Halfway through her shift, the manager tapped Violet on the shoulder. “Do me a favor and run some drinks upstairs—we’re short on staff.”
Violet untied her apron and followed the directions to the upstairs bar. There were plenty of private rooms up here, plus a big central hall packed with tables, laughter, and loud, thumping music. The dim lights gave the place a hazy, almost decadent vibe.
She had just dropped off a tray of cocktails when someone whistled at her. “Hey, gorgeous, can I get your number?”
Violet kept her polite smile in place. But the guy was tipsy, his eyes crawling from her face down to her waist, lingering there with obvious hunger.
“C’mon, just a number?”
“No.” Violet shut him down, then added, “I’m married.”
He just snorted. “Ha, is he hotter than me? Clearly usel
