Page 28 of The Perfect Melody

“Well, having my son, how did you put it? Looming over you probably didn’t help.” Her amused grin fades, and she glances his way before lowering her voice. “I hope you’ll forgive Austin’s rudeness. He’s put a lot of pressure on himself over the reopening—he’s usually much more level-headed.”

I sigh, leaning my hip against the bar. “I understand why he’s not my biggest fan.” Wincing internally at my word choice, I continue, “That’s fine, I don’t expect or want for us to become friends, but I won’t let him walk all over me either.” That kind of behaviour is what I came to Pine Grove to get away from.

“I’ll talk to him and remind him to behave like the man I raised him to be, but I hope you’ll give him—and working here—a chance?”

“Honestly, I don’t have much choice.” At her frown, I elaborate, “I need to pay for the damage I caused somehow, and yesterday I found out the cost of repairing the car is going to be… significant. I have other options, but it would be easiest for me to stay here and save up the money. To do that, I need to survive my trial week, and right now I’m barely surviving the day.”

“Then we’d best get you up to speed. Take ten to look through the screens, then I’ll come back and give you a few more practice orders.”

I nod, repositioning myself in front of the till. I’ve gone over the starters and mains and have moved onto side dishes when an obnoxiously loud laugh distracts me. Looking up, I realise the grating, high-pitched sound is coming from the blonde sitting opposite Austin. Molly, if I’m remembering her name right, looks to be about my age, maybe a couple of years younger, and it’s painfully obvious that she’s into our boss. She’s conveniently ‘just happened’ to find herself right beside Austin throughoutevery stage of our training, batting her long lashes and tossing her thick mane of honey-blonde hair so hard I was afraid she might strain something. I’m all for being confident and going after what you want, but we’re supposed to be working—she can flirt with the grump on her own time.

Mei, another server I met earlier, catches my eye from next to her and pulls a face as Molly laughs again and Austin asks if she needs some more water. My lips twitch in amusement when, within the space of a second, she immediately stops laughing, recalculates and demurely thanks him while fluttering her lashes so hard they’re in danger of flying off.

“Sam, could you pass Molly that jug, please?” he asks. I bite my lip to repress the laugh that wants to escape at the look on Molly’s face when the chef wordlessly passes her the jug of water and Austin turns to the guy on his left, ignoring her completely.

Normally, I’d feel bad for Molly—the object of her affections is completely oblivious to her efforts, and that’s rough. Yet any sympathy I may have had for her vanished the moment I sat down and overheard her bitching with one of the bartenders about what people were wearing while giving my jeans and t-shirt a dirty look. Seriously, we’re at a staff meeting, not London Fashion Week—what did she expect?

At least aside from Molly and her bartender friend, everyone else seems great. My only real problem is Austin. I had hoped to win him over today and make working for him less uncomfortable, but there’s no hope of that happening now.

Abby reappears just as I finish looking over the drink screen, and we practice for another ten minutes while the rest of the staff relax and enjoy their lunch.

“You’re ready.” Abby grins.

“Maybe we should do one more?—”

“Austin, come over here,” she calls out.

I shoot her a ‘what the fuck’ look that she ignores.

“I take it this means you know what you’re doing now?”

What a dick. I smile sweetly, glad I’ve spent the better part of the last decade dealing with much more intimidating people that this guy. “Why don’t you test me and find out?”

When I’m able to input everything Austin rapidly fires out quickly and without mistakes, he simply folds his arms and nods. “Good. Mum, why don’t you grab some food—I need to talk to Cassie for a minute.”

Abby leaves, and I immediately go on the defensive. “Listen, I passed your test?—”

Austin calmly holds up a hand to silence me.Is it wrong that I kind of want to smack it?

“Are you going to take this job seriously?”

“What?” I ask, wondering if I missed something while distracted by my violent daydreams.

He looks up as if begging a higher power to grant him patience. “Are you going to take this seriously? If not, tell me now because if you won’t put in the effort, then I’d rather you leave instead of giving my customers a bad experience.”

Ouch. My cheeks flame, and my wounded pride screams that this isn’t fair, that I should give him a piece of my mind. Luckily, years of training and reminders tobe nicehave the words dying in my throat. I remind myself that this place means a lot to him—Abby said he’s the third generation of Bowmans running the bar and that he’s waited years for the opportunity. If I’d not lied about having experience as a server, he might have been more patient with me.

“Look, I understand why you don’t like me, even though you don’t even know me—that’s fine. But one thing you should know is that I don’t do things halfway. I’ll do something properly or not at all. It might not have seemed like it to you, but I was trying my best. Like I said, I’m a little rusty, but I’ll get the hang of things if you give me a chance.”

Silence hangs between us as Austin’s eyes search mine. He must find whatever he’s looking for because his combative posture relaxes and he unfolds his arms from across his broad chest. “What size shirt do you wear?”

“What?” I ask, confused by the sudden change of subject.

“For your uniform. I’ve got extra t-shirts in the office. I’ll bring you some, but I need to know what size to grab.”

“Small if it needs to be fitted, medium if it can be loose.”

“As long as you’re wearing something with the bar’s logo on, I don’t care what the fit is. Which will you be most comfortable in?”