More Than Maybe - Erin Hahn Page 0,28

Marlboro patches on the pocket. “Go on.”

I exhale. “Okay, so I was thinking. I’ve been at every show for the last year, but you’re always here, too. Which is great because I’ve learned so much from you. Obviously. Like, everything. But what if you took a night off?”

Phil tilts his head, scratching at his beard. “I’m listening.”

“I mean. I wouldn’t be alone.” I start ticking off on my fingers. “On our average night, there are at least two bartenders, two security (one of them stationed at the door), and one hostess. That’s not even mentioning the front-loaded waitstaff on Saturdays.” He raises his brows, and I rush on, “Not that I would presume to cover a Saturday night, but like, what about Sunday?”

“Sunday?”

“Er, right. Or anytime. I’m wide open. Except when I’m in school, obviously.”

“And why should I give you, a wet-behind-the-ears eighteen-year-old, a management shift? The whole weight of my club resting on your shoulders. The day-to-day operations of managing a bar and concert venue?”

I blink. “Why the fuck not me?”

He laughs, full-bellied, and presses his hands to the desk. “Thank Christ, you had me nervous there for a second. There she is. Where did you get that shirt?”

“My mom,” I mutter.

“Right,” Phil says, his eyes lifting to the ceiling. “I thought it looked familiar.” As my mom tells it, she was a bit on the nerdy side, and Phil was this extra cool metalhead back in high school. They haven’t changed much.

“So…”

“Yes, you can have the job,” he says gruffly. “I’ve been thinking about taking a night off. Or at least leaving early. Sunday is a good trial.”

“Okay.” I’m not disappointed in his cautious tone. I’m not. I have to earn my opportunities.

“That’s not to say you couldn’t handle more,” he says, no doubt taking in my expression. “But Mary,” he emphasizes my mom’s name, “might kill me if I let you close any other night. You still have to graduate, kid.”

I meet his eyes. “Thank you.”

“You’ve more than earned it.”

“I won’t let you down. I’ll even help you find someone to replace me as second bartender on Sundays.”

He laughs. “Vada. Easy, girl. I trust you. You, uh, know this comes with a pay raise.”

I press my lips together. “I wondered, but I’d take it either way. I want the experience.”

Phil’s expression is stern. “What have I told you?”

“Never work for free. But I’m not! The experience is invalu—”

“Never. Work. For. Free,” he says, tapping his desk with two fingers to accentuate each syllable. “If you don’t value your time, no one else will. I’m hiring you for your ridiculous brain and enthusiasm. I am the one winning out here. Now ask me for a raise.”

He leans back, and I cave in around my stomach, feeling stupid. “Can I have a raise?”

“No.”

“What? But you just said—”

“Ask again.”

I roll my eyes with a huff. “Mr. Josephs, my time is valuable, and I know my shit. I’ve worked at this club for two years. I’ve paid my dues. I would like a five-dollar-an-hour raise.”

Phil’s brows jump, and I almost waver. But I don’t.

“The raise is two dollars.”

“Four fifty.”

“Three, and that’s my final offer. I’m not made of money. Fucking Bee-Dubs,” he grumbles before holding out his meaty hand. “Pleasure to have you aboard.” I shake it.

“Thank you so much!”

“You’re welcome. Now get out of here and change your shirt. You’re making me want to buy detergent.”

* * *

I lied before. I don’t think Ben and his lumber sexy beard are attractive. Right this minute, the way he’s wheedling his way out of his Sunday-night shift because he has to study for midterms … flannel is overrated, and so is he.

“I can’t believe this. It’s my first night,” I mumble into my hands.

“Look, Vada. I’m sorry. I forgot Phil wouldn’t be here, but it’s not like you need him. Or me. You could run this place in your sleep.”

I glare at Ben, cursing his twisty beard with my eyeballs.

“And who is supposed to pour drinks while I’m running the place, Ben?”

“Kazi?” he offers. “I’m really sorry, Vada. I feel like a dick. But I can’t stay.”

I rub at my temples, feeling a thousand years old. “Kazi, if he shows, won’t be here until nine. The headliner won’t even get onstage until then. And I can’t close alone, Ben. I promised my mom!”

“You’re not alone; you have the security dudes, and you know his girlfriend, Tess, always shows up attached at the hip.”

I glare at Ben. “Again. If Kazi shows up.”

“Call Phil?”