Page 32 of Top Shelf
I don’t miss a beat, having done my research before I left my apartment. “Savage Royal’s your best seller. You rotate two seasonal brews, with Crimson Reign being your fall release thatyou just tapped last week. And Wild Monarch itself is the flagship hazy IPA.”
His brows rise slightly.
“Crooked Crown?”
“Amber lager. Subtle hops, light malt backbone. Good for people who don’t like hoppy beers but still want flavor.”
“And Forsaken Heir?”
“Barrel-aged saison. Dry finish. Notes of spice and oak. Your weirdest one.”
He grunts. “Splintered Throne?”
“Smoked porter,” I say, but then my brain scrapes to a halt. “Wait, or is that Bitter Majesty? No. Bitter Majesty’s the ESB.”
“Which makes Splintered Throne...?”
I open my mouth. Close it. Damn it.
“...Dark? Probably?”
“Smoked porter,” he says flatly. “Notes of coffee and burnt toast.”
I grimace. “You’re right. I looked them up before coming here, but I had to go through the list so fast that they started to blur together.”
He doesn’t respond. Just stares at me.
I feel it then. That panic clawing up my spine. That old self-doubt that Valehurst has been feeding like gasoline. I straighten my shoulders, refusing to walk out of here with a no. “Give me one shift,” I press. “You don’t even have to pay me. Just let me prove I can hold my own. If I suck, I’ll leave, and you won’t see me again.”
Eyes narrowed, he watches me a moment longer before pushing off the bar. I’m convinced he’s going to turn me down when he grabs a towel from behind the counter and tosses it at me. I catch it.
“You start now,” he states matter-of-factly. “No screw-ups.”
I nod, serious. “Noted.”
“I’m Reid.”
“Wren,” I respond, draping the towel over my shoulder before making my way behind the bar.
His gaze lingers on me, something unreadable in his gaze. “Let’s see what you’ve got, Wren.”
And just like that, I feel something I haven’t in days.
Awake.
Like maybe I’m still in here somewhere.
8
SILAS
I slipin through the door just after nine.
No one notices. They rarely do. When you don’t talk, people tend not to notice your appearance. Or perhaps you just learn how to move around unnoticed. Either way, it makes it easy to melt into the background. Especially in a place like this, where the lights are low and the chatter is loud enough to keep eyes busy and ears occupied.
I’ve been here for twenty-seven minutes.
Well, technically, I’ve been here for the past two and a half hours. I followed her here, curious to know where she was going when she left her building wearing skin-tight black jeans with rips at the knees and matching boots with a small heel, which accentuates her slight frame. At the time, she had a hoodie covering the top half of her body, but she has since discarded it, revealing the vintage cropped T-shirt that clings to her breasts and finishes just above her belly button, giving everyone an unobstructed view of the creamy skin on her flat, smooth stomach.
