe, and I’ve told him that I’m fine, but he insists on coming over every night.  Apparently, I don’t mind as much as I lead on that I do.

There’s a knock at the door, which sends me back out of my head and right back down to earth. 

Braden is picking me up and we’re going in to work together.  He insisted on it and wants to introduce me around, show me the routines and how to do inventory. 

I’m sure it’s not rocket science, but it has been his mission to come back into my life since the incident, so I’m letting him do what he has to do because it helps him to work through his unrealistic guilt.  I, on the other hand, just wish he would let it go.

I
shift my gaze from my reflection and leave the bathroom, damn near running down Holly in the hallway.

“Braden’s here.  You ready for your first shift?”

“I was born ready,” I answer with a cocky smile.

“You really are a dork, Em.  I’ll be by later for a drink or two or twelve.”

“Good.  I’ll even throw a few free beers on a tab for you.” I wink and brush past Holly into the living room, where Braden is sitting on the couch, his legs crossed heel over knee, one arm over the back of the couch, and the other hand twirling his keys.  He is dressed in pretty much the same as he always is.  Today, his jeans are black and he is wearing a long-sleeved crew-neck tee. 

I stop and stare at him.  He stares at me. 

We smile at each other.  My heart flutters at that smile he gives me.  It happens every time I see it.

He uncrosses his legs and
stands before stalking toward me.  I swear to Christ, Allah, Zeus, and all things holy that if I weren’t so screwed up, I would attack this delicious-looking man.

Braden could wear anything and look like he stepped right off a GQ photo shoot.  He walks and holds himself with extreme confidence.  I guess it isn’t hard considering his height and large muscles that are evident under his clothes.

I sigh as he tangles his fingers into my hair and pulls me into him. This is not good.  I am enjoying this way too much.

He kisses
the top of my hair, and I put my hands up to his chest and push back to look up at him.

He is grinning down at me with his black eyes slightly covered by his Under Armour hat.

“Ready, beautiful?”

“Let’s go,” I reply with a little too much excitement.  What can I say?  I am excited.  I am going to be working at one of my favorite places in the world and I get creativity rights, which
means I am able to switch up the happy hour and the menu, adding more drink and food specials.  I was given the go-ahead to train the staff to fit my needs and to add a few cosmetic changes to the place.  So yes, I am very excited for my first night on the job.

I step away from Braden, heading towards the door and
taking my purse on the way when he gives me a little swat on the ass.  The Holt ass swat.  Every man in this family does it.  Every man in this family has also been slapped for it on one occasion or another. 

I narrow my eyes at him while he throws his head back and laughs.  We are out the door and on our way. 

******

Braden and I walk into Holt's through the back door.  Employees and apparently the regular customers park in the back alley and enter through the back door
, which walks right into the back end of the bar and the kitchen area.

People are crowding the bar and they are pissed.  I look around and I can’t figure out what is getting them so agitated.  I go behind the bar and around the corner, which
leads up to the main bar and center of the establishment. 

“Hey, darlin’.  Be useful and pour me a Jack and Coke,” one man hollers out to me. 

I look for Juice and find him frantically pouring liquor into a shaker while he has three different beers pouring themselves under the tap.  He tops the shaker and starts shaking vigorously while shutting off the taps and laying out several shot glasses onto the bar.

The boy has some serious skill.

“Juice!  What the hell is going on around here?” I call after him down the bar.

“Two of our servers quit tonight because of a bitch fight they were having over some dick they were both getting nailed by.  Olivia is out there somewhere.  I lost her when the crowd started raising their pitch forks and lighting up their torches.  She’s out there by herself manning the floor.  I got one bartender who called and said he was going to be late.  No fucking explanation as usual.”

“No explanation?”  I don’t like the sound of this guy already.

“Nope, nada.  Murphy pulls this shit all of the time and I have to deal with the fallout.”

Looks like I’m going to have to have a talk with this Murphy guy when he shows up for his shift.

I throw myself into action and start Operation Save Juice.  Braden comes up behind me and starts taking drink and food orders to alleviate some of the pressure.

I have everything called out to me.  Kamikazes, fireballs, chocolate cakes, sex on the beach, lemon drops, Washington apples, buttery nipples and blowjobs—yes, people still order blowjob shooters and think it’s awesome.  The guys order them because they think they’re funny, and the girls order them because they want to look sexy in front of the morons doing it.  I don’t find anything sexy about it, but then again, I’m no dude.

I am shaking tins, pouring shots, pouring beer, knocking out six and seven orders at one time.  I love slinging drinks.  At my last job, when things would slow down and all of the paperwork was straight, I’d pop behind the bar and help out.  It’s fun and it’s an art.

Once the crowd dies down, I walk out from behind the bar and meet Braden at one of the high-tops.  Two hours passed in the blink of an eye.  Not only had I just made three hundred in tips, but I think I managed to win over the regulars. 

Braden gives me his devilish wink-smile combo as I approach and perch myself on one of the stools across from him.

“What?” I breathe out and look over my shoulder to see Juice hanging in there and Olivia punching in orders at the touchscreen.

“You killed it back there, baby.  And you didn’t even break a sweat.”

I blow the hair that has fallen out of my ponytail holder and landed in my face.  “So who’s this Murphy guy?  He’s a no-show,” I inquired.

“Chad Murphy.  Goes by Murphy.  Bartends four nights a week, resident Tryon party animal and self-proclaimed ladies’ man.”

“Yeah, well could you tell
Murphy
that when he is on the schedule he is expected to be here when he is scheduled?”

Braden looks over my head and
tips his chin towards the bar behind me.

“Tell him yourself.  He just made an appearance.”

I turn on my stool to get a look at this Murphy character.  He is standing next to Juice, winking and flirting with a couple of the ladies sitting at the bar while Juice proceeds to yell at him and inform him of how much of a “fucking tool” he is because he shows up or doesn’t show up whenever the hell he wants to.

Olivia stomps to the bar clearly ready to hand out her lashing. 

“I better step in,” I mumble, climbing down from the stool and heading in the direction of the bar when a high-pitched shriek rings out from near the front door.  What now?

I see two girls, both probably mid-twenties, pushing each other.

“Bitch!” says one to the other as she snatches a fistful of hair and yanks the girl towards the floor.  Heads are whipping, hair is flying, and I swear I can hear hissing.

I look back to the bar for some backup.  Juice, putting his hands on the bar, lifts himself up and kicks his legs around, sliding off to the other side. 

“Girl fight!” Murphy yells, cupping his mouth.  Clearly he isn’t planning to help the situation.  I’ll deal with him later.

Braden is already on his feet and running to the girls when there’s a crash and the clear sounds of glass shattering.

I look in the direction and see that another fight has broken out between two men.  One of them throws a beer bottle, which connects with the wall above the jukebox.  Fucking hell.

Braden and Juice run in their direction and I head over to the cat fight. 

By the time I get to the girls, they are slapping each other, pulling hair, and scratching. 

“Stop!” I yell.

“Fuck off!” one screams, and I’m not sure if that’s directed at me or the girl she is pounding on.

I get closer, trying to figure out how I am going to separate them.

“This ain’t none of your business!” the other one shouts.

At that little crack, I seriously consider letting them maim each other.

I approach the men who are sitting on the stools, watching, and laughing at the fight.  One is actually taking a video with his phone.

“Stop them!” I
spat out, pointing to the two raging females who are losing clumps of hair at an alarming rate.

“Bite me! This ain’t your business!” one of them sneers at me.  I am really getting tired of hearing that.  He is a tall, rough-looking man.  Dark hair greasy and unkempt, wearing a
green John Deere shirt and camo pants. The look he is throwing at me is a bit scary, but tonight is the night that I’m not in the mood to be intimidated. 

I get up close to them and declare, “It is my business when you all come into my bar and start your own version of female Fight Club in front of my customers.”

He lifts off the stool and gives me a head-to-toe once-over. I shiver at the disgusting look he is now giving me.

“Fuck off, bitch.”

Well, that snaps me out of it. 
Oh hell no.

“Did you just call me a bitch?” I shriek at creepy unkempt scary-looking dude.

He snarls at me again. 

I move my eyes back to the females pummeling each other on the floor in front of me.  These two girls are going to have a few bald spots with all of this hair pulling they’re doing to each other. 

Their hate for each other is apparent, and this fight is only going to continue to escalate.  For some reason, everyone loves a good cat fight, as not a single person has tried to intervene.

I guess I’m going in.

I peer over my shoulder and say in my most threatening seething voice, “I’ll deal with you in a minute.”

I try to pry them off of each other, but one girl’s hand claws at my arm.  I can already see the jagged red welts forming where she scratched me. 

I step around them and grab the taller one around the back of the neck.  She stills and the other one slaps her in the face.

I release the girl and worm my way in between them, holding my arms out to stave them off while ducking my head to avoid getting hit in the face. 

And that’s when it happens.

One of the girls balls up her fist and gets a lucky shot right to my jaw.  I see stars for a brief moment and immediately my vision goes red. 

That is all it takes.  I head-butt that bitch and she goes down.

Tristan would be so proud. 

I glare at the other girl, ready to take her too.  She scowls at me, then down at her former opponent, and back at me once more.  Both of her hands go up palms out and she backs away.  

One of the spectators comes over and helps
the other girl to her feet.  She rubs her head and looks at me in stunned silence, doing a slow blink before her dumbass blurts out, “Fuck you!” Her arms and legs start flailing.  “You bitch!”  Luckily the person who helped her off the floor has her hooked around the waist, holding her back.

This female is unbelievable. 

“Out!” I huff, pointing to the door.  “Wait—you.” I jab my finger to the man in the corner who was videotaping the fight.  At one point, I am pretty sure he was taking bets on which one of the girls would win or lose the most clothing. “Settle the tab for this group.  The rest of you, you’ve been eighty-sixed here.  Get your shit.”

They all mutter their insults at me while they get their things.

I right a couple of the barstools that toppled over and start collecting glasses.  As I am heading back to the bar, I notice Braden and Juice leaning on the bar, watching me, and smiling.

“I know you had those females, Mike Tyson.  I wasn’t worried in the least,” Juice smiles with satisfaction.

I slam the glasses on the bar and look over at Murphy.  “Your ass, in the office, now,” I growl.

“Sugar, you want me in the office, all you gotta do is ask—nicely,” Murphy
responds.

“You might wanna be careful how you talk to your new boss,” Braden groans.

Murphy’s face loses the smug grin.  His eyebrows draw together.  “New boss?”

“New boss,” I confirm, crossing my arms over my chest and tilting my head with a little bit of sass.  “Em. Ma.”  I enunciated each syllable because I’m a smartass like that.

“Emma.  Well, Emma, nice work you did breaking up that little scuffle over there.” Murphy crosses his arms over his chest and leans his hip into the bar. 

“Why didn’t you do anything to help?” I
spat at him.

His eyebrows shoot up.  “Help with what?”

“Two fights broke out and all you did was encourage them.  We could have used your muscle in there, Murphy.”

“I don’t break up fights, sugar.  This face can’t risk getting hit.”

And the fucker just winked at me.

“You show up late!  Two fights broke out, which took most of our manpower to squash!  And from what I
understand, you pull this shit all of the time.  No call, no show, you don’t pull your weight!  Guess what, Murphy?  I’m in charge now and that’s not how I like to run things.  You don’t want to work your scheduled time, you won’t get a scheduled time.  Got it?”

“Ahh…what you’re saying is that you wanted me to follow you to the office to burn off all of that—“

The air in the room changes.  Braden’s heated body is up against my back and his hand is on my hip.  Juice’s body gets tight as if he is ready to lunge at Murphy.

I held up my hand to silence this idiot.

“You have an expiration date,” I inform him.

“Excuse me?” Murphy chuckles in response.

“
You
have an expiration date.  The next time you decide to not show up to work or on time or you prove that you’re nothing more than dead weight around here, you’re out on your ass.”

“What the fuck?” Murphy breathes out.

He looks at Braden and Juice and now Olivia, who shows up beside me, and he nods and walks down the bar to take drink orders.

Braden squeezes my hip, “Attagirl,” he says and kisses me on the cheek.  “Seems you’re perfect for the job.”

I breathe out a sigh and rest my head on his chest.

“I hope it’s not like this every night.”

“No, this is the most excitement this place has seen in a while.  They must have known you were coming and wanted to give you a proper hello.  See if you could hack it.  You’ve shown that you can pretty much hack anything that comes your way.”

The evening isn’t even halfway through.  It’s going to be a long night.