“You’re twenty-two?” The shifter on the other side of the desk looked him over. “You got I.D.?”
“Of course.” Adam dug through his bag and handed him the card, fighting the instinct to slick his damp hair back from his face, unusually nervous at the manager’s appraisal. From his expression, he found Adam lacking. “And a work permit for the district.”
The man grunted as he took his time to study the identification. Maybe checking it wasn’t a fake. Probably a habit when you managed a bar.
“Delilah says you’re great with people. And you can start right away?”
Adam tried not to let the relief show on his face. “As soon as you need me.”
“It’s a late shift. Eleven to three? Only Saturdays for the first few weeks.” That was the reason Adam had begged Delilah to try and hook him up with an int
