Queen B

Know Your Enemy: Part 3

You take a cab to a quiet street in Soho, and get off in front of a nondescript storefront.

"Uh, Zoey..." you say. "This place looks..."

"Boring? Like somewhere you'd never step foot in?" Zoey says. "That's the point! The magic is on the inside. Hold up. You're 21, right? Because there is a juice bar a couple blocks over if you're not..."

"Yeah, we're good. And no to the juice. I need something harder right now."

She drags you inside, and your jaw drops. Patrons lounge on leather armchairs, nursing drinks and talking softly as classy music plays from hidden speakers.

"Whoa, where are we?" you ask.

"This little speakeasy is Soho's hidden gem," Zoey says. "Not even prissy princess Poppy has the connections to know about it. Sometimes it really pays to know the people who don't kiss her ass all day long. I'll go find us some private seats. Be a doll and get us drinks from the bar? I'll take a Manhattan."

You head to the bar and smile at the bartender, who raises his eyebrows at you.

"Two Manhattans, please," you tell him.

"I think you're in the wrong place sweetheart," he says.

"Uh... pretty sure this is the bar. Which is what I'm looking for. You know, to get two Manhattans."

"And so entitled, too," the bartender smirks. "Sorry, miss, but we don't serve your type here. Why don't you scurry on back to Fifth Avenue to shoot your Picta videos with the other Upper East Side celebutantees?"

"Excuse me?" you gape at him. "I've wrestled pigs bigger than you! And they were greased! So don't go thinking I'm some rich snob whose only talent is flaunting my credit cards." You grin winningly, and make sure to heap on a little extra dose of that charming Farmsville accent. "But don't worry, you may be a little greasy, but I can tell you're not all pig. I'll let you off easy, this time. I'll take those Manhattans now. Please and thank you, darling."

"Oh, uh, yeah," the bartender stutters. "Right away."

Stammering, the bartender turns to make your drinks. You hear a chuckle, and notice an attractive person watching you from a few seats down.

(Author's note: The love interest in this book can be a man or a woman. Their name is Ian or Ida, but you can change it if you want. I'll try not to make the text too gender-specific!)

There's something magnetic in the eye contact, and you find it hard to look away. Their gaze turns warm... and intrigued.

"Can I help you?" you ask them.

"I'm just pleasantly surprised," they reply. "Most people would've just asked to talk to the guy's manager and tried to get him fired."

"Well, I happen to be one of a kind," you smile. "Why make a scene when I can win the bartender over on my own merit? My way's a lot more fun, if you ask me."

"I'd have to agree with you. It was certainly fun to watch."

"Here you go, miss," the bartender says, handing you the drinks. "Two Manhattans. Enjoy your drink."

You take the drinks from the bartender with a polite smile, then wink at the attractive stranger. "And I hope you enjoy yours," you say.

They raise their glass to you. "I will."

You find Zoey in a far corner, and hand over her drink as you sink into the armchair across from her. She raises her glass in the air.

"Here's to an afternoon free from Poppy, her harpy claws, and her rabid fanbase," Zoey exclaims. "Cheers!"