Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 117443 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117443 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
She opened the door, stepped into the relative dark compared to the bright blue sky outside, and prayed silently that a woman had some position of power at a place named Maria’s. She had a momentary pang of longing for her well manicured college campus with it's brick facades and brilliant white columns, then she shook the memory away. That had been a lifetime ago. No. A dozen lifetimes ago, at least. She squared her shoulders and surged forward.
When her eyes adjusted to the low light, she was satisfied with what she saw. The place was medium sized, bigger on the inside than the small entry way suggested. It was clean with tables and chairs that didn't show any obvious signs of wear and tear. The bar was a work of wooden art, gleaming and polished to within an inch of it’s life and made out of some kind of light, honey colored wood that made that part of the bar better lit. A mirror hung on the wall behind it, also helping with the lighting, it ran from the top of the waist high storage cabinets to the ceiling and was lined with glass shelving and sparkling liquor bottles. A jukebox sat in the corner, near the short hallway that led to the restrooms, according to the signs, and above that were framed insignias for every branch of the military.
This bar clearly catered to biker and military types. Maybe or maybe not cowboys as well, but hearing Waylon on the jukebox, she figured it probably did, even if there weren't giant pairs of longhorns hanging on the walls like they were in Texas or Colorado bars.
There were a few patrons that she supposed were more than likely regulars, nursing bottles at the bar. Booth and round tables further back were empty. There were four pool tables, but no one was playing. A tall, platinum blond looked up from washing glasses and narrowed her eyes.
There was no mistaking the once over she was taking her time performing.
After the diners had been a bust, she'd changed out of her chocolate brown knee length skirt and into a pair of low slung jeans. As a rule she didn't really enjoy calling attention to her body in any way if she could help it. Diners were more lax in their expectations, instead preferring sensible shoes and comfortable clothing and as such were the kinds of places she preferred to work.
Bikers preferred women to look like women, with tighter clothes, higher heels and far more cleavage than she would be able to show. She did have the requisite jeans, but she drew the line at short skirts and high heels. She’d have preferred a looser fitting shirt, but personal preference had to be put on the back burner. Looking the part was far more important. She needed a steady course of income and a place to stay and preferred these be secured sooner rather than later.
She'd swapped her canvas shoes for black boots with a rounded toe and only a slight, chunky heel, enough to be slightly feminine but wouldn't interfere with being on her feet for long stretches of time. They were the only boots she owned and though they were scuffed from years of wear, they were serious boots. They hadn't been cheap, and were made to last for far longer than she'd already had them.
She'd put on her blue, fitted, long sleeve knit shirt, now a little warm for the pleasant afternoon. That was alright though. Perfect actually, for her purposes, as she tugged one of the cuffs down to her wrist. The blond didn't miss the movement with her shrewd eyes and the girl tried not to smile. She strode forward and dropped her duffel on the floor with a resounding thump. The patrons turned on their stools and imitated the blonde's perusal. The girl ignored them, keeping her eyes on her mark. The blond simply waited.
"You're looking for a waitress," the girl said matter-of-factly.
"That's about right," the blond finally said, shaking her shoulder length hair. Apparently she wasn't immediately turned off by the sight in front of her because she motioned to the girl's bag. "Grab your gear and let's talk in the office."
The blond shouted for someone named Tommy, and within moments a tall, lanky middle aged man with a slight beard and big paunch came sauntering through the swinging doors. "Take over for a few, will ya?" the blond asked. "Got an interview."
Tommy got in his once-over and then nodded to the blond.
The office was small, but well maintained. No mountains of paperwork leaning precariously, no trash littered about. Only one desk and two chairs though, indicating that this woman was the person in charge unless she shared the desk with someone and the girl said a silent thank you.