“Crew.” I look up to see Zane standing there with a brunette in a short dress and mile-high heels behind him. “Interviews are here.”
I know from just looking at her that she’s not what I want. Not for the club. Sure, she’s easy on the eyes, but provocative is not the way to dress for a job interview, regardless of the position. Unless maybe you’re trying to be a stripper. Instead of voicing my opinion, I follow Zane and the brunette to a small table we set up for the interview process.
Zane motions for her to sit and she makes a production out of it. Tossing her hair over her shoulder and crossing her legs, causing her already too-short dress to ride up further on her thigh. As a man, I appreciate the effort, and she’s a knockout, but as an employer I’m not impressed. Sure, I want her to be friendly and even a little flirty with the patrons, but this is a respectable business, or it’s my hope that it will be. This girl has drama written all over her, and I don’t want or need that in my club.
“So. . . .” I look down at the pink résumé she handed over that coincidently smells like flowers. “Mandy, what are you looking for in a job?”
Mandy grabs a lock of her hair and begins to twirl it around her finger, then giggles. “I’m looking for a job where I can . . . use my assets,” she says, her voice low.
“And what might those assets be?” I ask, even though the answer is written all over the way she presents herself.
Mandy looks down at her cleavage that is spilling out of her dress, then back up at me as she licks her lips.
“Thanks for stopping by, but we’re looking for something . . . more,” I tell her.
Her mouth drops open and she narrows her eyes at me. “That’s it?”
“That’s it,” I confirm before standing, hoping that she gets the hint. It’s time for her to go.
She stands as well, only instead of moving toward the door, she steps closer to me. I catch Zane’s eye and he’s biting his lip to keep from laughing at this girl.
Mandy goes up on her tiptoes and leans in close, attempting a whisper that is anything but by the look on Zane’s face when she says, “I bet I can change your mind.”
I raise my eyebrows at Zane in silent question. Are you hearing this shit?
“That’s all we have time for today, Mandy,” Zane comes to my rescue. “Thanks for stopping by.”
Mandy stomps her foot with a huff and turns toward the door.
“I’m just going to make sure she leaves,” Zane says, following her out.
Damn. This is going to be a long and grueling process if all of our candidates are like this.
Zane comes back to the table with a guy about our height and built like a damn tank. “This is Tank. Tank, meet Crew, the owner of this club.”
I hold out my hand. “Nice to meet you.”
He shakes my hand, his grip strong. “You too.”
“So, Tank, what position are you applying for?” I ask. I have a feeling it’s bouncer, but after our last interview, I’ll let him tell me.
“I’ve been a bartender for the last four years. I’ve also done some work bouncing. I just moved back to Tennessee from LA. My mom is sick and it was just time to come home.”
I nod in understanding. “Tell me about your previous employer.”
Tank goes on to tell us how he started out in the kitchen, and the day he turned twenty-one he begged his manager to make him a bartender. With no family close by, when he wasn’t at work he was at the gym. One night things got rowdy, and he jumped from behind the bar and took care of it. From that day on he worked both roles.
I look over at Zane and give him a subtle nod. He does the same. I fight my grin at finding our first employee. “Tank, I’d like to offer you the same type of position here. I can’t say which you will be working more of as we’ve just started interviews, but I feel you would be an asset to Club Titan.”
Tank nods. “Thank you. I look forward to working with you.”
“We hope to be through the hiring process this week, and then we’ll start training in the next week or two. Construction will be done this week and then tables and supplies can be ordered.”
“I’d be happy to help out with all of that as well,” Tank says.
“We might just take you up on that.” I stand and offer him my hand. “Welcome to Club Titan.”
Zane tells him that he’ll be in touch early next week and then Tank’s gone.
“Let’s hope the rest of them are that easy.”
“From the looks of the line, it won’t be many.” He laughs. “There are always a few diamonds in the rough. We’ll figure it out.”
I nod and take a sip of my now cold coffee while he goes to get the next candidate.
I COVER MY yawn with the back of my hand. I stayed up way too late last night drafting cover letters and sending out résumés. I dropped off another ten in the mail this morning on my way to work, something I do every week. I’ve got the process down. I write the cover letter, really just changing it to match the company, add my résumé and seal the envelope. I also have a spreadsheet on my laptop of every job that I’ve applied for and the date. I make follow-up calls a week later. Still nothing, but I’m hopeful.
I’m setting out a fresh batch of muffins from the back when the bell jingles on the door alerting me to a customer. I check my watch and it’s the same time Mr. Super Sexy Beard was here yesterday. I’m still kicking myself in the ass for not asking for his name yet again. I apparently lose the ability to think clearly when he’s around. He’s just that gorgeous.
Taking a deep breath, I turn to face the counter and am greeted with Zane’s smiling face. “Berklee!” he exclaims. “I didn’t know you worked here.”
I try not to let my embarrassment show. He knows I graduated college with Maggie. “Yeah, just filling time, paying bills until I find a job in my field.”
“What’s your major? Education?” he asks.
I laugh. “No, much to my roommate’s dismay, I was a business major. My bachelor’s is in business administration.”
“Really? And still no luck on the job front?”
I lean against the counter, as does he. “Not yet. They all want experience, but how am I supposed to get that if no one gives me a shot? Anyway, what can I get you?”
“Large coffee, cream and sugar. That sucks about your job search. What area of business are you interested in?”
I pour his coffee and add his cream and sugar before answering. “Anything, really. I don’t want to work here at Coffee House the rest of my life. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not knocking it and it pays my bills, but I worked hard for that degree and I’d like to use it.” I place the lid on his cup and slide it across the counter to him.
“How much do I owe you?” he asks.
I wave him away. “It’s on me. You off to work?”
“Yeah, the club I was telling you about is just around the corner.”
He stops and studies me. I try not to squirm under his scrutiny.