The Bartender (Sanguine Hearts Book 1)

7 Sam

Sam Carter surveyed the kingdom he had built. He was satisfied that he was making people happy. Everywhere he looked people were smiling, laughing, drinking, and dancing. Some even seemed to be having the time of their lives. The drinks were flowing. The music was bumping. Everything was as it should be. Pride and happiness warmed him as his eyes took it all in. Bey Luna Beatz LA was his dream come to life. It was tall. It was beautiful. It was the culmination of his life’s work; the first of four clubs all designed the same. There were Bey Lunas in New York, New Orleans, and Detroit and the search was on for real estate in Chicago and Seattle. Life could not be better for him.

The dance floors of the multi-level club were full of people in varying states of inebriation. They were jostling and gyrating to the heavy beat the DJ was throwing down. The bars were busy, hopping. He surveyed each from his loft above it all. From there he had a bird's eye view of his dominion. He could see everything that was happening on every floor below. What he couldn’t see, the security cameras covered. The club was meant to be a safe haven for all; smoke and drug free, so security was tight. The only places that didn’t have security cameras were the bathrooms and the breakroom, but the entrances were well-covered with special cameras. Cameras monitored registers, open spaces, and hallways. All points of entry and egress were monitored by security doors.

Sam took pride in the security measures that were in place throughout the club. The bouncers had been hand-picked by his partner. The whole security and fire suppression system was state-of-the-art with backup generators and all. A joyous smile lit his eyes as he thought about all the carefree people below. He always dreamed of creating a safe space for adults to have safe fun without having to sacrifice an arm and a leg to get in. For many in LA, his club was that space.

For a long moment, Sam’s eyes drifted to Ariel’s bar on the first floor. Maeve, the richly dressed, long-haired thin woman, caught his attention. She was out of place. Her stomping grounds were usually upstairs. She was always near Michael or somehow hanging off his arm. Instead, she was on the first floor saddled on up to the sharp young man with the man-bun and dark brown hair who usually sat at the end of the bar and left with a different girl every night. That used to annoy him to no end. He found such behavior beneath his friend. Now he knew better. Grayson hadn't taken anybody home with him lately, and he likely never did. He wondered if this woman was the reason why. He thought maybe it was someone else who forced Grayson to clean up his act and change the way he was perceived, he wasn’t so sure anymore. Maeve put her arm around him. For a split second, Sam thought he saw Grayson’s lips pull back to reveal a set of prominent canines. He had to have imagined it. There was no way he could have seen fangs from so far away. Grayson’s body language was clear. The woman didn’t seem to care. Grayson scowled at her. Sam could feel the tension from behind the heavy glass two stories up. She was not bothered. She eventually left his side to order her drink from Ariel.

Sam was mesmerized as he watched while Ariel flipped and spun bottles through the air, behind her back, and over her shoulders while she mixed a drink for Maeve. The liquid started a milky white. Bright streaks of blue swirled into the glass as Ariel added the last ingredient turning the glass on the micro turntable she set on the bar.

He was very impressed. Ariel was honestly something else. Not only was she highly intelligent and beautiful. She was talented too. She didn’t always spin bottles like she did for Maeve but she didn’t need to. She had a knack for knowing what a customer wanted before they did. She had an air about her; a way of putting people at ease. It was more than the “she is a bartender” stereotype. People genuinely talked to her because they could and they wanted to. Hell, he loved talking to her. He couldn’t blame anyone. He didn’t. She was incredibly good at her job. Every night, Ariel was his top gross earner. He was certain that the hundred-dollar-an-ounce Scotch that Grayson ordered from her every night was a big boost.

Ariel never let a patron slide or paid for their drink for them like all his other bartenders seemed to. Ariel delivered a considerably superior product and occasionally a show like the one he'd just watched. He couldn't help the surge of pride that ran through him. She was an excellent employee and a better friend. He watched a while longer before turning his attention to Frank's bar, then eventually Anya's. Each offered something unique to each of their clientele. They were huge contributors to the success of the club. He made sure they were all paid well and had plenty of time off if needed.

He was certain Anya’s s*x appeal was what drew people to her. Man, she was beautiful. Tall, thin, appropriately busty, with a thin waistline, generous hips, and legs up to her brilliant blue eyes. Her skin was flawless. The way she dressed was likely to be a plus. He ensured that her clothing was mildly modest and kept most of her skin covered. More men flocked to her bar than women.

Frank's bar, on the other hand, drew in more women than men. That was only natural. Frank was handsome in the way that most handsome men were handsome. His eyes were blue and always clear. He kept his dark blond hair cut in the trending style of the day. He wore it messy kept a soft beard and dressed extremely well. He had sure hands, a soft voice, and a warm heart. The women adored him. He worked hard, served well, and laughed a lot. His smile was made of sunshine and it drew everyone in.