Loving You Differently

Thirty Three

Aria Adkins

The assistant manager filling in for Austin while he's out of town is an asshole.

The natural ease in which Austin manages Vice on its busiest nights noticeably left the building as soon as he did. Filling in instead is good ol' Scott, a fourty-something shameless misogynist with a receding hairline and a beer gut.

"Men, upstairs," Scott chirps, tapping his pen against the clipboard in his hand. "Ladies, you're down here for the night."

The six of us working tonight, an even three men and three women, exchange confused glances. The command he dished out stumps us all, because Austin set and sent out the schedule the day before he left for New Orleans, and he had checked with all of us that our sections for the nights he would be gone were fine with everyone.

Scott slips the pen behind his ear and glances up at us, his eyebrow arched in question. "We open in thirty minutes, why are we still standing here?"

I steal another glance at my coworkers, and realize that none of them are going to speak up about the changes that none of us consented to.

So, I take one for the team and clear my throat. Scott's attention swings to me, and I mentally roll my eyes when his treacherous eyes rake my frame, unashamed as he blatantly stares at my chest and exposed cleavage.

"That isn't the schedule Austin sent out for tonight," I calmly state.

Scott snorts. "Well Austin isn't here tonight, is he?"

My eyebrows fly up to my hairline, as do my coworkers'.

"No, but he's our boss." I say tersely.

Scott takes a step forward, leering at me. "Sweetheart, if you'd rather run the show, then be my guest. You wanna give it a shot or do you wanna grab a tray and sling out some drinks like you're supposed to?"

Kaia sucks in a sharp breath beside me. I grit my teeth in frustration, mulling over my thoughts. I raise my chin and cast a glance at the camera in the corner, staring directly at us as Scott The Sleazeball disregards Austin's orders and disrespects not only his employee, but his girlfriend.

"No, sir." I say.

Scott smirks, taking a step backwards. My eye twitches as one of the lights overhead casts a shiny glow on his balding scalp.

He claps the clipboard down on the bar and snaps, "Today, people!"

As soon as my back turns, I release a deep breath and roll my shoulders.

"What a dick," Kaia mutters, assisting me as I remove bar stools from tabletops.

"What dick?" I murmur back. She coughs to hide her snort.

"Less laughing, more working," Scott calls across the room.

"Jesus Christ," Kaia whispers, then sighs. "I'm so pissed about him switching our sections. I really needed those tips tonight."

I shoot her a sympathetic smile. I know exactly what she means.

Everyone knows the upper level of Vice brings in the most money, and we all typically swap out our shifts upstairs weekly so that everyone gets the chance to make a little extra. It was Kaia and I's night to work upstairs, so it sucks that we aren't getting to.