Nightlife ✓

05 | influencer

SECURITY NOTICED THE MOMENT I glared at Quen's friend, and sprung into action.

One of the security guards, Charlie, came round the side of the DJ booth and I descended the stairs to meet him. He spoke gruffly toward Quen and his two friends, who were a mere two feet away, separated by the black metal partition.

"Are these guys causing trouble?"

Quen kept his face calm, his eyes still wandering over me like he was looking at a mirage. The other boy, who was helping Quen to support their obviously intoxicated friend, pleaded with me.

"He's fine," the blond explained. "We waited so long to get in here, we'll get him some water and sober him up. Promise."

Charlie and I exchanged dubious glances. The distinction between having a good time and a dangerous time on the town could be as thin as the rim of one more shot glass.

We didn't want his friend to go around harassing other women, or vomiting, or damaging the property. Basically, heavily drunk people were a liability. And we threw liabilities out.

Something took control of my mouth before I could spit out our usual protocol. "Put them in the VIP lounge till he sobers up. Booth four just got vacated. Can you tell front of house to bring two baskets of fries there ASAP? You can charge it to my tab."

Charlie wasn't convinced. "That middle one doesn't look so good. Don't know if he will be awake to eat."

"I know them," I countered smoothly, with a breezy smile. "I will take responsibility for them."

"There wasn't ever a question about that, Kris," he shot back. "I was just checking if that's what you really want to do."

"It is. Let Zach know where I am and that I'm safe. He was worried about it getting crazy tonight."

"Rightly so, it seems," Charlie said, shooting a suspicious look at the three boys.

I clamped down on the nervous twisting of my stomach to beam at him, all charm. "Thanks, Charlie."

He couldn't help but give a gruff, reluctant smirk back to me. I was Topaz' golden child. Being one of the youngest staff members, the most visible, and certainly the most well-behaved, the bar, kitchen and security staff all went out of their way to protect me. It was the biggest comfort whenever I had shifts.

I crooked my finger at Quen, telling him to follow me. The security guard who was manning the stairs to the VIP lounge stepped back when I approached, leading the three boys.

"They're going to sober up in booth four. I'll handle anything that happens with them, okay?"

He nodded, pulled back the velvet rope and let us pass. The staircase wasn't wide enough for the three of them to walk up side-by-side, so Quen's sober friend hefted their drunk friend more securely in his arms and began the climb slowly. Quen and I followed behind.

"You look so different," he told me.

"Good different?"

Quen furrowed his eyebrows, giving my face and attire a calculating once-over. His features were markedly more drawn, more reserved, than every other time I had seen him.

"I guess so."

Well. That was a watery response.

When we cleared the stairs, I scanned the VIP lounge. Quiet, because the party was downstairs. The room was L-shaped, with booths along the longest wall. The bar ran along the shortest wall, and hidden around the corner was the Pit—a depressed square bordered by black faux leather couches. For lovers.