Harlem’s POV
"What the hell did you just say to ?"
The man grinned, belly straining against his cheap shirt, breath reeking of whiskey. "I said I can give you a good ti, sweetheart. We’ll be back before you know it."
I stared at him, disgust crawling up my spine. Married. Drunk. Ugly smile. The full package. My eyes flicked to his shiny wedding band, and I gave him a smile sharp enough to cut glass.
"It wouldn’t be the first ti I was promised a good ti," I said sweetly. "But why would I waste that on soone like you? Shouldn’t you be at ho with your wife and kids?"
His face went beet red. "Is this how you talk to custors at this bar? I want to speak to your manager!"
I sighed, setting the whiskey bottle back on the shelf. "Sir, I think it’s ti you left. Especially if you can’t tell the difference between a bartender and a hooker."
His hand twitched, like he wanted to slap . Oh please. Try .
But then Gio appeared, hand on his shoulder, calm as ever. "She’s right, sir. Maybe for once you could go ho early. I’ll escort you out."
The man snarled, puffing up like he mattered. "Says who?!"
"Ted," Gio called.
Our bouncer, six feet of muscle and nace, jogged over. The drunk took one look at him, paled, and muttered sothing about leaving on his own. Crisis averted.
"You okay, Har? He didn’t touch you, did he?" Gio’s eyes scanned like I might be bleeding sowhere.
"I’m fine. Thanks. What would I even do without you?"
His grin turned wicked. "Apparently? Insult him until he leaves. Or better yet: apologize."
I rolled my eyes. "Wow, my reputation precedes ."
"Whatever he said, I’m sure he deserved worse," Gio said, walking away.
"Thanks, Gio. And you too, Ted."
Ted gave a grunt and a thumbs-up. A Man of many words.
I leaned back against the counter, checking the ti. 11:31. Thirty minutes until close. Just a few more custors, a few more fake smiles, and I was free.
Berlin wasn’t the safest place after midnight, but this bar wasn’t stupid. We shut down at twelve sharp.
I served a few more people, pocketed so decent tips, and finally flipped the closed sign. Lights off, doors locked, and one last wave to Gio, who stayed buried in paperwork. Guy was managing a bar and running his own clothing line, GioFits. Sportswear, streetwear, even kids’ clothes. I was proud of him, even if I’d never say it out loud.
Ted walked to my car like always. Sweet man. Reliable. The kind of safety net you don’t realize you need until a creep is breathing down your neck.
I slid into the driver’s seat and sighed. I’d miss this place one day... but I wasn’t built to sling cocktails forever. "Greener pastures," as my mom would say. If any of my job applications ever ca through, maybe I’d actually find one. Competition here was brutal, though.
Back in my tiny one-room apartnt, I tossed my keys down and did my nightly ritual: shower, food, a couple episodes of Solo Leveling, journaling. Nothing glamorous. Just survival.
But when I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror, I saw it. The ache. The hunger. I wanted more. I’d wanted more since I was a kid. My mom used to model, all legs and magazine covers, until she got married. Dad wanted a wife, not a drear. She gave it up. For him. For us.
? I couldn’t do that. Not again. I studied Business Administration, sure, graduated on scholarship, checked all the "good daughter" boxes... but my real dream? Acting. Runways. Becoming sobody worth rembering.
I flopped onto my bed, staring at the ceiling while my guinea pig, Bimmy, crunched lettuce in the corner. My little apartnt wasn’t much, but it was mine.
One day, I’d trade it all for the runway lights.
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