“Are you trying to piss me off, Gamble?”
“You know what, let me tell you what’s been going on here since you last decided to grace us with your presence, and you tell me which one of us has the right to be pissed off? Last week, we ran out of our most popular lager, but don’t worry.” He lifted his hands as if to ease her panic. “I reordered more. You’re welcome. But they shipped us the wrong batch, so I had to straighten out that clusterfuck. You’re welcome. Then, the fire marshal stopped by. Our quarterly inspection was overdue, so all your dedicated employees worked our asses off to make sure everything was kosher for the inspection we had yesterday. Which you’re welcome for…again. Next, Tansy was in a car accident and broke her leg. She’s one of your best servers, by the way, since I’m sure you have no clue. But yeah, don’t worry about that. I called every girl who works the floor and we rearranged things until all of Tansy’s shifts are covered for the next six weeks, which, oh yeah, you’re welcome for that too. And I made an order for all the other liquors we’re running low on.”
He paused before nodding and adding one last, slow, taunting, “You’re welcome.”
Instead of gushing out an apology or thanking him for everything he’d done, his boss only snorted. “If you came to tell me all the issues have been handled, then what the hell are you whining about?”
Noel jerked a hand off his hip and slapped the door. “I’m not getting paid to take care of your job and mine both. You’re lucky it’s not football season, or you’d be shit out of luck right now. I can’t keep doing this, Jess. And by the way, you’re scheduling it all fucked up. Steffie’s only signed up for two hours a week, while Gracie’s working her ass off with fifty.”
“So? I don’t like Steffie.”
“Well, you didn’t hire Steffie. Your dad did. And if you don’t want him to disown you after he gets back and find out how shitty of a job you’ve done, you’d better pull your head out of your ass and actually work once in a while.”
“I’m here now, aren’t I?”
“Just…” Stepping backward out of the office as if he couldn’t bear to talk to her a moment longer, Noel muttered, “Fix the damn schedules, will you? I can’t keep working this much. And hire another bartender while you’re at it. I need a night off, or some goddamn sleep, sometime this year.”
“I’d say so. You’ve turned into a fucking crab.”
“Jess,” he growled warningly.
“Jesus, if you’re so all-fired to get a better schedule and new bartender, then you take care of it. Seems like you’ve gotten used to running this place, anyway.”
The muscles in his back tensed, but he merely growled, “Fine. I will.”
“Oh, and here are the fucking notes everyone gives me, whining for all the days they want off.”
Noel stepped inside only to reemerge a moment later, his hand fisted around a ball of paper scraps. “Unbelievable,” he muttered, storming right toward me. But he seemed so mad he didn’t even notice me. I ducked out of the way just as he exited the hall and marched back behind the bar. Dumping the pile of notes onto the counter in the back, he began to organize them.
“Is a fuzzy navel made of peach or orange juice?” his clueless coworker asked a minute later.
“Both,” Noel answered without looking up. “Ice it, add one and a half ounces of peach schnapps and top that off with orange juice.”
“Thanks. What’re you doing, anyway?”
“Fixing the damn schedule.”
“Really? Hey, can you get me more than sixteen hours a week?”
Noel stopped what he was doing and lifted his face. “What the hell? She only put you in for sixteen hours a week? Figures.” He went back to work. “But yeah, you got it.” Then he paused and lifted a slip of torn paper to his eyes, squinting.
“Yo, Lowe,” he called as his coworker began to leave. “What’s this say?”
Lowe came back and took the sheet. He blinked and turned it upside down before handing it back. “No clue.”
Noel sighed and rubbed his face. “Great.”
“Noel, table eight needs refills.”
He glanced at the waitress who’d approached. “Sure. Oh! Hey, Mandy. Can you read this?”
He let her look it over while he pulled up a round of bottled beers.
With an apologetic smile, she shook her head and gave the paper back. “Sorry, sweetie. But it looks like Julia’s handwriting if that helps.”
“Julia,” he murmured, scanning the tables. “She’s not working tonight, is she?”
“Nope.” Mandy grabbed the beers and was gone.
He looked so defeated as he set the note on the bar and shook his head, I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t handle seeing him like this. He worked so hard, at everything. The guy needed a break. Or better yet, he needed my help.