Chased by the CEO

The city is bustling with human activities, despite the late hour. The lights from cars and different establishments kept the streets alive. "One shot of cosmopolitan," a man ordered as he took a seat on the bar counter. I swiftly prepared his drink, mixing the spirits and ingredients together. Vortex, the club I work at, is as crowded as always. The music is loud, the air reeks of alcohol, smoke, and... s*x. A scene I'm most certainly used to by now after working here for years as a bartender. Once I finished, I slid the glass along the counter. I didn't even bother looking at the man. It's a habit I learned and always choose to follow. I'd rather appear rude than receive unwanted flirting from men who uses the wrong head. I glanced at my watch. Three more hours to go. I sighed as I went back to mixing all sorts of drinks. I start work at eight pm and end at four am. It's only 1 o'clock in the morning, which means I still need to endure three long hours of working before I can finally clock out and go home. "Vern, are you good there?" I looked at Alex, another bartender who's on the same shift as me. He was wiping down the counter while occasionally stealing lances at the crowd. I simply smiled. "I'm fine," I said, trying to end the conversation there. "You look like you're about to murder someone." He jokingly said. I rolled my eyes at him and chucked, "That's just my face." Alex snorted, "Fair enough." He went back to his side of the counter while I continued working. Another hour passed. The crowd had become even louder. People who had been drinking for hours were beginning to lose whatever dignity they had walked into the club with. Some were dancing on tables, others were making out in corners, and a few were already being escorted out by security. I had just finished serving a group of women when I noticed someone take the empty seat directly in front of me. The same man. The one who had been staring at me earlier. He looked like he'd been dragged straight out of hell. His hair was messy, his shirt was slightly wrinkled, and his eyes were red from drinking. Despite that, there was something oddly composed about the way he carried himself. He looked at me for a few seconds before speaking. “Whiskey.” I raised a brow. “That's it?” He nodded. “Neat.” I reached for the bottle and poured him a glass. I placed it in front of him and went back to cleaning the counter. For a while, he said nothing. I thought that was a good sign. Then— “You don't talk much.” I didn't look at him. “I'm working.” “I can see that.” “Then you already have your answer.” I was still trying not to pay him any mind. He gave a quiet laugh that made me glance at him briefly. He didn't look offended. If anything, he looked amused. Great. Another one. I continued wiping the counter. He took a sip of his whiskey before looking around the club. “Always this busy?” “Usually.” “You like working here?” I stopped for a moment. What kind of question is that? “It's a job.” “That wasn't what I asked.” “And I wasn't interested in answering.” He stared at me for a second before taking another drink. “Fair enough.” At least he knew when to stop. Or so I thought. A few minutes passed. I served another customer, prepared two cocktails, and restocked a few bottles. When I returned to his side of the counter, he was still there. “You're fast.” “It's called doing my job.” “You always answer like that?” “Only when people ask unnecessary questions.” He chuckled. “You're interesting.” I gave him a flat look. “I really don't think I am.” “That's probably why you are.” I stared at him. He took another sip of his drink as if he hadn't just said something completely ridiculous. Annoying. I picked up an empty glass from the counter. “What else can I get you?” “Nothing.” “Then enjoy your drink.” I turned away. “What's your name?” I ignored him. “Miss?” I continued arranging the bottles. “What's your name?” I sighed. “Vern.” His brows lifted slightly. “Vern.” “Yes.” “Short for something?” “No.” He nodded slowly. “Vern, then.” I looked at him. “Was there a reason you needed to know?” “Curiosity.” “Curiosity gets people into trouble.” That earned another quiet laugh. “You always this serious?” “I'm working.” “You've said that already.” “Then you should've remembered.” He smiled into his glass. For someone who had been drinking for hours, he was surprisingly coherent. Unfortunately, that meant he was also surprisingly persistent. He looked toward the clock above the bar. “How long have you been working?” “Long enough.” “And when do you finish?” “Four.” Why am I even asnwering his questions? He nodded. “That's late.” “It's a night shift.” I gave him an 'Isn't obvious?' look. “I noticed.” I looked him straight in the eye, tired of this idle talk, “Are you planning to order anything else?” “No.” “Then drink your whiskey and leave me alone.” He stared at me for a moment. Then he laughed. Not loudly. Just enough to make me regret giving him an answer. “Direct.” “I'm tired.” Of your bull. “Fair.” For the next few minutes after that, he finally stayed quiet. I went back to work. The club continued getting louder around us. Music, laughter, clinking glasses, footsteps, the occasional argument from someone who had clearly had too much to drink. I almost forgot about him. Almost. “Vern.” I closed my eyes briefly. What now? I turned toward him. “What?” He lifted his empty glass slightly. “Another one.” I stared at the glass, then at him. “You said you weren't ordering anything else.” “I changed my mind.” “Of course you did.” I took the glass from him and poured another drink. When I placed it down, he gave me a small nod. “Thanks.” I returned the nod and walked away. At least he was finally drinking instead of talking. A few minutes later, Alex came closer while wiping down his side of the counter. “You okay?” I glanced toward the man. “I'm fine.” “He bothering you?” “Just talking too much.” Alex looked over. “Want me to handle him?” I shook my head. “It's fine.” “You sure?” “Yeah.” I wasn't going to let some drunk man ruin the rest of my shift. Besides, I had dealt with worse. The man eventually finished his drink. He placed the empty glass on the counter and stood. Before leaving, he looked at me. “Good night, Vern.” I paused. “Good night.” He walked away without another word. I watched him disappear into the crowd. Finally.  After that encounter, the remaining hours of my shift thankfully passed without another mosquito buzzing around my face—or, in this case, another man.