Re: The Bar: Cat & Isaiah
Cat had forgotten a lot of things. She'd forgotten places, and she'd forgotten things she'd done, and she'd forgotten names and faces. But there was one man she hadn't forgotten. And the man at the door? He reminded Cat of Calvin Bishop, and that couldn't be a coincidence, could it? Well, normally she would've been more certain about her assumption, and trusting her gut had gotten her through scrapes a'plenty. But now? Now she was a little out of sorts, and it had nothing to do with the fresh scar on her thigh. So, she wasn't going to jump to conclusions. Or, rather, she was going to try not to jump to conclusions.
"Customer service is something we pride ourselves on here." We, as if she wasn't the only person behind the counter. But her smile was lush, inviting, and she was good with customers, and wasn't that ridiculous? Thief, mob-boss' daughter, prostitute, gaming hall owner, millionaire, spy, assassin, test subject, and customer service star. But she was good at this. She thought she was good with her employees, too, though Jude had made her doubt that recently. Her? A ball-buster, and she wondered when that had started?
"We have Hayseed, Pilsner, Buckley, and a standard American," she said, a glance at the tap telling her what was teed up for the evening. "What can I get you?" She motioned to a barstool, and she wiped the space in front of him with a washcloth, even though it was already clean. But it was the thought that counted, right?