September
DISCLAIMER
This is a dark romance-themed novel. it contains excessive use of profanity, explicit sex scenes, violence, and many more triggering topics. Read at your discretion.
Copyright © 2023 by Chan Na Ra
All Rights Reserved
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, writing, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written consent of the author.
This book is a work of fiction by Chan Na Ra. All characters, names, places, and situations are either a product of Chan Na Ra's imagination or used in a fictional sense. Any resemblance to real-life people living or dead, events, or places, is purely coincidental.
I rush into the tall, shiny building where my favorite coffee shop is located. Although I don't go there for the coffee. I go there for their hot chocolate. I'm not an avid coffee drinker, if at all. Chocolate, however, is where it's at. It's sweet and has enough boost to keep me up throughout my morning, before lunch.
‘‘Good morning, Bri.’’ I smile and greet the brown-haired server that serves me my usual order, every day, exactly how I like it. Medium hot chocolate with foam and chocolate shavings.
‘‘Good morning, Ali.’’ She flashes me a pearly smile. ‘‘The usual?’’ she asks knowingly.
‘‘You know it,’’ I nod. I pulled out the $2.90 from my purse and handed it to her. In return, I grab the steaming cup from her and turn on my heels to walk out. My phone rings in my purse and I reach down with my free hand to grab it. I know it’s probably my boss calling me, trying to get up my ass about why I’m late to work a shift that is not mine. I swipe on the green button and press it to my ear.
‘‘Yes?’’ I answer.
‘‘You’re late,’’ he says sounding pissed and annoyed.
‘‘It’s not my shift,’’ I respond.
‘‘I don’t care Alina. Just get here!’’ He snaps before rudely hanging up the call. Huffing, I stomp my way out of the building and as I turn the corner, I collide with another body, thereby spilling my drink everywhere.
‘‘Are you fucking serious?’’ I mumble under my breath. I have to control my anger because I really need the energy boost to drug me to the point of oblivion, and it is taking a lot of energy for me not to scream from the burning sensation I'm feeling right now in my arm.
‘‘I apologize. Would you like me to buy you another?’’ A deep voice speaks up behind me.
Without acknowledging whoever it was, I declined. ‘‘No, thank you. I’m already late for work.’’ I explain as I drop the now empty $2.90 cup of coffee into the nearest trash can, and rush across the street to Amelie’s Hour - A prestige VIP bar where most of Seattle’s rich CEOs and eligible bachelors come for happy hour, and to harass the female staff. If it wasn’t because of the good ass pay, I would’ve quit a long time ago. However, I need my very expensive one-bedroom Seattle apartment rent paid, I need to finish school, and I need to pay for my car, and every other bill I have. Finding another part-time job that pays as much as Amelie’s Hour pays will be hard.
I push past the doors of the establishment and come face to face with Derik - my boss. We’re not open, but I witness the few employees on shift, unloading produce, wiping down counters, tables, and the dance section inside, and fixing chairs.
‘‘You’re late!’’ He shouts again, this time in my face.
‘‘Again, not my shift!’’ I shouted back.
‘‘Again, I do not care. You need to be on time regardless.’’
‘‘My fucking coffee fell on me. Boiling, steaming, piping hot coffee fell on me. I promise you that I don’t give enough fucks to be on time after that.’’ He is working my last fucking nerve.
‘‘Alina… come here. Let me talk to you.’’ He motions for me to go to his office. Not trying to create a bigger scene, I follow him into his closet of hell. ‘‘I don’t want the others to think that I have favoritism towards you. Yes, you’re my best worker, and-’’
‘‘And I used to be engaged to your pig of a brother? Trust me, you don’t need to show any favoritism towards me.’’ I roll my eyes.
‘‘I’m never going to stop trying to apologize for what Sebastian did to you.’’ He says with a softer tone.
‘‘You can stop. It already happened.’’ I shrug. Without saying anything, he walks to a cabinet behind his desk and pulls out a drawer. He shuffles inside before pulling up a handful of folded clothes.
‘‘Here.’’ He places them on his desk.
‘‘Derik, you don’t have to do that. I’m fine.’’
‘‘Change. Please. You’re going to be at the bar today anyway.’’ He pushes the clothes towards me. I reach out to grab it, and wince at the fabric of my jacket grazing the burned skin on my arm. ‘‘How hot was the coffee?’’ He asks.
‘‘First-degree burn.’’ Without saying anything, he walks back to his little private cabinet and shuffles some more. He pulls out a first aid kit. ‘‘Derik, you really don’t-’’
‘‘Sit,’’ he demands.
‘‘D-’’
‘‘Ali. Sit,’’ he orders again. Reluctantly, I walk over and sit down on his chair. I removed the jacket to reveal a red, swollen, and painful area on my arm. He cleans it down with an antibacterial wipe and applies an antiseptic ointment. ‘‘Let that dry and then change. We don’t open for another 30 minutes.’’ He gives me a small smile before cleaning everything up and leaving me alone.
I hate how nice he is to me. He claims that he’s this way in order to soften the blows I received over the years from his brother. Sebastian. However, it makes it hard for me to move on from that entire situation as a whole. I’m healed, I have dispersed any trauma I had towards Sebastian and his vile family. Have I forgotten all the nights he had beaten me to sleep? No. Have I forgotten the time he tried to force himself on me, and by sheer luck, Derik was home and broke up the commotion? Hell no. Have I forgiven him? Yes, because you can only hold so much grudge internally before you lose yourself as a person.
However, Derik, being so nice and involved in my life, getting me this job, and paying me way more than I need to survive, plus sending me monthly allowances in my savings account, makes it incredibly difficult to move on. I have to see the man every day and have to be reminded of everything.
The bar is full of trashy men caressing low-substance women in their lap. Everyone has a cup half filled with an array of liquors, and the night wouldn't be complete if someone didn't vomit their whiskey back up. While another worker takes care of the sloppy customer, I try to avoid the dance section so I'm not roped into helping with the cleaning. Instead, I wipe down the counter and their glasses. As I finish placing all the cups in their appropriate sections, I turn my head and a man is sitting there.
‘‘Hi, what can I you?’’ I greet him with a slight smile.
He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he ponders what to say. The whole time, he’s staring deep into my eyes, looking up and down at my face, searching for… something. ‘‘Bourbon. Neat.’’ He finally speaks up and his voice takes me aback.
‘‘Coming right up.’’ I smile. I grab a glass and place it in front of him. I grab the clear bottle, tip it over, and watch as the brown liquid pours out.
‘‘Thanks.’’ He smiles as I pull the bottle away. ‘‘Where’s Lydia?’’ He asks. ‘’This is usually her shift.’’
‘‘She’s out today. I’m covering for her.’’
‘‘Was today your day off?’’ He asks.
‘‘It was. I missed school for this.’’
‘‘So, when is your regular shift?’’ He asks.
‘‘Tuesdays, Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays,’’ I explain.
‘‘You like working over the weekend?’’
‘‘You’re chatty…’’ I chuckled. ‘‘Um… I don’t. But I haven't complained since I have Mondays, Wednesdays, and Sundays off.’’
‘‘You're in school and you’re working in a Lounge bar?’’
‘‘I am in College and well over the legal drinking age.’’
‘‘Alright. Just making sure.’’ He nods his head as a sign of approval.
‘‘Right…’’ I trail on doubtfully before speaking up again. ‘‘If that’s all, I’ll go back to cleaning.’’ I turned away from him. When I turn my head again, he’s gone. My eyes casually searched around the bar, in every section and the man had simply vanished. Once I looked down at the bar I realized that he left the bill with the empty glass.
‘‘Who was that?’’ Cheyenne, another co-worker asks.
‘‘I have no idea. This is my first time seeing him here. He asked for a bourbon neat, drank it, and disappeared. Literally.’’ I explain.
‘‘That’s weird.’’ She shakes her head.
‘‘I know,’’ I respond. ''But he left a pretty hefty tip.'' I shrug. It's my tab and my tip, so I am not complaining.
Although, I didn’t want to tell her how he had questioned me about my shift or my life outside of this job. And through the entire conversation, I couldn’t help but feel a certain level of familiarity with him. His voice… I’ve heard it somewhere before. But where exactly? That's the question.
