Page 19

The morning after Bogdan’s party, I find myself nursing a hangover with lemonade and breakfast. I’m in the dining hall when Agafon walks in.

I’m surprised to see him here since he normally doesn’t join for breakfast, and I direct a weak smile in his direction. My smile must have come across as more of a grimace, for he chuckles.

“Regretting last night?”

“Never,” I say with a groan and drop my head down on the table. My pride won’t let me speak the truth we can both see.

“Tough crowd,” he teases, and I sit back up.

“I told—”

“Don’t you dare say I told you so,” I cut him off with a glower. He raises his hands in appeasement, and his eyes crinkle with amusement.

He did, though. Last night, when I was pounding down those tequila shots with Katya and Tatiana well past midnight, he did tell us we’d live to regret it.

Look at me now.

“So,” he says, reaching for some eggs. “I was thinking, if you’re free tomorrow, I could show you what we do.”

“What do you do?” I sit up straighter, curious.

“You mentioned you’d like to learn more about our operations.” He looks right at me. Excited now, I nod enthusiastically.

“I was thinking I could take you to one of my establishments tomorrow, if you’d be keen.”

My heart soars with joy. He remembers what I said, and not only that, he listened and is following up. My heart softens at the sight of him, and I break into the biggest smile.

“I’d love that, Agafon.”

***

When we talk into Thaw, Agafon’s flagship bar, I feel like I’ve stepped into a different world altogether.

In the centre, there’s a circular stage where a live Jazz band performs under the spotlight.

The music seeps through my bones, instantly lifting my spirit.

Patrons are scattered around the band, dancing and singing along.

I can’t help but gape at the stunning interiors: the large chandeliers sweeping down from the ceiling, the gilded backdrop featuring a floor-to-ceiling bar shimmering with bottles, the eclectic wallpaper custom-made to size, the plush, low-lying leather sofas, and so much space.

So much space to walk, to dance, to talk. It feels like a private living room. Everything looks expensive. Even the air smells fresh, like it’s been bottled up from an island somewhere and transported here.

“Wow,” I gasp, taking a full circle to look over everything again.

Beside me, Agafon grins and speaks loud enough for me to hear. “You like?”

“I love!” I murmur, turning to meet his gaze.

“This was the first bar Uncle Charlie started,” he tells me. “We now have three others across the city that follow this model and twenty-seven in national and international territories. Next year, we’re going to open our flagship in Singapore. That’ll be our entry into Asia.”

“It's... impressive,” I say, my eyes darting to the busy floor where waiters and waitresses swift around like bees. There are so many people, and unlike at other bars, all the customers look pleased with the service.

“How many staff members do you have?” I ask.

“What?” Agafon bellows, bending lower to hear me. I put my lips close to his ear, so close that they brush against him. He stiffens, and so do I; the contact heats the air between us. He pulls back, his eyes searching mine, and then leans back in again.

I place my hand on his shoulder to keep my balance and ask. “How many staff members do you have?”

“Oh.” He nods. “Not many. Our servers are six.”

“Six servers?” I raise my brows. “There’s like over a hundred people here.”

“Only fifty tonight,” Agafon winks. “It’s a weekday? We can house four hundred.”

“That’s insane.” I snap my attention back to the crowd.

Agafon leads me to a table and we sit. I wait for him to motion to a server, but to my surprise, he pulls out an iPad from beneath his table. I then realize each table has one.

“You order here.” He shows me the menu and explains.

“The backend processes it, and your drinks arrive within one to seven minutes, depending on what you ordered. Beers, wine, and neat drinks take a minute. The fancier cocktails take up to seven. As for food, our standard serving time is twenty minutes.”

“That’s some operation,” I remark, impressed by how organized it is.

“It wasn’t always like this,” Agafon says and picks a beer from the menu, handing the iPad to me.

I quickly pick a wine and submit our order.

“Everything was a mess when the bars fell into our hands after Charlie died. There were only six last year in total, and my family thought we’d have to shut them down.

But I took out a loan and streamlined processes.

I cut costs down, and now we’re not only profitable but have opened 26 new clubs. ”

The server arrives with our drinks and straightens immediately on seeing Agafon, and gives us extra attention.

“They're afraid of you,” I observe.

“They respect me,” he corrects. “Charlie ruled by fear. Look where that got him.”

“How bad was it when you took over?” I ask, genuinely curious.

“Three pending lawsuits. Suppliers refused delivery until past invoices were paid. Staff turnover was at seventy percent. Health code violations in two locations.” He recites the list like someone else might read off grocery items. “And the books—” He stops, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly.

“The books?” I prompt.

“There were no books. Just receipts stuffed in shoeboxes and napkins with numbers scribbled on them.” Anger flashes across his face. “Charlie always believed accounting was beneath him.”

I whistle low. “And you fixed all that?”

“I'm still fixing it.” He gestures around. “I plan to grow this chain into a billion-dollar chain of not only clubs, but hotels too.”

I listen, impressed, as Agafon begins to explain the problems he faced and the changes he made to turn the losses around.

He’s clearly the driving force behind this whole endeavor, and that couldn’t have been an easy job.

The mess Charlie made and left behind would have overwhelmed most people I know into selling.

And yet, Agafon remained. He persevered.

“I want to learn,” I blurt out before I can stop myself. “About the business. How it all works. Help you, if I can.”

His eyes snap to mine. I hold his gaze.

“Why?” he asks bluntly. I know he’s testing me. I know this means so much to him that he won’t let me in until I prove myself, and I’m all for it.

I straighten in my seat. “Because I've got a degree in business management and we’re married. Because sitting at home, arranging flowers, and waiting for you to come back sounds like my personal hell.”

I see him lean forward, interested in what I have to say.

I continue. “Besides, I’d be an investment.”

“An investment,” he repeats, taking a sip of his drink. “Interesting choice of words.”

I shrug, picking up my own glass. “I'm a quick study. And I notice things. Like how that bartender has been skimming from the register when she thinks no one is looking.”

His eyebrows raise a fraction, and he looks over at the bar. “The blonde?”

I nod. “Three times in the last twenty minutes. Small amounts. Probably thinks you won't notice because it's not enough to trigger concern.”

His eyes return to me. “And how exactly did you spot that?”

“Because I’m observant. Don’t believe me? Check your CCTV!” I take another sip, enjoying the momentary upper hand. “So? Do I pass the interview?”

He nods. “You’re in.”

And then gets up. I don’t need to ask where he’s going. I already know.

***

Two weeks later, I'm bent over spreadsheets, trying to reconcile inventory shipments with sales reports. Faddey, Agafon's brother who manages Thaw's day-to-day operations, walks into my office and looks over my shoulder with obvious amusement.

“Found the discrepancy yet?” he asks.

I rub my eyes. “I don’t want to say, but someone's either terrible at math or helping themselves to the premium stock.”

“You up for a break?” Faddey suggests. “You've been at it for four hours.”

I glance at my watch, surprised. “Where did the time go?”

“I don’t know how you do it.” Faddey pours me a glass of sparkling water and passes it to me. “I hate numbers and could never look over them for four hours. Agafon mentioned you have a head for them.”

“I do.” I nod and stand to stretch my legs. “I learned to budget my pocket money when young and used to invest it away for fun. I beat my brothers’ returns nearly every year.”

Agafon lets loose a whistle. “Help me someday?”

“Anytime.” I grin. I’m thrilled to be working here now, and Faddey and I have formed a friendship of sorts. Some days, Agafon comes to check in on us, and I see him amused at how his brother and I have formed a strong bond, at how we turn against him sometimes.

Faddey checks the time and realizes the bar must have opened for the evening. “Think you can handle the bar for fifteen minutes till I arrive? We need to observe the new hires today, and I need to check something in the stockroom with Misha.”

“Of course,” I say, with a smile.

***

I weave through the growing crowd toward the bar. I help the new bartender with our measuring guidelines and how to record orders for the automated restocking system we are trying to implement.

I then turn to scan the room.

For ten minutes, everything goes smoothly.

I spot an amber alert on the computer for a man in the corner who's ordering his fourth scotch in an hour, and inform the floor manager to be careful.

Yelena handles his latest order with diplomatic skill, denying it with a suggestion of specialty water and an appetizer “on the house.”

He's sitting at the far end of the bar and grunts in agreement, but there’s something shady about him.

His eyes linger on Yelena as she walks away in a manner that makes my skin crawl, even from across the room.

When one of the servers approaches to give him his water, he grabs her wrist, pulling her closer to whisper something into her ear.