Chapter 1: The Interview at the Table
The table was sticky. Nikki rested her forearms on the cool, damp laminate and immediately regretted it, peeling her skin away with a soft, tacky sound. Twin Peaks wasn’t the classiest place, but it was popular, and the tips were supposed to be insane. A neon Coors sign buzzed and flickered above the bar, painting everyone in a watery blue light.
Across from her, Dave the manager, a guy in his forties with a weathered goatee and tired eyes, scanned her printed resume. He hadn’t looked up once.
“Says here you’re eighteen. In school.”
“Community college, yeah. Starting in the fall.” Nikki kept her voice bright, cheerful. She shifted slightly, the fabric of her low-cut sundress whispering against her skin.
“It’s a busy place. Loud. You’d be on your feet eight hours straight.”
“I’m a cheerleader. My feet are basically indestructible.” She gave a little laugh, crossing one toned leg over the other. He didn’t notice.
He finally glanced up, his eyes skating over her face before dropping back to the paper. “We get a… particular clientele here. You gotta have thick skin.”
Nikki leaned forward, elbows on the table, ignoring the fresh grab of the sticky surface. The movement was deliberate. The neckline of her dress gaped just enough. Dave’s gaze, trained on the resume, faltered. It flickered downward, then snapped back up to her hazel eyes. A faint pink crept up his neck.
“Dave?” she said, her voice dropping to a confidential whisper. The chatter and clink of glasses from the nearby bar seemed to fade. “Can I be totally honest?”
He cleared his throat. “Sure.”
“This table is kind of… public.” She arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, her glossy lips curving into a sly, knowing smile. She let her eyes dart down towards her own cleavage for a fraction of a second, then back up, holding his flustered gaze. “I promise,” she murmured, the words just for him, “my qualifications are best seen up close. And discussed somewhere a little more private.”
For a long second, Dave just stared. The resume crinkled slightly in his grip. He blinked, the professional façade cracking to reveal a plain, hungry curiosity beneath. He looked over his shoulder toward the main floor, then back at her.
“Right. Yeah. Of course. Follow me.”
He stood up a little too fast, his chair scraping loudly on the concrete floor. Nikki slid off her stool, landing smoothly on the balls of her feet. She followed him, the swish of her skirt and the subtle, inevitable bounce in her step drawing a few fleeting looks from a table of guys nursing beers. She ignored them, focusing on the narrow, dimly lit hallway Dave led her into. It smelled of stale fryer oil and industrial cleaner.
He opened a door marked ‘Office.’ It was a cramped, windowless room dominated by a cluttered desk and stacks of liquor boxes. He didn’t sit behind the desk. He just turned to face her, leaning against it, crossing his arms. The door clicked shut, muffling the bar noise to a distant throb.
“So,” he said, trying to regain control. “Qualifications.”
Nikki didn’t fill the space. She let the silence hang for a beat, her confident smile never wavering. She took a small step closer, well within his personal space. She could see the pores on his nose, the faint sheen of sweat on his temple.
“I’m great with people,” she said, her tone switching back to bright and professional, a playful contrast to their isolated proximity. “I’m energetic. I learn fast. And I understand the… aesthetic this place is going for.” She gestured loosely, indicating her own figure. “I’m not shy. I know how to work a room. And I really, really need this job.”
Dave’s eyes were doing that thing again—the rapid, helpless journey from her face to her chest and back. He was trying to listen, but his biology was overriding his management training.
“The uniform is… specific,” he managed to say, his voice slightly rough. “Tank top.Short shorts. You’d be… comfortable with that?”
“Are you asking if I own a mirror, Dave?” Nikki laughed, a light, sparkling sound. “I’m more than comfortable. I look good in it. And that’s good for business, right?”
He nodded, almost dazed. “It is. It definitely is.”
“So,” Nikki said, tilting her head. She placed her hands on her hips, accentuating the curve of her waist against the flare of her small, rounded butt. She saw his eyes track the movement. “When do I start?”
There was another pause. A war was happening behind Dave’s eyes. Propriety was getting annihilated. He uncrossed his arms, letting them hang at his sides.
“You’re hired. Orientation is Tuesday. Two PM. Don’t be late.” The words came out in a rush.
“Thank you!” Nikki beamed, injecting a shot of pure, triumphant gratitude into her voice. She didn’t offer a handshake. Instead, she gave him a little playful wink that felt both like a reward and a dismissal. “You won’t regret it.”
She turned, her hair swishing over her bare shoulders, and reached for the door handle. She could feel his stare on her back, hot and heavy, all the way down the short hall until she emerged, blinking, into the relative brightness of the bar.
The sticky air felt like freedom. A grin spread across her face as she weaved through the scattered tables toward the exit. She pulled her phone from her small purse, her thumbs flying over the screen.
To: Maya & Chloe
Status: HIRED. First round of drinks on me in, like, three paychecks. 😉
She pushed the heavy door open, stepping out into the blazing summer afternoon. The sun was a hammer on the pavement. Her sandals slapped a quick, happy rhythm as she practically skipped toward her beat-up Civic. She got in, started the engine, and blasted the AC, directing the vents right at her glowing face.
She’d done it. She could already picture the stacks of cash from tips, the envious looks, the wild summer nights that wouldn’t be spent babysitting her little brother. It was going to be perfect.
As she pulled out of the lot, she caught her own reflection in the rearview mirror—flushed, smiling, eyes sparkling with the thrill of the game well played. She adjusted the mirror, her gaze dropping for a second to the generous swell of her breasts against the seatbelt. A flicker of something passed through her—not doubt, exactly, but a sharp, knowing awareness. She had used a key, and it had opened a door.
Now she just had to walk through it. Tuesday couldn’t come fast enough.