Chapter Text
You sort of zone out after “We regret to inform you that, due a number of cuts to our budget, we have to let you go.”
The rest probably isn’t that important, anyways. Blah blah blah, thank you for your *checks computer* six months of service at Valdivian, you’ll receive your final paycheck via mail, oh and don’t mind these security drones, they’re just going to hover near you on your way your desk so that you can pack up your belongings and escort you out to your car.
The thing that has you snapping back into focus is a simple phrase, mindlessly uttered amongst the rest of a sea of platitudes.
“—afraid you’re just not a good fit for this company,” the HR manager continues droning, as though her words have not sent a shock through your system. “So we think it’s best that we part ways—“
A cold feeling washes over you, quickly followed by red hot anger.
“Not a good fit?” you repeat, part incredulous, part outraged.
The HR manager blinks momentarily taken aback, like she has never had anyone interrupt her script before. She likely hasn’t.
“Ah—” She stumbles over her words, unprepared in the face of your righteous indignant expression. “Well, you know. We have a very close-knit, hard-working culture here at Valdivian. We’re one big happy family here— a big happy family that needs to keep the gears moving! And so if there are any kinks in the gears, we, ah…” She loses the steam she had built up for herself, faltering when the analogy seems to fall apart.
“Right…” you say, in disbelief. The fury doesn’t quite leave you, but it does simmer behind numb shock.
“Right,” the HR manager parrots you, more brightly this time. She steeples her fingers together and offers you a too-cheery smile for the occasion. “Well, I wish you luck, um—”
Her eyes dart to the screen to try desperately to search for your name, but you don’t give her a chance. You rise to your feet, turn on your heels, and storm out of the HR office with as much dignity as you can manage. Which, if you’re being entirely honest, isn’t a whole lot
You don’t even have time to say goodbye. Instead, you feel the burning gazes of your co-workers on you as you stride down the aisle between cubicles, trying your best to keep your chin up. There’s a sad wave from the goblin custodian who always smiled at you when he happened to walk by. The absolute worst part is when you hand in your badge to the security golem in the lobby, who stares at you with onyx black eyes, soulless and yet clearly pitying.
Your drive home is done in absolute, dead silence. No radio, no NPR podcast, nothing. By the time you come out of your daze, you’re pulling into your landlord-assigned parking spot with a half-dead cactus, a cat calendar, and a few college photos stacked in a box on your passenger seat. You have half a mind to slam your forehead into your steering wheel, but your shitty car is so old you’re afraid it might be the horn’s last hurrah.
You can’t even muster tears, even though you should be crying. It had been such a difficult hiring process, and an even worse time trying to stay afloat once you had the job. And worse, Sam had stuck her neck out to get you this job.
Oh god, you hadn’t even checked in with Sam yet; you had no idea if she had survived this round of layoffs.
You put the car into park, and grab your phone. It’s about three models out of date and has a massive crack down the middle that you swore you were going to get fixed once you had the money. That, clearly, had just been moved to the back burner again.
Sam
Please don’t tell me…
You’re not one of the affected, are you?
You rub your face tiredly. Still, tears do not come.
Sam
Please don’t tell me…
You’re not one of the affected, are you?
Is that what they’re calling “escorted off the premises” nowadays?
Oh god. That’s awful.
Are you okay? How are you feeling?
Honestly? I think I’m in shock. I should be miserable.
But I can’t feel anything but relief right now.
Oh, that’s… good? I guess?
Better than weeping.
I’ll probably cry later when my lights shut off and I can’t pay rent.
But for now…
I’m sorry for getting you this job only for them to fire you almost immediately.
It’s not your fault, Sam. You did your best.
I just got home. I think I’m going to drink an entire bottle of wine by myself and cancel my Valdiviflix subscription before it renews.
Good luck. Let me know if you need anything!
You click your phone shut, and sigh, rubbing your temples. Then, you finally open your car door and climb out with the last contents of your brief stint at Valdivian. You trudge the six flights up to your apartment because the elevator has been broken since you moved in almost half a year ago now. You flick on the lights to your apartment, lock the door behind you, and drop the box onto the ground before flopping face-first onto the couch. Then, you let out a ear-piercing scream into the cushion that doesn’t really muffle anything. There’s a loud pounding from the wall next to you— your neighbors complaining about the noise, like they don’t have wildly loud sex every night.
You finally roll over to lie on your back and stare at the ceiling. It’s odd to be home in the middle of the work day. Millions of other people right now are at work, making money, moving forward in their careers. And you’re… here.
And yet, no tears. Despite the fact that your last pay check isn’t going to cover the rent that’s due next week. Despite the fact that this is the third job since graduating that you’ve lost, and you’re still at the entry level position in your industry. Despite the fact that you’re not sure what to do next…
There’s only pure, unadulterated relief.
God, how fucked up is that? After all of your efforts and hard work, you were relieved that it was over? It felt cowardly in a way, but that doesn’t change the fact that you feel freer than you’ve felt in years.
Not a good fit.
You’re not even sure why this is what sticks in your mind, but it does. Sure, maybe you weren’t the most social. Or particularly friendly. Or even mildly outgoing. Nor could you even remotely relate to most of your coworkers… but you had been great at your job. In fact, your manager Tom had always had positive feedback to give you alongside a friendly punch to the shoulder while calling you “champ” or “slugger” or some variation of a pet name one would give their pre-teen step-son. Plus, your customer reviews have always been one of the highest on your team and you have never had any serious complaints leveled against you.
So what if you weren’t interested in small talk by the water cooler or taking lunch with everybody? You had a job to do and you did it well. You didn’t get a degree in customer service to spend all your free time with a bunch of nosy, stuck-up corporate ladder climbers. How could that mean you didn’t fit?
Okay, yeah, you’re hearing it now.
But that doesn’t change the fact that you had been a great employee. You’ve seen everyone else’s customer reviews— it didn’t even look like anyone else liked talking to people. You, on the other hand, had chosen customer service because you actually enjoyed working with customers.
You pause suddenly when it occurs to you that this might not even be true anymore. How much had you dreaded going into work every single morning? How much had your eyes ached after hours of staring at the screen? How much had your blood pressure risen while trying to balance customer satisfaction with adhering to the company’s, strict policies and their ever increasing quarterly quotas.
Now that you are thinking about it, everything you had once enjoyed about the career you had chosen now felt only draining in the way that only soul-sucking jobs could. In fact you couldn’t even remember why you chose customer service in the first place.
Not a good fit, HR had said. Perhaps that had been the only true thing that had been said to you today.
You sit up straight. You can’t keep ruminating like this; at least not without alcohol. Instead, you stand up and make a beeline for your kitchen, only to find your bar cart completely empty of anything alcoholic at all.
A groan of annoyance escapes you— you had completely forgotten to restock. You’d been hemorrhaging your alcohol the last few months while working at Valdivian, because even though you were being paid, it had still been shit pay. The last bottle you had was some tequila that Sam had given you for your birthday, but that had been a few months ago. Now, it looked like you were dry.
Fine, you decide, grabbing your keys once again. This was fine. This was all going to be fine.
You let the door slam behind you on the way back out of your apartment, and hope viciously that your annoying neighbors heard it. You don’t even know where you’re going, instead letting your feet take you back down the stairs and across the street, until you’re walking down the main road of the city.
When you had first moved to this city, less than a year ago, you had been starry-eyed and awed. Having grown up in a small town, you hadn’t quite seen the magical wonders and mystical splendors that were— while perhaps not common, exactly, certainly a more frequent sight: a group of school children kicking around a soccer ball in the park, including one particular child with horns and hooves, a troll hefting himself out of a sewer grater wearing a bright, neon orange safety vest, and an apothecary down the street that sold Tylenol and toothpaste as well as witchy herbs and teas.
Today, the rose tinted glasses have been lifted.
It’s oddly quiet, or maybe that’s just because you’re not used to seeing it in the middle of the work day. There are packs of baby-faced teenagers still wearing school uniforms and backpacks, a few stay-at-home moms with their babies in strollers, and a handful of retired people enjoying their free time. Worse, are the work from home employees who fill up the outdoor cafe. You can hear the centaur loudly talking on his Zoom meeting about cryptocurrency while sipping his matcha latte before you see him.
Despite the fact that everyone appears to be minding their own business, you can’t help but feel like they’re all staring at you, like they all somehow know that you just got fired. Even though it’s ridiculous, you feel your face is burning with shame.
There’s a dive bar around here, you vaguely recall. You’ve never been, but you do remember seeing a neon sign for it when you first moved into town. Sam had pointed it out on her last visit, but you didn’t get out much these days. You had been pulling unpaid overtime at Valdivian to try to prove yourself— for all the good that did you— and hadn’t had the time or energy the last few months to do anything but crash in your bed after a microwaveable frozen dinner.
The neon sign is off, but you recognize the words hanging in front of tinted windows.
The Breaker Box
You squint, but can’t see much going on inside on account of the sunny day and darkened interior. What you can see, however, is the sign plastered in front of the window in big, bold font.
GRAND REOPENING: NOW HIRING HUMAN BARTENDER
INQUIRE INSIDE
It’s ridiculous, you think. It should be ridiculous. You haven’t bartended since college, and though you had enjoyed it, you have a degree in customer service now. You should be thinking about your career, right?
But a job is a job, and beggars certainly couldn’t be choosers. Besides, the thought of answering another phone with an overly-peppy, “Valdivian Customer Service Representative #6728390 here how can I help you?” makes you want to throw up. You had liked bartending, liked talking to regulars, chatting with students, flirting with customers to try to get a bigger tip. You blink, and suddenly recall that bartending had been the very thing that had gotten you to get your degree in customer service in the first place. Maybe that’s exactly what you needed: a reminder of what actually liked about your chosen career.
Besides, rent was due soon, and it isn’t like you have anything left to lose.
You reach for the door. The knob is unlocked, however, so you push open the door to the inside of the club.
As your eyes adjust to the darkness, you realize that it isn’t exactly a dive bar. Or at least, it doesn’t look like any dive bar you been to in the past. The room is devoid of any customers, which makes sense since it’s not even three in the afternoon. It’s surprisingly clean, too, with chairs stacked on tables and a squeaky-clean looking bar set-up. The decor makes you think of speakeasies, with red-velvet seats and booths that surround a stage. It certainly looks like they’re preparing for a grand re-opening, on account of the streamers and party balloons that are haphazardly strewn across a few tables and a corner of the floor.
The room is dimly lit, but there are oddly shaped, dark patterns that litter the wall. They are spatters, like those ink paintings that therapists use. No, you correct yourself, squinting to try to puzzle out the odd decoration choice, and reach out to touch the wall—
A hand closes around your wrist and spins you around. You stare up to see dark eyes and a scowl.
“We’re closed, human,” he growls, grip tightening around your wrist. It’s not tight enough to hurt, but you know you wouldn’t be able to break his grip easily. “Who are you? What do you want?”
You pull your arm helplessly. As expected, the man does not let you go. “I’m—” you stammer, heart pounding in your chest from the fright. How had the man snuck up on you so silently? You hadn’t even heard him approach. You take a deep breath, calming yourself. “I— sorry, I didn’t realize you were closed.”
“The neon closed sign didn’t give you any hints?” the man asked, scathingly.
You narrow your eyes at him. This time, when you tug your arm back more forcefully, he lets you go, crossing his arms over his chest and scowling.
“Well,” you say, a harsh edge lining your tone now, “I came by to ask about the sign in your window, but I guess I have my answer. I’ll just go then—”
“Eddie!”
The second voice startles you, but the scowling man doesn’t even flinch. You turn to see someone else approaching you. He looks like the scowling man’s complete opposite: wide, friendly smile and open body language. His face is bright and beautiful, framed by long, wavy white hair.
“You must be talking about the bartender position,” the man says, warmly. “I’m Volt, one of the owners of the Breaker Box. Please excuse Eddie, he woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.”
You straighten a little at his introduction and hold your hand out to greet him. You’re expecting a handshake, which is the only reason you get flustered when his instead turns your hand over, lifts is, and brushes his lips against your knuckles. From anyone else, it might have been off-putting, but Volt moves with such self-assured grace that it looks perfectly natural. He glances up at you from underneath white lashes and his lip curls into a smile when he sees your undoubtedly red face.
“Welcome to our establishment,” Volt says, a purr reaching your ears.
You stare stupidly at him for a beat too long before you jolt back to your body. “I— um, hello. It’s nice to meet you.”
Volt straightens, letting go of your hand and instead turning to the other man, Eddie, who has now gone from glaring at you suspiciously to outright rolling his eyes.
“Eddie, remember I put that sign up there?” Volt says, pointedly. “We need another bartender to help Bev.”
Eddie’s arms are still crossed over his chest, but he dips head head slightly in acknowledgement of Volt’s words. He takes a step back, though his piercing stare doesn’t leave you immediately. You take a moment to stare at him right back, taking in his appearance. His shaggy black hair is a mess, like he really did just roll out of bed. He has a square jaw and what one might call a handsome face, if it wasn’t attached to a man who moved like a shadow, grabbed unsuspecting strangers, and snapped at people trying to apply for a job.
“Whatever,” Eddie finally says, mouth flattening into an unhappy line. “You’re in charge of hiring.”
With that warm welcome, Eddie disappears behind the door next to the bar.
Volt sighs, refocusing his gaze on you. “My apologies for my partner. He’s co-owner, but is decidedly less interested in the people element of the business.”
You bite back a snarky response, because no matter how stupid or rude a Valdivian customer had been to you, you had never acted anything like Eddie just had. Instead, you give a stiff nod. “It’s no trouble. I saw the sign in front of your bar and I thought— well, I did some bartending back in college. And I’m decidedly, blandly human.”
Volt brightens at that. “Wonderful! Why don’t we take a seat, and we can talk?”
You follow Volt to the bar. He gallantly pulls out the chair for you before heading behind the bar.
“Can I get you something to drink?” he asks, already scooping two cups full of ice.
“Just a water, please.”
He fills both cups with a spray nozzle and sets them down on two coasters. While he does so, you take the time to look around the bar, admiring its speakeasy-like aesthetic.
“Is this your first time here?” Volt asks, circling the bar back to your side. “I would remember a face as lovely as yours.”
You sputter in surprise as Volt takes the seat beside you, body angled slightly in your direction. “I— I mean, it is,” you stammer. “I only moved to this city about half a year ago.”
“Ah.” A look of understanding passes across Volt’s face as he nods. “We’ve been closed for renovations for a few months.”
“Hence the grand reopening,” you say, glancing back at the lump of decorations sadly piled up in the corner. “What kind of renovations did you have done?”
Volt’s lips purse, as though you’ve touched a nerve. “Mostly just repairs. An electrical fire broke out a while ago, so we needed to replace all of the building’s wiring and get it all back up to code.”
Your eyes widen. “That’s terrible— I hope everyone was okay.”
The notch between Volt’s brows relaxes. “You’re a sweet one, but there’s no need to worry yourself now,” he assures you.
Your face feels as hot. If this is what the interview is like, you’re not sure you would actually survive actually working under him— With him.
Oh dear god.
“So tell me all about yourself,” Volt says, jolting you out of your mental spiral. He leans forward with an earnest smile.
To think you’re getting more attention from this job interview than your last three dates from the dating apps. You choose to not evaluate just how sad that sounds.
You start by introducing yourself, briefly explaining your experience bartending at a college bar to put yourself through school.
“What did you like about it?” Volt asks, sounding genuinely interested. Talking to him feels more like a conversation than an interview, like he has some kind of preternatural ability to put you at ease.
“I mean, making drinks is fun, of course,” you joke lightly. “But what I really liked about it was getting to talk to people. People having their best days, their worst days, and everything in between.”
Volt’s eyes shine at that response. “Have you bartended since?”
You wince, and reluctantly shake your head. “No, actually. I got a degree in customer service, but it was… well, it wasn’t really everything that I thought it would be.” You hesitate. Ordinarily, you wouldn’t mention this to any stranger, much less to someone you were trying to beg a job off from, but your mouth seems to move of its own accord. “I actually was laid off today. A few hours ago. Budget cuts, apparently.”
Volt clicks his tongue and makes the appropriate sympathetic noises. “That had to be hard. I’m sorry to hear that.”
Not a good fit, a voice whispers in your ear. You choose to ignore it.
“I’m… coping. One door closes and another one opens, as they say.”
His smile is almost blinding. “Well, that’s encouraging to hear. I think that’s all the questions that I had, but before I make my final decision, I’d like to ask you to make a drink first. Just to make sure you can hold your own behind the bar.”
“Of course,” you agree readily, sliding off the stool to circle around behind the bar. “What did you have in mind?”
Volt taps his chin thoughtfully. “Hm… surprise me.”
You grin at that. “You got it.”
Your eyes scan the contents of the bar, a plan formulating in your mind. “What’s your preference? Sweet, sour, fruity, refreshing?”
Volt hums at that, pausing for a moment to consider his answer. “Spicy,” he finally settles on, his eyes dancing with amusement.
You clap your hands together in excitement, and get right to work. They didn’t have everything that you needed for what you had in mind, but you could make it work. You quickly start mixing tequila, lime juice, and grapefruit soda to mix a quick paloma. Then, you crush a hot pepper and add it to the mix, pouring out the drink into a glass filled with ice. You garnish it with some sprigs of mint and a slice of lime before presenting it to Volt with a proud smile. He’s been watching you with an intensity you aren’t used to, and it makes your stomach swoop when you realize he hasn’t taken his eyes off of you this entire time.
“A spicy paloma,” you say, as Volt inspects the drink with interest. “You’re supposed to infuse hot peppers into aperol, but it takes some time to just sit. This should do in a quick pinch.”
Volt takes a sip, and his eyes go wide with delight. “That’s amazing,” he compliments, sounding genuinely impressed. “Did you come up with that?”
You try not to preen, but you can’t help but stand a little taller. “Well, I’m sure someone has come up with it in the entire history of mixology, but it was one of my specialties, and it made the seasonal menu at the bar I used to work with. It was a hit.”
“I can imagine.” Volt smiles, taking another sip with a happy sort of hum. “Well, I’d be remiss to not give you the job.”
Your eyes widen, and your heart leaps in your chest. You hadn’t realized until now just how much you had been hoping for this, even more than you had when you had been interviewing at Valdivian, which had taken no less than five rounds of interviews.
“Really? Just like that?”
Volt nods, but before you can celebrate, he holds a hand up. An uncharacteristically serious expression crosses his face. “Before you accept, I should tell you that our club isn’t exactly…” He pauses, recollects himself, and changes course slightly. “Well, we cater to a very specific demographic.”
You blink. Your first thought is, Oh god, did I just walk into a mob front? But no, that didn’t make much sense. Why would they even bother interviewing you if this was a money laundering scheme?
But then you think of the sign on the window. The way it has specified human bartender. You hadn’t thought much of it— plenty of businesses wanted humans for customer-facing roles. It was a discriminatory practice, you thought, but technically magical beings weren’t listed as a protected class for employment.
You think of the word “human” snarled from Eddie’s lip, spat out like an insult. Like he isn’t.
The answer comes to you quickly enough.
“This is a magic club,” you realize, and after you speak it aloud, you know that it must be true.
Volt’s lips purse. You can see his hands are twitching, even as he’s making a conscious effort of sitting as still as possible. He’s nervous, for the first time in your interview, and you don’t blame him. Strictly speaking, magical clubs aren’t illegal the way they were only a few decades ago. In fact, practicing magic and the existence of magical beings in human society was decriminalized years ago— but you knew that wasn’t enough to simply erase long-held stigmas like that. Your job at Valdivian had been proof enough of that— nearly everyone in the company had been human, with the exception of some of the custodians, the cafeteria workers, and the security contractors.
You look at Volt with a more critical eye. You’re surprised at the admission, but you really shouldn’t be, you realize. Volt just looks too… perfect, to be human, really. He had an otherworldly sort of beauty, with shining, perfectly white hair and eyes that you realize don’t just look like they’re glowing, but are glowing, like a cat’s at night. It should have been obvious, in hindsight. Though, you’re not sure exactly what kind of magical being Volt is, but it really isn’t any of your business.
“I understand,” you say, offering him a reassuring smile. “It won’t be a problem, promise.”
Volt’s eyes widen, like you’ve taken him by surprise this time.
“Really?” He sounds relieved, and a little disbelieving, echoing your same words and tone from earlier. “Just like that?”
There is something about working with and around magical beings that does make you hesitate, but it’s not for the same reasons most people had. The way Eddie had called you “human” it was a curse word. The way you had felt everyday walking into your cubicle at Valdivian, like you were an outsider and everyone was just waiting doe you to mess up and get fired. The way all of your friends from school have found their dreams jobs and built careers that they loved and could take pride in.
You didn’t want to feel like the odd one out yet again.
But what did that matter in the grand scope of paying versus not paying your rent?
“Just like that,” you say, firmly. “Don’t really need to know anything that doesn’t have to do with me, right? Nothing that you’re not comfortable with telling me, anyways.”
The smile on Volt’s face softens, becomes a little more real, you realize. It is clear he is relieved, and a bit of that mask he is wearing cracks ever so slightly.
“Right.” Volt clears his throat. “I’ll let everyone else on the team tell you or not as they’d prefer, then.”
You nod encouragingly, before the implication behind his words sink in. “Wait, does that mean…?”
“Yes,” Volt bobs his head, smiling widely. “We’d love to have you join the Breaker Box.”
A squeal of excitement escapes you before you can think better of it. You rush forward, clasping Volt’s hand in yours with a little squeeze. “Thank you so much! When do I begin?”
Volt’s hands are warm in yours. He does not pull away, leveling you with a clearly pleased expression. “Why don’t I show you around and introduce you to the rest of the staff now, and you can begin tomorrow?”
You nod in agreement eagerly, and follow Volt as he heads you to the back room that Eddie had disappeared behind. It’s a little cramped as Volt leads you through the hallway, pointing out each room and door as you pass by.
“This is the storage room,” he explains, “we keep most of our inventory back here. That way’s the dressing rooms, it goes behind the stage.”
“Dressing rooms?” you repeat, puzzled. “Do you have performances?”
Volt grins. “We have a lot of live performances, and Thursdays is our weekly spotlight night. Think of it as a talent show— anyone can sign up and show off their act.”
“Sounds fun.”
Volt continues, pointing out the door that leads to the apartment upstairs. It was the only one that was technically barred against entrance to you, since it led directly to his and Eddie’s apartment.
“This is my office,” he says, patting a door with his name on it. “This is Eddie’s, though he hardly ever uses it. It’s more of a maintenance room.”
“What does Eddie do?” you ask, curiously. “Other than sneak around darkened club floors.”
Volt laughs at that. “He’s our maintenance man, practically built this club ground up.” Volt’s voice is utterly fond and filled with pride. “Anything and everything that goes wrong he fixes.”
The two of your round a corner and find yourself in a small room with a tiny fridge, a table, and a microwave. Sitting at the table is a young woman with bright orange hair and blue eyes. She looks up from her phone when you enter, curiously.
“This is our break room,” Volt explains, “and this is our other bartender, Beverly.”
The woman jumps to her feet, excited and nervous smile playing on her face. “Just Bev,” she says, taking your hand eagerly. “Nice to meet you!”
“Nice to meet you too,” you return her friendliness with a smile of your own. “I’m excited to start.”
“Have you seen Dorian?” Volt asks the excitable woman. “I was hoping to introduce him.”
“I think I saw him go out back for a smoke,” Bev says, jutting her chin out in the direction of the door.
Volt nods, gesturing for you to follow. You give Bev another friendly wave before following Volt back out the break room and to the final door. He pushes it open to reveal a small parking lot with only a handful of cars and several large dumpsters, likely from the other businesses that that share the lot.
A brown-haired man is standing near the exit, smoking a cigarette. He had broad shoulders and stands even taller than Volt does. He’s not exactly built like body-builders, but he looks sturdy enough to take down anyone who got too rowdy after a few drinks. His suit is formal, but his sleeves are rolled up to reveal several tattoos.
He straightens a bit when he sees Volt and nods politely before turning his curious gaze on you.
“Dorian, this is our newest member of the staff,” Volt says, gesturing to you.
Dorian nods in understanding. “Nice to meet you.”
“Dorian is our doorman,” Volt explains. A smile tugs at his lips, and he adds, like it’s an inside joke, “He takes his job very seriously.”
Dorian takes another drag of his cigarette, then replies in an even tone, “Just doing my job.”
Volt rolls his eyes and shoots you an amused look. You’ll see, Volt mouths at you, and you can’t help but chuckle.
“We’ll leave you to the rest of your smoke break,” Volt says, clapping Dorian on the shoulder.
Dorian grunts in acknowledgement, then nods at you politely. “I look forward to working with you,” he says, stiff and formal.
“Likewise,” you return, with a warm smile.
You follow Volt back inside. On your way back to the bar, you run into Eddie, who frowns at you, disgruntled.
“Oh.” Eddie’s nose wrinkles and his eyebrows crease. “you’re still here.”
You bite your tongue, because you just got this job, and you really don’t think you can handle being fired twice in one day. Fortunately, Volt steps in for you.
“Eddie,” he chides, “be nice. They pass their interview with flying colors, and can make a pretty good drink on top of it.”
Eddie just grunts. “Yeah okay, whatever.” He gives you a side eye, then brushes past you to keep going wherever he needs to go.
“Don’t mind him,” Volt repeats, continuing to lead you back to the front room. “It’s nothing personal.”
You grimace, but nod reluctantly. It’s not like you’ll be seeing much of Eddie, anyways. He doesn’t strike you as the kind of guy who goes out of his way to interact with his co-workers.
“Thank you again,” you say, changing the subject. “I’m excited to begin.”
Volt breaks out into another one of his million-watt smiles. “I should be the one thanking you. You’ve made our long hiring process worth it. Come by again tomorrow at three o’clock, and Beverly can show you how she does openings.”
“Sure thing,” you agree, beaming. “I’ll see you then.”
Volt shakes your hand one last time. When you finally have to pull back, your skin is tingling from where he’s touched you.
“See you then.”