Hold On (Ghost x reader)

1 - shady's bar

I walk into the bar, the flyer in hand. It was difficult to find the bar, as it is hidden well in an alleyway in downtown Miami.
As soon as I open the door, the stench of alcohol hits my nose. While I'm an avid drinker of alcohol on occasion, I've always hated the smell of it. Ironic that this is the job I'm choosing, isn't it?
I look around and see mostly older men having a chat over some drinks, and I assume they've come here after work to ease the ever growing stresses of mundane life. The bar itself has a cozy atmosphere, warm lights littered along the walls. There are some paintings of oceans and nature hung up here and there, giving the bar a cabin feel.
The bartender, a greying man around his early 50's, notices me standing near the entrance, and calls out to me.

"Evenin', miss! What can I do for ya?"

I smile at him politely, trying to give a good first impression, and walk over to the bar.

"Hi! I saw this flyer advertising a job opening as a waitress here, and I'm interested," I show him the flyer.
"A flyer? Hm. Well, that's great news to hear. And good news for you—you're the first to try for the position."
"Those are good news for me," I chuckle.

He smiles and motions for me to follow him to the back of the bar.

"Boss will be thrilled to see a young pretty lady such as yourself wanting to work 'ere. A word of caution, he's an intimidating Russian man, but once you get to know him he's not so bad."

I hum, acknowledging what he said, "I'll keep that in mind—thanks for the heads up."

He knocks on the wooden door at the end of the hallway and we hear a loud 'come in' from the other side, so he opens the door.

"Boss, we have a contender for the waitressing position."
"Let her in."

The man moves out of the way to reveal a big office, decorated similarly to the rest of the bar—cabin aesthetic. There's also a big fireplace on the left side of the room, and a bear rug. I hope it's not real, but knowing he's Russian it most likely is. My eyes finally look up at the boss, to see a burly bald man sitting on a big leather chair, which is something taken straight out of a mafia movie. His hands are folded neatly over the dark wooden desk, patiently waiting for me to move forward. As I do, the door behind me shuts closed. This man is extremely intimidating, just as the previous one said.

"Take a seat," he says in a thick Russian accent.

I sit down on the leather chair in front of the desk, my documents in hand.

"I'm Y/n L/n and I am so happy to—"
"How'd you find this place?"

I ignore the rude interruption and give him the flyer I found laying on a bench while taking a walk around the city, "through this. I've been looking for a job, and this seems like a good place."

He takes the flyer from my hands and looks it over. It is impossible to read this man, as he hides his expression well. Any wonder or curiosity is hidden by a face devoid of any emotion, I could even call it a scowl.

"Interesting," he rubs his beard, "do you have history of working in customer service?"
"I do," I put my CV on the table, waiting for him to take it, but he doesn't. He simply glances at it.
"Hm. How would you describe yourself?"
"I'm detail oriented, I enjoy working with a team, and I'm motivated by the need to better myself."

He leans back in his chair, the flyer no longer I  his hand, rather sealed away in a drawer.

"Would you say you're trustworthy?"

The question catches me off-guard for a second, but I respond rather quickly, "people trust me with their secrets, so I'd say yes."
"And do you mind your own business when something doesn't concern you?"

My brows furrow, "I do," alarms blare in my mind, but I ignore them. As long as this job pays me well, I don't care what it is they do.

He nods.

"That's what I like to hear. You got the job, congrats."

I try to contain my excitement, but still smile like a fool.

He slides a pen and paper to me, waiting for me to sign it. I look over the terms and conditions, and what catches my eye is the fact that I'm not allowed to talk about this bar to anyone, which is odd. Not odd enough to not sign it, though.

"Thank you so much for this opportunity. I won't let you down."
"Good. You can get your uniform from Oliver."

I look at him, confused, "who?"

He raises a brow.

"The guy that brought you here. Did he not tell you his name?"

I shake my head.

"Forgive him, he's always been scatterbrained. Old age is getting to him," while he's trying to joke around, there is no hint of amusement on his face. I still chuckle out of politeness.

"I get it. Happens to the best of us."

I get up from the chair and put my hand on the files to take them back, but the man's hand stops me.

"Leave them here. I have to make copies."

I nod and turn to the door, but then remember he hadn't told me his name, either.

"I'm sorry, but I didn't catch your name?"
"You don't need my real name, but people call me Shady. You may call me 'boss'. Now go, you start tomorrow at 5PM."
"Got it, boss. Have a good evening."

I leave through the door I came in here, closing it behind me, and walk through the long hallway to the bar to speak to Oliver about my uniform.
He notices me walking with a pep in my step, and smiles warmly.

"It went well?"
"It did, I got the job!"

Oliver laughs heartily, genuinely happy.

"That's great news, kiddo. I knew you would get it, you seem like a good kid, so I had prepared your uniform already," he hands me a baggie with the uniform.
"Thank you so much, Oliver. I'm very excited for tomorrow."
"Well—" Oliver's words are cut off by the chime of the entrance bell.

Both of us look over to see a man walk in, a black balaclava covering his face, only his tired eyes visible. He's tall, and visibly well built. His stature is confident.

"Ah! You're back. Started to worry you wouldn't come tonight," Oliver speaks to the man in the mask, who sits at the bar stool next to me.
"Give me your best whisky, Oliver," the British accent is hard to miss in his gruff voice.
"Oh? Is there an occasion?"

The man in the mask shakes his head, and doesn't elaborate. Oliver doesn't take the silence to heart, and prepares the man some of the more expensive stuff.

I stand there, awkwardly watching both men. Not for long do I have my moment as a ghost, because the man finally acknowledges my presence. His eyes catch mine; under the intensity of his gaze my heartbeat fastens, and I look away.

"Well, I'll be going now, Oliver. I'll see you tomorrow evening," I walk towards the exit as Oliver yells out his goodbye. I can feel someone's eyes on my back, but I don't look to see who it may be as I open the door and walk out.

{i'm going to regret starting a new book without finishing the other one first}