Even as she hurried back toward the bar, apologizing breathlessly to the manager Llara still couldn't get the rejection out of her head.
"I'm so sorry," she said for what felt like the hundredth time, her voice rushed and unsteady as she set her tray down behind the counter. "My stomach started acting up—I think it was something I ate earlier. It won't happen again, I swear."
Her hands moved quickly as she spoke, wiping down the counter, straightening bottles that didn't need straightening, doing anything to keep busy and distract herself. But it didn't work. The moment she stopped moving, his voice replayed in her mind.
I'm not interested in fucking you.
The words hit her again like a slap.
"I promise this will never happen again," she added quickly, her voice cracking despite her efforts to sound composed. "I'll work an extra thirty minutes—an hour if you want—just to make it up."
