Professor Off-Limits

Close One

ALEENA'S POV

That night, while I was in my dorm, sitting on my bed, I almost told Mira about the job I had just got. The words sat there on my tongue for a full minute before I finally decided.

Mira was already half asleep, her laptop sliding down her legs, the blue light of her screen washing over her delicate features. If I told her about the job, she would sit up and ask me questions I don't have good answers for yet—how a job with zero requirements pay double than anything other listings on that site, why the acceptance text came in less than five minutes of application, or whether I had checked if the place was even real.

I didn't have answers for that—instead, I had a number in my head—seven thousand dollars and a job that might get me there faster than anything else I'd found on that site, and some stubborn part of me didn't want to be talked out of it before I even tried.

So I let the silence sit instead.

"Sleep well," I said.

She mumbled something back, closed her laptop and pulled over her covers.

—

When I got to the Velvet room later that night, I braced myself for something worse, but I was disappointed.

I had expected sticky floors, cheap lighting, the kind of place that explains its own low standards the second you see it.

But it wasn't that.

Gold light pooled low over polished dark wood, a live playlist humming under the murmur of guests. The air smelled like cedar and citrus, not liquor or something seedy.

Damn, this wasn't what I expected at all.

For a second, I just stood in the doorway and let myself be surprised.

“Maybe it was actually good luck,” I thought, but the thought settled something anxious in my chest that had been sitting there since I got accepted.

I quickly shook it off—this wasn't the time to be overly superstitious. I had to find Damien immediately, work, and get paid for today.

I had only walked a few steps before I bumped into someone.

“Sorry,” I quickly apologized and stepped back.

It was a man. He wore a black shirt, with black trousers. He had curly brown hair that spilled over his forehead, he had a piercing on one ear and he looked—

“You're the new staff?” The man asked, totally ignoring my apology.

“Yes, I am.” I nodded, forcing a smile, trying to make it less obvious that I was staring. “Aleena Marsh.”

“Follow me.” He said and turned around without bothering to check if I followed or not.

I walked closely behind him, unaware of where he was taking me to, and my heart began to beat a little faster than normal.

He took a left turn, into a hallway, and he showed me a room.

“This is the staff room. You can—”

“Um… Sorry, are you Damien?” I cut him off, wanting to be sure of who I was following.

“Yes,” he replied coldly. “You can wait here, I'll get your uniform.”

He walked into a room and that was when I heaved a sigh of relief. There was nothing to be scared of indeed.

Damien came out a few minutes later with the uniform—a blue T-shirt with The Velvet Room boldly printed on it, and a pair of jeans.

“Change and meet me at the bar.” Then he brought out his phone, turned on his heels and left.

—

I changed and went to meet Damien at the bar. He was standing at a corner, scrolling on his phone, his expression blank. When I approached, he looked up, and started talking.

“Smile at everyone,” he said in a cold tone. “Don't argue with customers, especially the ones that are difficult.”

“Got it,” I said and nodded once.

“Rosie is also bartending with you, so meet her, and she would explain how this works.” He said and pointed to a girl at the bar, wearing the same uniform as me, and then he walked out

.

I went to the bar—towards where Rosie was, and I greeted her.

“Hi Rosie, I'm Aleena,” I waved at her and smiled. “And Damien said you were going to explain all these to me,” I gestured with my hands. “So maybe we can get into it?”

She smiled and shook her head, “Sure we can start. There are quite a lot of people today.” She stood up. “But I hope you know what you're really getting into?”

My heart skipped a beat, and the smile on my face faltered turning into a frown. “W-what are you talking about?” I stuttered.

Something in her expression flickered for a moment, and gone before I could place it, then she started laughing. “It isn't a big thing, Aleena,” she shook her head. “I only meant you ought to know how busy this place gets on Fridays.” She picked up a glass and wiped it. “And on days like that, you barely have time to breathe.”

Something in my chest finally loosened, and I heaved a sigh of relief. “Oh,” I chuckled. “I'm ready for it, at least the payout would be worth it.”

“True.” Rosie said and dropped the cloth. “Now, let me show you how we do it around here.”

—

The second hour into work, my feet had already started complaining. It dulled only if I kept moving, and sharpened the second I stayed still. I had already gotten the rhythm of the room by now—fill up the glasses, tray up, weave between tables, drop ‘em, and smile.

The people on table nine were already done with their drinks, so I went to clear the table. I was reaching for an empty glass when I saw someone familiar.

She was wearing a gold strapless dress, her black hair flowing in curly waves down her back, and expensive heels that cost more than ten days of this bartending job put together.

She was with a cocktail in her hand, laughing at something with a table surrounded with people I recognized from campus—legacy kids, the kind who treats Tuesday night out like a formal event, and my stomach dropped the moment I saw her face.

No, no, no, no, no, no.

What on earth was she doing here?

“I can't let her see me,” I muttered to myself as I gripped the tray a little tighter than necessary. “If she doesn't see you, everything would go smoothly.”

I picked up the glass from the table quickly, and turned around, but it was too late.

She had already seen me.