Allena
It was barely seven o'clock on a Monday, but the throbbing bass of the club was already vibrating straight through the thin soles of my heels, sending a sharp, exhausting ache up my legs. Because it was the beginning of the week, the main floor was mostly empty, the neon lights casting long, lonely shadows across the polished concrete. I wiped down the edge of an empty bar, my mind entirely consumed by a single, desperate thought: I need to find another day job tomorrow.
I was carrying a tray of empty glasses back to the kitchen when Jacob, the floor manager, blocked my path. My chest tightened, and I instinctively crossed my fingers beneath the tray. Please, no more bad news. I can't take anything else today. After the humiliation at
Jack's office this morning, I was running on
