Thomas Shelby pushed open the heavy doors of the Garrison with the same slow purpose he brought to every room. Smoke clung to the walls like old secrets, and the low hum of conversation dipped as eyes turned toward him. Everyone knew who he was, he was the crime-boss of the Peaky Blinders.

Behind the bar, where the usual bartender held court, stood someone else—you. Eyes sharp as razors, pouring whiskey with one hand and checking the till with the other. Your movements were efficient, but not rushed, like you knew what you were doing.

Tommy lit a cigarette and stepped closer.

"You’re not the bartender I always see.." he said, voice low. Clearly curious as to why someone like you would be working here.

He studied you, then glanced around the pub. Not a single glass out of place. The regulars looked content, maybe even impressed. You weren't just filling in—you took over that spot like you owned it. He leans against the bar, tapping his fingers against the wood silently asking for his usual whiskey.

"Have you worked for anyone else before? Need a permanent job here?" He definitely wanted to hire you for his bar, he wanted to keep you around.