Page 2 of Deck the Skulls

“They’re assholes,” she countered.

“The customer is always right,” he retorted. “You’re going to march your fat ass over to their table, apologize, and tell them their drinks are on the house because it’s coming out of your pay.”

Rissa blinked at Steve. “You can’t do that.”

When he smirked, she had her answer. Right. That was it. The last little bit of her ability to care about consequences was officially gone.

“Fuck you!” she yelled, enjoying the way Steve’s mouth dropped open. She stepped closer to him. He might be taller, but there was no way he wasn’t intimidated by the rage radiating off her. “My ass isn’t fat. It’s fierce, and you were blessed to have me working here for as long as I did!”

With that, she turned and threw open the office door, enjoying the way it slammed into the wall. Talking quieted and eyes turned to her. Holding her head up high, she walked to the section of the counter where employees were allowed to store purses and lunch boxes. After grabbing her bag, she pulled her apron off and tossed it on the counter.

“Sorry, Ned,” she called out as she headed to the door.

“Was it something I said?” snapping fingers joked loudly. His taunting voice and the sound of his friends' raucous laughter filled the almost silent restaurant. “Women are so sensitive these days. Oops, did I use the wrong pronouns? That body is sofucking fat, there might be a dick hiding in those pants. Wanna show me what you’re packin’?”

Nope, she couldn’t let that go.

Rissa didn’t break stride as she grabbed Dori’s empty tray out of her hands and swung it at snapping fingers’ head. The hit was solid, and his head flew back. After a stunned second, he covered his bleeding nose with his hands and started howling in pain.

“If you’re gonna be stupid, you better be tough,” she said, tossing the tray at his feet and walking away. People were shouting, and Steve even yelled at someone to detain her, but no one touched her. It was best they didn’t; she would’ve loved another excuse for violence.

Once outside, she angry walked east. Her car was parked half a mile away, and she needed to get there before Steve found one of the cops always roaming the Gaslamp Quarter and sent them after her.

Snapping-fingers guy would probably file an assault report on her, but if she could get out of the area, she might be able to avoid any legal entanglement. The address Steve had on file was from three moves ago. The cops wouldn’t be knocking on her door tonight.

Despite the rage flowing through her body, she noticed a sign she could’ve sworn wasn’t there when she’d walked to work earlier in the day. The large hand-carved wooden sign made her stop in her tracks.

Sanguine

We have the perfect drink

for every client

Huh, that was interesting. She should be marching her size sixteen booty to her car, but instead, she was drawn to pull the heavy, ornate door open and step inside. One drink wouldn’t hurt, and after what had just happened, she deserved something tasty.

Unlike the bustling street outside, the place was only half full and surprisingly quiet. There was jazz music coming from artfully hidden speakers, but the volume was so low she could barely hear it. It was also shockingly dark, with only pools of light illuminating individual tables and the short mahogany bar.

There was one patron at the bar, and he was fiddling with his phone. Taking the farthest seat from him, Rissa dropped her purse on the bar top and waited for the single bartender to finish pouring a glass of red wine.

She took the opportunity to study the guy. He was average height, probably around five foot ten or eleven. He had thin lips, high sharp cheekbones, and a slightly hooked nose. It would’ve looked ugly on anyone else, but it worked for him. He looked exotic and noble instead of awkward. The arrogant tilt of his mouth and well-groomed, slicked-back hair made her think of the Italian mafia.

If she was in a better mood, she’d definitely try flirting with him.

To her surprise, after he carefully poured his wine, he didn’t set it down in front of the other guy at the bar. Instead, he sipped it himself, then grimaced.

“Vinegar?” she asked.

He panned his gaze to her, slow and deliberate. His expression shifted from disdain to mild interest as he set the glass down. “That’s an odd drink request.”

She chuckled and pointed to his discarded wine glass. “Sometimes old wines turn to vinegar. You didn’t seem to like the taste, so I thought maybe that’s what happened.”

“It’s not vinegar, but the vintage isn’t quite what I wanted,” he explained, pausing on the wordvintageas if he wanted to use a different noun.

“Will your boss be angry if he finds out you’re sampling stuff while working?” she asked. Some bars encouraged their staff todrink a little with the customers, but this place seemed too fancy for that.

“I’m sure my boss will be lenient with me,” he said. Again he paused at the wordsmy boss, as if debating his word choice. “What would you like to drink?”

Rissa eyed the collection of expensive liquors lining the wall behind him. She wasn’t an expert, but she was guessing nothing there went for under twenty-five a pour. Grabbing her purse, she pulled out her remaining twenty dollars and offered it to him.