Bring The Order Yourself, Lily.

                              Lily's P.O.V 

The Next Day.

Neglecting all odds—neglecting how weird it was getting employed by Vincenzo who I knew wasn't nice enough to do such out of goodwill, I had walked in on the landline ringing on the counter.  

A cold silence swims through the empty club as I roam my eyes around, searching for, maybe, the young man I met here the other day who seems to be a bartender too, but there was no sight of anyone. It sends a cold shiver of fear down my spine.

I knew I came pretty early, even earlier than the said time for the resumption of work for all waitresses, but despite how skeptical I was, wanting to earn a living had pushed me to be punctual. Wanting to clear up all my debts had forced me to accept my fate.

It's not like I had a choice anyway. I can't possibly decline the only job I got because I got employed and noticed by the devil. But a part of me knew one thing for sure: ‘I do not want to meet the devil.’

I wanted to ignore it. I knew I should have ignored the ringing telephone, as being entangled in some sought of things I shouldn't have on my first day of work was the last thing I wanted. 

But even with the sane part of my brain constantly reminding me that this was a dangerous place, to begin with, and answering that ringing landline could get me into more trouble, I neglected it and walked down to the counter. Dropping my bag on top of it, I picked up the telephone and placed it on my ear. 

“Hello.” 

I was the first to speak, waiting patiently for whoever was on the other end to begin speaking, but much to my disappointment, a word didn't come through. Again, I waited for a couple of more, but no word. I sighed and not wanting to push through on the mistake I knew I was already making, I dropped the telephone. 

My life was weird enough to find that weird. 

I grabbed my bag and just when I was about to leave the counter, the landline began ringing again.  

Likewise, I had no reason whatsoever not to ignore that landline, but for some reason which I can't see, I have decided not to ignore it. 

As if my hands were moving on their own accord, I dropped my bag again on the counter, grabbed the telephone, and placed it on my ear. But before I could begin speaking, a voice came through. 

“Lily.” 

My heart skipped a bit at how low, husky, and gentle the caller had called my name. His low and magnetic voice was filled with so much authority and dominance. It dominated my name and every syllable that formed my name. Calling it as if it was the only careful word he had to pronounce. 

It skipped even more beats when I realized that it was my first day of work and someone I couldn't tell who it was knew my name. Knew me. 

I felt a sudden weird feeling—as if I was being watched. As if someone was somewhere waiting for me and immediately I stepped in, he'd put a call through to the landline. As if the telephone call was meant for me. 

Despite having no idea about who it was, I could already feel the inside of me shaking—the fright gripping at my limb, probably, due to the terror I had for the rotten reputation the club had and this sudden voice calling my name with the right accent that secluded my name. Both of these frightening thoughts combined, had my heart jumping right into my mouth. 

“Who—are you?” I had asked the only question I could think of at that moment. I was already mentally scolding myself for sounding like a broken record. 

“A bottle of Tequila. Bring the order yourself,” he stopped talking for a while and after a moment of frightening silence, he singled out this word—my name, “Lily.” before hanging up. 

The authority laced and wedged beneath his words. How he had spoken so calmly emphasizing each and every one of his words as if, making sure I got each word straight into my head had left me totally devastated. 

I'd stood there, for a minute or so, right on the spot, staring at the telephone as if it'd grown some sort of head that only I could see. 

It was just someone making an order for a Tequille, but why was I so scared to the core? Why was it so scary? Why did it sound like a call from hell? 

Sincerely, I had every right to be scared because it's weird. How did he know my name? How did he know me? 

“You have no right to touch that.” The young man from the other day, walking out from whatever room, had spoken, startling me out of my thoughts. I stared at the telephone in my hands for a second before dropping it back. 

I should have just kept quiet since whatever happened a while ago didn't make any sense, but I was curious to know who was on the other end. The curiosity to know the weirdo that knew my name had spoken before I could think it through. 

“Someone made an order. He asked me to bring a bottle of tequila. By chance, do you have an idea of who it was?” 

He didn't show any indication that he had acknowledged my word as he rounded the counter, and grabbed a tray and a bottle of Tequila from the shelf. Gently placing the tequila on the tray with a glass cup and a corkscrew, he slides the tray to me as he speaks. 

“Walk up that stairs, turn to your right, and push open the double door, then send that drink in. Be careful. Do not get on his nerves. All you have to do is, place it on the table, pour the drink into the glass, and then leave. Do not speak unless he asks you to. Is that understood?” 

I shook my head. 

“I just walked in here about two minutes ago, having no idea of how things work here, and now, I am supposed to go serve drinks? Besides, I am supposed to resume work by 6 pm and it's not even up to 6 yet, so who the heck is he or she to give me orders—?” 

I suddenly stopped talking when the realization hit me. Those stairs? Those fucking stairs?

 It can't possibly be the stairs that lead to the devil's office. It can't – it can't be an order from Vincenzo!

“He didn't give you this job for you to be this strong-headed. He requested a tequila. Hurry, go give it to him before you get shot in the head.” 

And those words were enough to reset my thoughts. This must be a joke.

I didn't know how long I stood in the same spot, staring at the bartender while lost in my own world, but, as each second passed by, with the serious look on his face, the realization only seemed to get real, and real. 

How the heck did I get an order from Vincenzo within a few minutes of being here?

Hold up, has he been watching me?