Lacey

02

I WORK THEE jobs. I waitress at Velvet Dolls, im a barista at Bean Haven Café, and I keep the shelves stocked at the local library. And when summer rolls in, on weekends, I lifeguard at a nearby day camp.

My favourite thing to do is model. Dad says my body's not made for it and it doesn't bring in money so it's useless, Ana just laughed when I told her about it, so I don't tell people anymore.

But that doesn't take away my love for it. It's my hobby, I do it for me anyway, not them. The agency sends me lace sets and I walk the LLL runway once a month. Lace & Lumière Lingerie is the brand that endorses me, they don't pay me but it's fun and I get free underwear so it's a win win.

Right now, I'm holding it down at the café, in the midst of the morning rush. Orders and coffees are flying out of me like lightning. The flash should be jealous of me. It's making me sweat buckets, though.

Tonight, I've got a shift at the club, so I can't tie up my hair and risk messing it up, adding even more heat to my neck.

"Arabella!" I holler, placing a steaming peppermint mocha on the counter beside me. Since Christmas is a thing of the past, anything minty is now fifty cents cheaper. I swear, I've whipped up more candy-cane coffees these past few weeks than I did all throughout December.

I slap on a massive grin, ready to greet the next customer. "Hey there, welcome to Bean Haven! What can I make up for you?"

"Black coffee." I recognize the voice before I even lay eyes on him. It's the guy I ran into a couple of days back.

I look up at him, peeking through my eyelashes, with a tinge of surprise in my wide eyes. I take a moment to size him up in better lighting. Turns out, his eyes aren't black like I initially thought—they're brown. But his hair, damn, it's jet black, all shaggy and slightly curly without a defined part. And those forearms of his, they're downright stunning, covered in these delicate, almost dainty tattoos that probably extend further. He's rocking black pants, a white dress shirt with a couple of buttons undone, and the sleeves rolled up to just above his elbows.

Snapping out of my daze before he catches on, I casually ask, "Name for the order?"

Trying my best to play it cool, you know?

"Killian."

"Hey there, welcome to Bean Haven! What can I make for you?" The voice makes me look up from my phone. It's the waitress from last Saturday— the one that talks a lot. She's wearing a jean skirt and a big t shirt that looks like she cropped it herself. The neck line is too big for her and falls of her shoulder, exposing her bra strap— lace, again. Her long brown hair is curled like the other night and she's wearing the same, small gold hoops in her ears.

I answer her question before she realizes I'm staring. "Black coffee." I obverse her as she looks up and takes me in, she looks me up and down, her tongue running across her bottom lip. A couple seconds pass before she blinks rapidly, shaking her head lightly as if she's coming out of a trance. "Name for the order?"

"Killian."

She nods, "for here or to go?"

"To go." She nods again, uncapping her sharpie and writing my name down on a paper cup. She types my order into the computer before handing the cup to another woman, who reads the iPad that's hooked to the wall and starts pouring my coffee.

"Three dollars, please." She smiles, holding her hand out. I furrow my eyebrows until a sign catches my eye.

"𝙲𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚖𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚗, 𝙲𝚊𝚜𝚑 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢!! 𝚂𝚘 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢!" I sigh, I only have hundreds.

With nothing left to do, I pass her a hundred dollar bill. I must look like such a douche. She looks at the bill as if it's the most money she's ever seen in her entire life.

She finally gets me my 97$ and tells me to wait at the other end of the counter.

҉

I pick up my ringing phone as I drive home, "What?"

"Woah, nice to talk to you too." Nisha laughs on the other line. "What do you want? She laughs again.

"Hailey called in sick last minute so you're probably gonna need to come in and fill in." I scoff. "I own the place Nish, I'm not a waiter. Get someone else." I go to hang up but I'm stopped by her voice again. She's speaking louder, I assume in hopes to catch me before I end the call. "I cant!"

"Why not?"

"It's drinks night. Every waitress we have is already working overtime."

"You do it."

"I'm already working."

"Get someone you know, tell them I'll pay them 200 bucks extra."

"I'll see what I can do."

Twice a year I host a 'drink night' at the club. Or at least that's what I tell the dancers and waitresses, really it's all potential clients who come to discuss hits and negotiate prices. Like an open house, but for my services.

We have three rules. One, rivalry stays outside; most people who hire hit men have mafia ties and on nights like these, multiple different mafias are forced to be in the same room without drawing weapons. Two, no touching; the girls at the club are to look at, that's all. If she wishes to leave with someone after her shift, that's her business. Three, no invite, no access. Everyone of importants gets an invitation, people in the lower rankings on the mafias have no respect, no class.

"Good." I pull into Alessandro's driveway as I hang up.