Maid for Advertising - Susie Tate Page 0,1
smile, before letting out a deep, sexy chuckle.
“I didn’t think I’d laugh today. You’re not so bad at this adulting thing either you know. You make a bloody good barmaid.”
I’d pulled a face but decided not to disabuse him of this opinion. The fact was that my life was circling the drain - quite literally my actual life. As in, if I didn’t get my shit together quickly I wouldn’t even have a life. But I’d just made this man laugh, and barmaids did not bang on about themselves, so I kept my mouth shut about my depressing problems.
I’d continued on my mission to turn his frown upside-down – I think I even used that phrase. I teased him about working for the The Dark Side and asked him if his head would explode if he wore a pair of jeans once in a while. He asked me why I was the only barmaid who didn’t do the whole flipping bottles and cocktail shakers thing. This had led to an explanatory demonstration (luckily with a shatter proof cocktail maker, which ended up sailing past his head). Then we just talked: about London, about the client he’d lost and the bad business decisions he’d made that had led him to brooding all night. We’d covered everything from politics and global warming, to whether Jaffa Cakes were a biscuit or a cake (I won that particular argument – size matters people: I can put away ten of those bad boys in under a minute, try doing that with actual cakes. Try it).
It was two hours past closing by the time we’d left, and Jack made no move on me in all that time. He walked me to the bus stop and even offered to call me an Uber on his app (an offer I’d turned down – I wasn’t a charity case. Not yet anyway). He’d been the perfect gentleman, which I’d found both admirable and intensely disappointing. But I’d felt like we connected, as though we already knew each other and that life had led us back together again.
It was the strangest feeling and not, I knew, a realistic one. These advertising people reeked of money, the whole bar did. They were not interested in being my friend. Maybe a cheeky shag so they had something to tell their mates, but not anything real, not with the barmaid.
Now, looking at him across the bar I wondered whether there was a trace of that connection left.
“There you go, hun,” I said with a smile to Jack, putting the three bottles of Corona in front of him and shoving three lime wedges into the tops. He murmured a thank you and smiled at me. That was the other thing about Jack – his smiles weren’t just perfunctory bits of politeness. When he smiled at me his eyes sparked and his whole face lit up. As if just seeing me had made his day better. Being smiled at by Jack felt amazing.
“Are you working all night?” he asked.
“Er . . .” I let out a light laugh and my eyes swept the packed bar. “Not sure my boss would be too happy if I didn’t.”
Jack opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by one of his clients clapping his hand onto his back and jolting him enough to spill some of his beer.
“Fuck’s sake,” he muttered under his breath as he shook his beer-covered hand, frowning at the oblivious idiot next to him. I passed him a clump of napkins from behind the bar and he gave me a grateful smile. See? Perfect barmaid.
“Ask her,” Mr Annoying Client said, his cheeks and nose were red and his eyes glassy. This chap was already well-oiled by the looks of him. “Bit on the exotic side but still in our target audience, right?”
I blinked and clenched my jaw, trying to force a fake smile to my lips, which was probably more of a grimace. I wasn’t “exotic”. I was from Bogner Regis.
He turned to me and pointed a stubby finger. “Would you be more likely to buy a dress that looked good on the model in the advert or not?”
I tilted my head to the side. “Is that a trick question?”
“George,” Jack said through gritted teeth. “The dresses will still look good on models Liz has chosen. The ones you’ve suggested look like they’re suffering from some sort of wasting disease.”
Mr Annoying Client, aka George, laughed and slapped Jack on the back again. “You’re never