On Monday, I disembark the bus that stops across the street from Revolvr at ten forty-five am. The surroundings look so different in broad daylight I have to convince myself I’ve come to the right place.
I’m nervous. All weekend, I tossed and turned at night, worrying about De Rossi changing his mind and putting me right back where I started. I managed to spend barely any money in the past two days, surviving on ramen and free breakfast at the hostel, and taking up Astrid and Vilde on their invitation to move into their cheaper shared dorm. Still, neither of those things change the fact that I’m practically broke.
I make my way inside the club through the main entrance.
“Over here.”
I turn in the direction of the voice. It’s Ras. He’s sitting on a stool by one of the bars, a sweating beer in his hand. Dressed in a pair of well-worn jeans and a washed-out gray T-shirt, he almost seems approachable…that is until I register the weary look on his face.
“Hi,” I say in a voice that comes out like a squeak. “Thanks for meeting me. I really appreciate this opportunity.”
He looks like he’s trying really hard not to roll his eyes. “Just doing my job,” he says gruffly. “The scope of which apparently keeps expanding.”
“You don’t usually do this?”
“You mean take on a new staff member after we’ve already hired everyone for the season? No. I don’t.”
Heat blankets my cheeks. “De Rossi agreed to a trial.”
“I know what De Rossi agreed to. Lucky for you, I just transferred an employee over to Laser. You’ll be replacing them.”
My brows knot in confusion. “Laser?”
“Another one of the boss’s clubs.”
“He owns more than one club?”
“He owns half the big clubs on the island. Along with more hotels, restaurants, and condominiums than you and I can count.”
Great. De Rossi is some kind of Ibizan business magnate. If I screw this up, my job prospects here might all but disappear. I bite my lip to suppress a groan. The stakes just got higher.
“You got lucky,” Ras says, jumping off his stool and motioning for me to follow him. “The boss must have been in a particularly kind mood when you met him.”
“Are you trying to be funny?”
That earns me a deep laugh. “You couldn’t tell?” Amusement dances in his eyes. “You wouldn’t be here otherwise.”
I bite back a retort. De Rossi may have been rude, but he’s giving me a chance nonetheless. I’m not going to complain about him to one of his employees.
Speaking of… “So what do you do here?” I ask Ras.
“My official title is the general manager and head of security at Revolvr, but I do all kinds of things.” He draws to a halt by the women’s bathroom, where a gray-haired cleaner is fussing around a cart filled with cleaning supplies.
“Here we are,” Ras says. “Ale, meet Inez. She’s the daytime shift manager for our custodian team.” He gives a warm smile to the short middle-aged woman. “Inez, this is Ale Romero. She’s just joined your team.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say without missing a beat, and shake Inez’s hand. I was expecting De Rossi would have me work as one of those bottle service girls, but custodian will do just fine. I know how to clean. I often helped Lorna back at Lazaro’s house even though she chastised me about it. Is this the best De Rossi’s got?
“Great,” Ras says as he reaches into the cart. “Here’s your uniform. Your shift starts in ten minutes.”
By the time I come out dressed in a matching combo of sky-blue slacks and a short-sleeved button-up shirt, Inez is already waiting with another cart for me.
She peers at me over a pair of clear rimmed glasses. “Señor Ras tells me to put you in the Mannequin room.”
“Fine by me.” I have no idea what the Mannequin room is, but as far as I’m concerned, one room is the same as any other.
“All of the supplies are here.” She pushes the cart toward me. “Go past the pink doors over there. If you have any questions, come to the main room, I’ll be working there.”
“Thank you.”
She gives me a smile—does it seem a little pitying?—and walks away with a slight limp.
Once I make it inside the room, her parting smile makes a lot more sense.
The space isn’t large, maybe big enough for a hundred or so people, but the floor is covered in confetti. It’s mush in places where liquor was spilled over it, and in one of the corners, I discover a wet pile of what could only be vomit.
It’s disgusting, but what De Rossi doesn’t know is that I’ve seen enough disgusting things to harden my stomach to steel.
I get to work. The cart has all the supplies I could possibly need. First, I sweep the floor, and then I get out the mop. When I open up the bottle of bleach, the smell makes memories come up, but I temper them down.
De Rossi’s voice floats into the room. “I can barely recognize you in that uniform, Romero. Had enough yet?”
I whirl around and land my gaze on De Rossi’s luxuriously suited form. Suddenly, I’m all too aware of the hair sticking to my damp forehead and the ill-fitting uniform made out of fabric that doesn’t breathe. He gives me a sardonic look, as if he thinks all he has to do is nudge me a bit and I’ll break.
“Not at all,” I say, giving him a tight smile. “This has been a great day so far.”
His lips twitch, and he peers down at the floor of the room. “You missed a bit here.”
“Where?”
“Right here.” He points. “Quality, Romero. I don’t hire people who half-ass their work.”
He wants to humiliate me. Go right ahead. After the things I’ve done for Lazaro, I don’t have any pride left.
I lower to my knees in front of De Rossi, making sure to keep that smile frozen on my face. “Thank you for your feedback. I’ll get it taken care of.”
His expression shifts, and for a moment, he looks kind of disturbed. Or maybe he’s just disappointed his negging is not having the effect he was hoping for.
I grab a rag and start rubbing at the spot. There’s some perverse part of me that’s enjoying this entire thing. Let’s be frank here, I want to live, but I know I’m scum. A murderer, a torturer, a morally bankrupt coward. I’ll never forgive myself for what I did to those people, criminals or not.
If De Rossi wants to lay it on even thicker, he can go ahead. He can’t break someone who’s already broken.
There’s a sudden tightness in my throat. I swallow past it and force myself out of my head. I better distract myself with something. “I thought things like you only come out at night,” I say. I’m still getting used to my ability to talk back to him. Despite him holding my fate in his hands, he doesn’t scare me like Lazaro or Papà.
“Things like me?”
“Demons, vampires, soul-sucking Dementors…”
He chuckles. “I see. You’ve elevated me to something superhuman. Do I really strike you as so formidable?”
“You would take that as a compliment,” I grumble as I get back on my feet. “How’s that? See any other spots I missed?”
De Rossi smooths his hand over his tie. “You sure this is the kind of work you want to be doing?”
I dip the mop in the bucket before squeezing it out in the plastic basket. “This work suits me just fine.”
“Let’s see if that’s how you feel by the end of the week,” he says, pulling a protein bar out of his pocket and tearing it open.
Honestly, I’m surprised. He didn’t strike me as the snacking type, but I guess he’s got to maintain all that muscle somehow.
For some time, he just stands there, leaning against the bar and watching me work while he eats.
My stomach emits a loud growl. I was so anxious this morning, I skipped breakfast.
De Rossi hears it. “Hungry?”
I heave a sigh. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”
He approaches and stops very close to me. My stomach tightens when he raises his bar to my lips. “Here.”
I eye the protein bar. I would have asked if it was poisoned if I didn’t just see him take a bite.
He cocks a brow. “Open your mouth. I can’t have my employees passing out on the job.”
“Open my mouth? What are you going to do, feed ungh—”
He silences me by shoving the bar past my lips.
For a millisecond, I think I can taste him on the surface. Whiskey and chocolate and something brutally decadent.
I push the ridiculous thought away. It doesn’t matter to me what he tastes like.
He watches me chew, his gaze falling to my lips for a brief moment.
I lick my bottom lip to sweep up a crumb. His eyes narrow.
“Better get back to work.” He hands me the bar. I guess he’s done with feeding me like I’m some wild animal. “This room better be spotless if you want to return tomorrow.”
I don’t dignify that with a response.
By the time I’m done, six hours later, I can see my reflection in the floor in nearly every surface. Inez comes by to inspect my work.
“Vale, bien hecho,” she says after checking the corners for dust with her index finger. “You did a good job.”
“Thank you. What else can I do?”
She appraises me, and when her thin lips curl into a slight smile, I feel a small triumph. At least I’m winning her over.
“You’re done for today. Come back tomorrow at eleven.”
One day down, four more to go.
