Page 17 of Micah
They're going to find out something about me real quick.
Because the quiet ones? Well, we're usually the most dangerous.
Chapter 2-Sloane
It isn't even eight o'clock, and Patrick's already got a giant stick up his ass.
He's been barking orders since he finally rolled in twenty minutes late, acting like he's the only one who's done a lick of work today.
Never mind that I'd already unlocked the bar, counted the register, started the coffee for the dinner crowd, unloaded the produce delivery, hauled two cases of liquor into storage, and was halfway through stocking the walk-in cooler before his pickup ever pulled into the alley.
Nope.
Apparently, I'm the problem.
“Sloane!”
I bite my tongue and keep carrying the crate of potatoes toward the kitchen.
“Are you listening to me?”
Unfortunately.
“Yep.”
“Then move faster.”
I set the crate down beside the prep table a little harder than necessary before turning back toward him.
“What exactly would you like me to do faster? Because I've been here since six.”
He waves a dismissive hand.
“The fryer oil ain't changed.”
“I changed it yesterday.”
“The beer cooler needs stocking.”
“I stocked it before you got here.”
“The bar's sticky.”
“I wiped it down twice.”
He opens his mouth.
Then shuts it.
Because he knows I'm right.
Doesn't stop him from scowling, though.
Patrick's always been like this.
If something goes wrong, somebody has to catch hell for it.
Usually me.
