I peek at how I’ve situated my boobs. With an overbust corset, you have to be careful. Too low, they’re smooshed; too high, they look like a butt trying to smother you. “Should be good. Pull?”

Jane yanks, I grunt, and he ties a quick bow in the back, double-knotting it. I take a few breaths to make sure I get sufficient oxygen, and thank him.

I linger in the doorway. “How much did you catch with Andrea before? She seemed . . .”

“More tightly wound than usual?” Jane offers. At my nod, he crosses his arms, resting a shoulder against the door frame. “I wonder what that was about. She wasn’t even this ruffled the night the chef quit.”

I chew the inside of my lip. Scheduling changed last month, with acts and shifts no longer booked more than two weeks in advance. The announcement resulted in a minor exodus from the front of the house, costing us two servers and the chef with less than an hour before service. Andrea didn’t bat an eye, promoting the sous on the spot and delegating food-running duties to Jane and me between our stage appearances.

While the evening’s extra tips were appreciated, the new scheduling threw Jane into a panic. I have a day job, but the steady pay from Meryton keeps him afloat most months. Without it, he’d only be left with side gigs and his voice lesson students. They’re not enough to cover his half of the rent, no matter how charming his i’s are.

Jane’s thoughts must end up in the same place, because his brown eyes go distant, familiar lines of worry creasing his forehead.

Crap. I shouldn’t have said anything. “I’m sure it’s nothing.” I force a confused frown. “You’re singing Prince and . . .”

“ ‘Little Red Corvette’ and ‘Light My Fire.’ ” He smiles, which eases some of the tightness in my middle. “We talked about it earlier, space case.”

I feign a pout at the cheeky insult, then continue to the hallway, trying to ignore the twisting in my gut. I pause at the full-length mirror on the door of the walk-in freezer—the ladies are definitely where they need to be, and Jane’s help with the corset has given my athletic frame the defined waist I’m otherwise lacking. The front of my dark, wavy hair is pinned into a series of rosettes, and I fluff the bit I left loose in back for a little more oomph.

Tonight’s lip color, a high-gloss stain named Rouge Deluge, brings out the hint of blush that warms my otherwise fair complexion. Brows have been shaped, false lashes adhered—ah! The snipped waistband of my fishnets peeks above the waist of my black undies. I re-situate it, running my fingers around the top of my satin bikini to make sure the band hasn’t bunched up anywhere else.