READY OR NOT (CAMREN)

TEN

As Camila filled out a supply order for the following week, she waited patiently for her newest hire to report to work. Something about the exchange she'd had with Shawn had stuck with her for the remainder of the night prior. Ashlee seemed like a good kid, and letting her get her heart stomped on might not be the most neighborly thing to do.

Ashlee was scheduled to work at four that day, and right at five minutes to the hour, she arrived. Thank God for an employee who knew how to be on time. She rounded the bar with a smile and stole a black cocktail apron from the shelf behind the bar. "Hi, Mila. How's your day today?"

"Oh, you know, slaying dragons and making drinks."

"Slaying dragons? Is that a bartending term?" Ashlee asked in earnest. Bless her and those wide eyes of naïveté.

"Nope. That's just me being stupid."

"Oh," Ashlee said in catch-up mode, forcing a laugh. "Funny."

"It's really not, but because I'm in charge, you feel you have to laugh. I hereby free you of that obligation from now on, because life is too short. Wanna cut fruit with me?"

"Sure." Camila handed Ashlee a small knife and an orange.

"We're going for wedges. Like this," she said demonstrating smooth, even cuts. Ashlee set to work, and it was clear she'd never be a surgeon as her jagged orange slices were pathetic at best. But that hadn't exactly been the point of Camila inviting her to help.

"So you've been chatting with Katia some, I've noticed."

Ashlee smiled at Camila. "She's hot. And kind of brooding too. I like hot and brooding." And then something seemed to occur to her. "Oh. Am I not supposed to find the customers hot? I'm sorry. I can stop doing that."

"No, there's no firm rule. I just want you to know that Katia has a tendency to...drop girls moments after she gets what she wants from them. Do you follow?"

Ashlee blinked back at her and Camila waited. "Oh! Oh my. You mean like sex?"

Camila bit back a smile. "Yes, like sex." She set her knife down and turned to face Camila. "Here's the thing. You seem like a nice kid, and I would hate to see your heart ripped out. That's all I'm saying here."

"Wow. Thank you," Ashlee said, seemingly touched. "I've never worked for anyone who, I don't know, cared."

"Let's not get carried away," Camila said, but slid Ashlee a sly smile. "Now since it seems you're woefully challenged in the fruit department, and I do mean woefully, do me a favor and refill all the sweetener dispensers and check the condiments as well. You'll see a shelf in the kitchen with everything you need."

Ashlee offered a little mock salute and headed out. "Thanks again, Mila, for the talk."

"No problem."

Hanging up her do-gooder hat, Camila pulled a small Moleskine journal from underneath the register, knowing she had a few spare minutes to do some brainstorming. In it she kept a list of some of the craft cocktails she planned to slowly introduce to her customers one at a time.

Something about the creation of a perfectly made drink pulled Camila in and got her excited about her job. It wasn't just service; it was science and artistry mixed together. She wanted Havana to be on the cutting edge of the artisanal cocktail scene, and if she wanted her bar to have that kind of reputation, she needed to focus on the details, as they were everything.

The temperature of the glass had to be just right and the measurements extra precise. Sugar content closely monitored. Garnishes needed to be fresh, inventive, and used to the fullest to bring out desired flavors. Camila didn't want Havana to be just a bar; she wanted it to be a brand, and one people could count on for delivery of top-quality cocktails, in addition to the run-of-the-mill stuff for the less adventurous. That kind of shift would put them on the map in a big way.

Camila had never been a big dreamer. She wasn't interested in being rich or well known. But she wanted to take the one thing she loved to do and be good at it. And it just so happened that she loved this bar.

Now she just had to figure out how to use what little money she had to make that happen.

**

"So what made you want to try a new place?" Lauren asked her father as she made a fourth attempt with her knife and fork to attack her rubbery chicken. He laughed at her efforts, something he'd been doing for the past few minutes. That was one thing about her dad, he knew how to find enjoyment in pretty much any situation.

"I thought it would be fun to branch out. Go somewhere besides Adolpho's," he told her, "and now I remember why we never do. Hey, maybe the waiter will bring you a steak knife or a machete."

"No, I can do it," she said, and placed a tiny piece in her mouth, stifling a grimace at the dried-out bite. Her father only laughed more, and she glanced up from her plate to find him dabbing tears from the corners of his eyes. This was one of New York City's most prestigious attorneys laughing until he cried at her lunch battle.

"Let's get out of here," he said finally. "We can grab a hot dog in the park. On me."

"Best suggestion I've had all day."

Luckily, they hadn't been far from Central Park and the day was a beautiful one, warm and sunny, which invited lots of children with nannies, Rollerbladers, sunseekers, and even the occasional lounger reading a book under a tree. Lauren loved the park, though she didn't often get the chance to explore it. She should make a point to change that.

She always looked forward to her weekly lunches with her father. It was the one thing she had, in a lineup of five other children, that was simply hers. Plus, she and her dad had always seen eye to eye, which made their bond all the more unique. She cherished the kindred-spirit quality of their connection.

They waited in line for the hot dogs and instead of snagging a bench made the decision to walk for a bit. Luckily, she'd come with sneakers in her bag.

"So whatever happened with that movie-theater chain?" her father asked, tossing a piece of his bun to a nearby squirrel.

"Still working it. No contract signed as of yet. The whole thing has me a tad on edge."

"In what way?"

"We're totally out of our element with this account, which means the margin for error is large."

"Which is why you need to secure it," he told her. "Uncomfortable is good for you. Don't let anyone tell you different. If you lay up in life, stay where the water's warm, you'll be just fine, but nothing exciting will ever happen."

Nothing exciting will ever happen. It was good advice, but then, he was great at that, which is why she so often used him as her sounding board. "You're right. I know, inherently, you are, but it can be hard to take a big risk when the odds of it not working out are overwhelming." It's possible she was no longer only alluding to the Big Top account.

"That's what timid people say. I've never known you to be timid."

She looked up at him. "I don't want to be. In fact, it's the last word I want to define me."

"Then I think you know what you have to do. Embrace the uncomfortable."

"Yeah, well, tall order."

They turned back then, and Lauren knew that the distance to reach the park's entrance would eat up their allotted time for lunch. "I have every confidence in you," her father said, putting his arm around her shoulder. "And if the Big Top account doesn't work out, you can always come to work for me."

Lauren laughed, because law was so far from what she loved, it was hard to even imagine. Though once she'd wanted nothing more than to work with her dad. Instead, she'd modeled most of her business practices after him. Hard work. Ethical behavior. A sensitive leadership strategy. "I think I'll stick with advertising, but thanks."

"Suit yourself, kiddo."

She tossed the remainder of her bun to the squirrel in their pathway, yet again following in her father's footsteps.

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