Silver Lining

one.

I haven't resigned yet and the more drinks I make into this eight-hour shift, the more I wish I didn't have to at all. I live, sleep and breathe the nightlife of New York; something the small town I grew up in never offered me. I've been working at Saints ever since I turned twenty-one, serving and making drinks for the rich and famous, and whoever may join them.

There had been multiple times where NDAs had to be signed and I never even knew who they were. I work behind the bar, I could never handle waiting at the VIP booths; I've heard the scandals that happen behind the curtains. I however can handle working the bar, I thrive from the rush, the small talk and making drinks.

"One more, gorgeous!" One of my usuals, Ben grabs my attention and I pour him another glass of Whiskey; his last before he goes home to his wife. Every weekday is the same.

As soon as I think it's gone quiet and I have caught five seconds to breathe, a group of twenty or so men - on what I can only assume is a bachelor party - walk through the door. I expected that once asked by a staff member, they would follow through to the VIP section and be waited on, however, they all make their way to the bar for their first drinks of the night instead.

I hold up a hand, "Okay, boys, one at a time, what would you like?!"

Once they are all served and escorted to the VIP section of the club, I check the time and it's already nine o'clock. I only have three hours left for tonight's shift since I finish at midnight on weekdays, which is tame in comparison to the weekend when I finish between two and three am. I'm sure people would call me crazy if they knew I preferred those shifts.

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Exhaustion rules me, my boredom the main cause of it and I keep telling myself that in half an hour I'll be off my feet and heading home to my warm, comfy bed. It isn't a busy night in Saints, which is why I'm bored; I thrive in the rush of things and there is only the bachelor party and a couple of regulars in with their mistresses which was a common sight.

While wiping down the bar, I begin to get lost in my thoughts, something I don't tend to do on the job regularly, and the sound of someone approaching one of the barstools is a reminder of why, forcing myself back into work mode.

"Penny for your thoughts, sweetheart?"

My head snaps up at the sound of his voice and I find myself staring at the man who had taken a seat, his elbows leaning on my bar, awaiting an answer to his question. I don't give him one though because I'm lost in my thoughts again as I shamelessly check out the handsome stranger with a tanned complexion in front of me. He has wavey brunette hair and is in his late twenties, wearing black pants and a white dress shirt, with his inked skin disappearing underneath from his ring-clad hands.

"Or could I at least get a name?" his lips turn up in amusement, having noticed I was staring.

"My name's Iris," I grab a glass, ready to take his order, "What would you like?"

"Orange juice please," his nonalcoholic order has me frowning, "Has anyone told you that frowning gives you wrinkles?"

I try not to laugh, but I let a low giggle escape; it was something my nanny used to tell me, "Orange juice coming right up, sir."

"So, a penny for your thoughts?"

"You're not dropping the penny thing, are you?"

He smiles, crossing his arms, waiting, "Nope."

"Do you love your job?" I ask him; I don't even know his job status, but it's a generic question, many people have them.

"I do," he nods, smiling, "Do you?"