Harlem's POV
"What the hell did you just say to me?"
The man grinned, belly straining against his cheap shirt, breath reeking of whiskey. "I said I can give you a good time, sweetheart. We'll be back before you know it."
I stared at him, disgust crawling up my spine. Married. Drunk. Ugly smile. The full package. My eyes flicked to his shiny wedding band, and I gave him a smile sharp enough to cut glass.
"It wouldn't be the first time I was promised a good time," I said sweetly. "But why would I waste that on someone like you? Shouldn't you be at home with your wife and kids?"
His face went beet red. "Is this how you talk to customers at this bar? I want to speak to your manager!"
I sighed, setting the whiskey bottle back on the shelf. "Sir, I think it's time you left. Especially if you can't tell the difference between a bartender and a hooker."
His hand twitched, like he wanted to slap me. Oh please. Try me.
But then Gio appeared, hand on his shoulder, calm as ever. "She's right, sir. Maybe for once you could go home early. I'll escort you out."
The man snarled, puffing up like he mattered. "Says who?!"
"Ted," Gio called.
Our bouncer, six feet of muscle and menace, jogged over. The drunk took one look at him, paled, and muttered something about leaving on his own. Crisis averted.
"You okay, Har? He didn't touch you, did he?" Gio's eyes scanned me like I might be bleeding somewhere.
"I'm fine. Thanks. What would I even do without you?"
His grin turned wicked. "Apparently? Insult him until he leaves. Or better yet: apologize."
I rolled my eyes. "Wow, my reputation precedes me."
"Whatever he said, I'm sure he deserved worse," Gio said, walking away.
"Thanks, Gio. And you too, Ted."
Ted gave me a grunt and a thumbs-up. A Man of many words.
I leaned back against the counter, checking the time. 11:31. Thirty minutes until close. Just a few more customers, a few more fake smiles, and I was free.
Berlin wasn't the safest place after midnight, but this bar wasn't stupid. We shut down at twelve sharp.
I served a few more people, pocketed some decent tips, and finally flipped the closed sign. Lights off, doors locked, and one last wave to Gio, who stayed buried in paperwork. Guy was managing a bar and running his own clothing line, GioFits. Sportswear, streetwear, even kids' clothes. I was proud of him, even if I'd never say it out loud.
Ted walked me to my car like always. Sweet man. Reliable. The kind of safety net you don't realize you need until a creep is breathing down your neck.
I slid into the driver's seat and sighed. I'd miss this place one day… but I wasn't built to sling cocktails forever. "Greener pastures," as my mom would say. If any of my job applications ever came through, maybe I'd actually find one. Competition here was brutal, though.
Back in my tiny one-room apartment, I tossed my keys down and did my nightly ritual: shower, food, a couple episodes of Solo Leveling, journaling. Nothing glamorous. Just survival.
But when I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror, I saw it. The ache. The hunger. I wanted more. I'd wanted more since I was a kid. My mom used to model, all legs and magazine covers, until she got married. Dad wanted a wife, not a dreamer. She gave it up. For him. For us.
Me? I couldn't do that. Not again. I studied Business Administration, sure, graduated on scholarship, checked all the "good daughter" boxes… but my real dream? Acting. Runways. Becoming somebody worth remembering.
I flopped onto my bed, staring at the ceiling while my guinea pig, Bimmy, crunched lettuce in the corner. My little apartment wasn't much, but it was mine.
One day, I'd trade it all for the runway lights.