Making Ends Meet (Closed for KiwiD82)

Samantha pulled the band from her hair before teasing it back from her face. She counted her tips and pocketed them before sorting through all of her tickets and entering them into the system. She looked at her totals and sighed. She was only employed for a week, but she thought she would be earning more already, and she hated being cut early than the other girls. It was frustrating each night, worrying that she would miss out on tips because the manager wouldn't let her serve alcohol and then often scheduled her out early, in part because of the first-in/first-out rule that hit her harder than the others. Her classes ended at 2 each day, so she got in before the night shift, and unless she worked a double, she missed all the tips from the boozy, basketball crowds.

"Two ninety-six, fifty-one." She said to her floor manager, who gave her a look.

"Sam, you have to upsell better," the manager said. "You should be turning in five hundred a night." She rolled her eyes and handed him the roll of receipts.

"I'll see you tomorrow," is all she said as she left for the night. Clocking out, she smiled at the guy at the bar that she had served food to earlier. She thought he was cute, but made no further effort to chat with him. She didn't have time to date, really, and he looked like he was a lot older than her. She pulled her purse across her chest and took off down the street toward her dorm. Each night, her walk took her past the local dive bar, which sat only two blocks away from her dorm, where she was at least fortunate enough to have no roommate. However, she hated the drunks coming from the place, crawling outside to vomit, smoke, chat on the phone, or simply leer at the girls like her that came back to the dorms each night. Sometimes, the creatures along her path would make her skin crawls. Sometimes, she wondered if they were predators. She stepped quickly past several on this night, before reaching for her keys. As she did, her phone rang. The contact said it was Jacob. She denied the call, still unwilling to speak to him since he left for fall break without inviting her, and calling it a guys trip. He can fuck himself, she thought as she began to unlock the door to allow herself in the dorm.

"Hey Sam," said Michael, the guy at the dorm security office. She said hi and noticed he had a cut on his eye, almost invisible against his black skin.

"What happened?" She asked, and he told her he had gotten in a fight at football practice. She forgot he was working a campus job part time as he fulfilled his service requirements to the football team from a suspension last season for breaking into another guy's house to steal some weed. He seemed nice, and generally was to her, but she shook her head, wondering if he was really a giy to be wary of, or cautious around. "Well, I hope you're okay," she said before walking up the stairs and crashing on her bed. It was going to be another long week. She needed money to come in faster than it was. She also needed more shifts. She emptied her pocket and found a note from "Steve," some guy from the bar over the early part of her shift. She had forgotten about him already.

"Call me sometime." The note said. She rubbed her eyes again after putting the note on the bedstand. It was definitely going to be a long week.

Earlier that afternoon...

The fizz bubbles danced atop the liquid, leaping over one another from ice cube to ice cube as Steve watched, patiently waiting for the bartender to hand over his ordered drink.

It wasn't typical of the young entrepreneur to indulge in the afternoon, but then a business takeover that numbered in the tens of millions of dollars wasn't an everyday occurrence - even for a self-made man like him.

The amount that would end up in his pocket was significantly less, of course: just a couple of million. But it was reason enough to celebrate.

Mid-20s, tall, with a medium build, short jet black hair and dark blue eyes, Steve had a knack for making money. Starting with a lemonade stand as a youngster, he had taught himself about business to the point where he was now: making large investments and ensuring they paid well.

His social circles were just as wealthy, a sometimes unhealthy rivalry between him and his successful friends to see who could outdo the other, and not just financially.

As it was, he often found himself with money to spare, and this place was one of his regular beneficiaries.

A cursory glance was all it took for him to notice Samantha the first time. That glance immediately became a doubly take, and was verging on a stare by the time he called the barman over.

"Who's the new girl?" he asked, as she busied herself with another customer. "I don't recognise her."

"Sam," came the reply. "It's her first week."

Steve pulled out a small notepad that he normally used for investment ideas, and scribbled on it with a pen. Then he wrapped it up in a $20 note and handed it to the barman.

"Make sure she gets this, would you? And next time I'm here, I want her waiting on me."