She still didn’t say anything. I turned to the register and printed out a bill, tucking it into my apron pocket with the credit card reader.

‘Swap?’

That seemed to throw her. ‘What?’

‘Have you worked the bar before?’

She glanced up, frowning. ‘Once, only with Nic.’

‘That’s enough,’ I said. ‘You’ll be fine.’

‘I don’t—’

‘I’ll come back if it gets crazy,’ I promised, knowing it wouldn’t.

I could see her arguing with herself, trying to figure out if this was a trick.

‘You’re doing me a favour. Nic’s always at me to train people on drinks.’

One last flicker of a frown crossed her face.

‘That’s the coffee machine,’ I said, gesturing. ‘Spirits up here. Red wine there. Milks on the left, mixers on the right, wine in the middle.’ I pointed to a spot by the register. ‘Don’t touch that power point, it’s zappy. There.’ I smiled. ‘You’re trained.’

She smiled back, tight and still nervous, but it was something. ‘Okay,’ she said softly.

I nodded. ‘Okay, good.’ I straightened. ‘Wish me luck.’

‘Good luck.’

They didn’t look up as I approached, ignoring me until I was standing right in front of their table, hands on my hips. Even then it took a minute.

‘You guys finished?’ I asked, when the smallest of them noticed me and put down his beer.

‘Not quite,’ the one on the end said. He was the biggest—big enough to pick me up with one hand, if he wanted to, leaving the other free to stifle my screams as he dragged me into his car. He had former King’s School captain written all over him.

I pulled my shoulders back, trying to suppress a shudder. ‘Yeah, I think you are,’ I said. Not loudly, but firmly.

‘I’ve got half a beer left.’ He lifted the bottle as though to take a drink and looked to the others for confirmation, but nobody said anything.

I shrugged. Acting. If it wasn’t real, it couldn’t hurt me. ‘Well, drink up.’ I pulled the bill out of my pocket and put it on the table. ‘We’ve got a private function starting in fifteen minutes. Cast party for Mamma Mia! or something. You know how it is.’

One of them—the smallest, probably the youngest—started to say something, but I ignored him.

‘If it were up to me,’ I said apologetically, ‘I’d tell them to go somewhere else and let you guys keep doing shots of fifteen-year-old whisky until your bill hits four figures, but it’s not.’

The big one scoffed. Everyone else had gone quiet.

I smiled as sweetly as I could manage. ‘So, if you could just sort this out and get going, that would be great.’