Chapter 8
2223 Words
Chapter 8
Bubba gave Diana a once-over and scrutinized her. Diana could feel his eyes glaring into her soul, and she briefly wondered if she was making a mistake. But no sooner did the doubt surface than Bubba smiled and put his hand out for a shake.
“Diana, it’s a pleasure,” he warmly greeted.
His hand swallowed hers. It was massive, calloused, and surprisingly soft in its grip—a bear’s paw wrapped in a tuxedo.
“The pleasure is all mine, Bubba,” Diana replied, keeping her voice steady and professional despite the intimidation. She had mentally dropped the 'Mr..' after his welcoming smile.
Bubba released her hand and leaned his tremendous weight back against the obsidian bar. He didn't offer a seat. He simply waited, his dark, serious eyes settling on her.
Clara, sensing the shift from a formal introduction to an intense examination, gave Diana a quick, supportive nod. “Bubba, Diana was a high-volume bartender in the city before she joined the territory. She knows speed, volume, and service. She’s exactly what we need to replace Rico.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” Bubba said sternly. His baritone voice echoed slightly in the vast, empty room. “Rico was quick with his hands and fast on his feet, but he talked too much. Distraction is a weakness in this environment. So, Diana, tell me about your weakness.”
“My weakness?” she repeated, buying a second to formulate her answer. “Professionally, I suppose my greatest flaw is a tendency toward perfectionism, especially with high-profile clientele. I find it difficult to move on from a drink until I know it's perfectly balanced and the guest is satisfied. I also tend to create experimental drinks on the fly for patrons who rarely drink alcohol.”
Bubba gave a soft, almost inaudible grunt. “Perfectionism is ambition wrapped in a pretty bow. Let's talk about the real weaknesses. I get a strong werewolf scent off you, but I sense something deeper, something older.”
Bubba’s direct assessment stunned Diana. Could he truly sense her vampiric history?
“Um…” Diana looked at Clara for support. Clara caught her gaze and sent a quick mindlink.
It’s okay, Diana. He’s not judging you. Just be honest.
Are you sure?
Positive. He’s strict, but he’s fair, and he’s loyal. Tell him the truth.
Okay.
“You know it’s rude to speak telepathically in front of others,” Bubba pointed out, not unkindly, but with the flat tone of a rule being stated.
“Sorry, Bubba. She needed some pack support to get past the interrogation phase,” Clara apologized, offering a slight, defiant tilt of her chin.
“Care to elaborate?” Bubba requested, the question sounding more like a demand delivered on a velvet hammer.
Diana inhaled deeply, centering herself. “You’re right, Bubba.” She paused. “I hope it’s okay that I just call you Bubba?” He gave a slow, silent nod of approval. “Thank you. You’re right, Bubba. There is something deeper. The thing is, I’m a newborn shifter—only a couple of years old. I was human before that.”
“Human?” Bubba asked.
“Yes. And I was a bartender then, too. Unfortunately, my life fell apart when a vampire came calling and turned me into one of his puppets. It also cost me my unborn child.”
“Vampire?” Bubba said, shaking his head and holding up his massive hands. “Wait. You were turned into a vampire first?”
“I was.”
“How is that possible? That scent I picked up, it’s… muted.”
“Anything is possible when Rylee is on your side,” Diana said, a ghost of a smile touching her lips. “I was dying because the vampire who turned me was killed—perhaps you’ve heard of him, Alessandro?”
“Alessandro? The maniac vampire that was dead set on ruining the entire supernatural world?” Bubba questioned. “That Alessandro?”
“Yeah, him. But like I was saying… When he was killed, anyone he turned died with him, including me. But Rylee’s power of regeneration and her venom counteracted the vampire venom. She saved my life and was able to turn me into a wolf instead.”
“That should have killed you instantly,” Bubba stated, his voice flat with disbelief, clearly cataloging this highly unusual occurrence.
“It should have. But it didn’t. However, I think what you’re sensing in me is still some residual vampiric energy. The gene isn’t fully gone. Believe it or not, I still crave blood once in a while.”
“You do!?” Clara asked, shock replacing her professional composure.
“Yeah.”
“Do the Alpha and Luna know!?”
“They do. It’s not a problem. It’s not like I’m going to go out and kill someone for blood. I just go down to the pack hospital, and Dr. Andrews provides me with a blood bag. Done. I’m satisfied for several weeks.”
“I see,” Bubba nodded his head in understanding. “So, you’re saying that you’ve only been a bartender for humans, and not the supernatural?”
“Not professionally, but I’m the pack’s resident mixologist for parties and events. In fact, Rylee even asked me to run the open bar for her upcoming wedding to the Alpha,” Diana subtly bragged.
“That is true,” Clara said. “I’ve seen her doing her thing with the other newborns in the pack,” Clara validated.
“Other newborns?” Bubba looked between them.
“Yeah, Blue Lake took in a massive number of newborn werewolves over the last couple of years. Close to a dozen, I think,” Clara said.
“All humans turned into werewolves because of the fallen Halfmoon Pack,” Diana clarified.
“Oh, I heard about that. The humans that were kidnapped around the country, right?” Bubba asked. Clara and Diana nodded.
“Okay, so you have a novice background in mixing drinks for the supernatural, but that doesn’t tell me you’re the right fit for this job.”
“And why not?” Diana courageously asked.
“Our clientele is 80 percent Alpha-level shifters and Vampire Elders. They are demanding, they are territorial, and they are sometimes volatile. Can you look a disgruntled Alpha in the eye, smell the frustration and the change coming off him, and still remember whether he ordered a smoky Islay scotch or a high-proof were-bourbon?”
Diana straightened her spine further. This was less about mixing drinks and more about presence. She thought of the training she’d undergone in the Pack territory—not just physical training, but the lessons on discipline and control.
“I might be a novice, and I am a newborn,” Diana confirmed, meeting his gaze without flinching. “But I was turned by Alessandro and redeemed by the only living Primordial werewolf in the world, which means I possess a strength and a control far beyond the average newborn. I have spent the past few years in intense conditioning within the largest shifter territory in the Midwest. I’m not fragile, and I am certainly not easily intimidated. My focus remains absolute under pressure, and I assure you, Bubba, I can handle the rush, regardless of the species ordering the drink.”
A flicker of something—approval, perhaps, or curiosity—passed across Bubba's face. He picked up a clean, polished glass and ran a large thumb over the rim.
“The Veil is open from 8 P.M. until the last Elder stumbles home, which can be noon the next day,” he stated, his voice now purely instructional. “The pay is minimum wage. The tips aren’t shared, so you earn your keep. The rules are non-negotiable. One: absolute discretion. No names, no gossiping, no sharing details of the clientele or their conversations. Two: absolute neutrality. You are here to serve everyone, equally and flawlessly. You don’t interfere. You don’t offer advice. You are background, a silent, efficient provider of fine spirits.”
“Understood. Discretion and neutrality,” Diana recited.
“Three,” Bubba continued, raising a finger the size of a cigar. “You need to be fast. We are a high-volume, high-end establishment. A perfect drink served three minutes late is a failure. A good drink served in thirty seconds is a success.” He paused, looking directly into her eyes. “Talk is cheap, Diana. I’ve heard plenty of people tell me they’re fast.”
He then gestured to a small, isolated section of the bar, which contained every imaginable type of liquor, liqueur, tool, and garnish.
“Clara says you’re ready to jump in tonight. I agree with Clara often, but not always. I have an order of ten classic cocktails here.” He placed a neatly folded piece of paper on the bar. “You have five minutes. I want them perfectly made, perfectly presented, and I want them to look exactly like the menu’s specifications. If you spill, if you substitute, or if you take longer than five minutes, you can thank Clara for the ride, and I will show you the alley door.”
“Five minutes. Understood,” Diana said, her voice dropping into the low, focused tone she used when the adrenaline was pumping.
She moved around the bar, and the world narrowed to the feel of the cool, polished obsidian beneath her hands. The air was thick with the scent of aged alcohol and faint cigar smoke, but all Diana focused on was the inventory.
The moment Bubba tapped his finger on the counter, the timer began.
She didn't run, but she was a blur of efficiency. She grabbed three rocks glasses and three coupe glasses, setting them neatly in a line. Her movements were economic and fluid, a dance perfected years ago.
She filled the mixing glasses with ice and began pouring. She didn’t use jiggers; her training had been with a free pour—accurate, swift, and mesmerizingly rhythmic. The heavy rye whiskey for the Manhattan, the rich bourbon for the Old Fashioned, the bold gin for the Negroni—all flowed in perfect measure. She added vermouths and Campari, stirring the spirit-forward drinks with long, rhythmic motions, watching the liquid chill and slightly dilute to perfection.
Bubba watched, unmoving, like a statue carved from granite, but Diana could sense Clara leaning slightly forward, her own anxiety palpable.
Diana took a deep, steady breath, wiped her hands on her apron, and stepped back.
“Ten cocktails,” she announced, her voice slightly breathless but firm. “Time.”
Bubba looked down at the large, industrial clock mounted behind the bar. He slowly turned his gaze back to Diana, his eyes moving over the ten perfectly arrayed glasses, checking the color, the garnish, and the precise level of liquid in each one.
He picked up the Shirley Temple first, his massive hand dwarfing the glass. He took a sip. Then he picked up the Sazerac and did the same. Finally, he lifted the Aviation. He didn’t seem to be checking the taste so much as the proportions and accuracy.
A long silence stretched out, broken only by the soft hum of the club's ventilation system. Diana stood still, her heart hammering, awaiting the verdict. Bubba set the last glass down. He looked at Clara, then back at Diana.
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“VICTOR!” Diana screamed at the top of her lungs the moment she burst through the front door of their home in the Blue Lake pack territory.
“What!? What!? What!?” Victor came running out of the master bedroom, his eyes wide with immediate alarm, clearly thinking something serious had happened.
“I got the job!” Diana squealed, jumping up and down in the entryway.
Victor skidded to a stop, his confusion still evident. “Job? Wait, what job?”
“The bartending job! Remember? I mentioned it last night, after I talked to Luna Rylee?” Diana reminded him, still bouncing.
“Oh, that! Right! Wait—you got the job already?” Victor asked, the shock dissolving into pure happiness.
“Yup!”
“Nice! Congrats, babe!” Victor grinned, catching her face between his large hands. He dipped down and gave her a long, passionate kiss, pulling her against his chest to show exactly how proud he was of her.
“Thank you. Oh my goddess, I’m so excited!” Diana squealed again in excitement.
“When do you start?” Victor asked.
“Tonight. 8 on the dot.”
“Damn, hired on the spot and you start on the same day?”
“Yup.”
“Nice. Can I come?”
“Errr… I mean, I guess. I’ll be pretty busy behind the bar. But I don’t see why not. Maybe the others would want to come, too? Clara and I were going to car-pool. She was supposed to be off today, but Bubba, the manager requested she work with me for some moral support on my first day.”
“That’s fine, babe. I car pool with others. Let me ask them if they’re down.”
“For sure.”
- Writer
