On the Rocks

III (HAZEL)

"What in the-" I stammer. 

"I love that you came begging for a job, little darling, but don't make me regret it," the man continues as I blink speechless, "I never want to regret your begging."

I gulp. 

"T...Theo?" I stammer again.

"Sure, you can call me that for now," he smirks. I can feel his breath against my neck. Goosebumps spread across my body and a fluttering feeling settles in my lower stomach. 

No, Hazel. 

Snap out of it, babe. 

I grab the handle of the door and walk out quickly.  I'm so late that I can't even fully concentrate on that moment in the cloakroom with Theo. 

Walking into the locker room behind the bar, I throw my stuff in a locker and walk back into the main area whilst tying my apron round my waist. 

I roll my eyes as I notice the blonde from yesterday glaring at me disapprovingly. 

"So they took pity on you did they," she directs at me. 

"Not as much pity as it must have taken to hire you, babe," I smirk at her.

She rolls her eyes and turns on her heel to face bar to the bar. She begins to prepare stock for opening and I stand there, totally clueless on where to start. 

"Denise, give Miss Winters a hand at getting to grips with the place, yeah," I hear a voice from the stairs address Bitchy McBitchface. My gaze follows the voice and lands on the three owners standing there in perfectly tailored suits. Awkwardness spreads through me as I notice their intimidating stares on me.

"Of course, Mr Rocco," she batters her eyelashes. I roll my eyes but notice Atlas glaring at me. oh yeah, he said don't roll my eyes. That's gonna be a habit that's hard to kick. Maybe I just won't try. Seems like to much effort. 

Theo nods and I see them turn to walk away. I begin to work beside Denise but freeze when I hear Atlas address me,

"Remember what we talked about, Miss Winters." 

I tilt my head in confusion and it takes him to mouth 'behave' to me before I understand.

Who does he think he is? 

I roll my eyes and see his jaw tighten before he walks away. 

Within an hour, the doors open and the bar starts to flood with bodies. The music pounds out of the speakers decorating the high ceilings and the sea of people move like waves with the bass. I busy myself making drinks, even whipping out some tricks with the cocktail shaker in a hope to gain more tips and prove my worth as a bartender here. 

The low cut top of my uniform does turn out to help me though as I keep count of what I am making tonight. Over £100 already, and it's only been a few hours. 

I finish straining a drink into a glass and turn to grab the card reader. I watch as an inebriated woman taps her card and runs back to her friends, with her drink spilling all over the place as she laughs. I smile at her, imagining I could be in her position and have the money to spend on nights out. 

I'm disturbed from my daydream by someone clearing their throat. I look over to a man leaning against the bar, seeming to not have a care in the world. I take a second to analyse him. He is a greek god, much like the owners. His dirty blonde hair is separated into loose curtains that perfectly showcase his defined face. His bright blue eyes look dark with lust and his full lips are lifted into a smirk. 

Shit, I'm staring. 

"What can I get for you, sir," I smile at him, brushing my hands down my apron.

"Well, for starters, I'd love for you to call me that again. But for now, give me a dark and stormy," he winks at me.