Bred — the chubby owner of the White House — rounded us all up near the bar, his usual notepad clutched in one hand.
"Okay, people." He said, adjusting his glasses. "Full house tonight. So listen up."
He assigned each of us our roles with the efficiency of a general handing out battle orders.
"Jolie." He looked at me, pointing his pen in my direction. "You're on bar duty tonight. Tyler's sick, so it falls to you."
My stomach dropped.
"Me? But I've never—"
"You'll figure it out." He cut me off with a smile. "I have faith in you."
*Faith in the wrong person*, I thought.
"Sebastian." Bred continued, flipping the page. "Floor service. And you've got a newbie to train."
He pointed to a girl I'd never seen before — tall, blonde, with a look of pure terror on her face. She had to be new.
