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There must be more to the story, but as much as she wanted to know, it wasn’t any of her business. Yet. “I never do anything impulsive.”
“That’s not how I heard it.” He glanced over her shoulder at the tray of half-full glasses sitting on the kitchen table. “Here you are, a fancy-pants corporate attorney, renting my sister-in-law’s apartment, practicing to be a bar waitress in this sleepy Southern town. Are you telling me this is some sort of master plan?”
She almost smiled. “I guess you’re right. I’ve been pretty impulsive in the last couple of days.”
He shook his head. “That wasn’t a compliment.”
“I’m going to take it as one, anyway.” She placed her mug on the counter. When she turned back, Scott had stepped closer. Too close. Close enough that she could smell toothpaste on his breath and the musky scent of last night’s cologne on his shirt.
“If you want to get impulsive, I can help.” He reached his hand up and trailed the pad of his thumb along her jaw. “I’m an expert at impulsive.”
“I’m not that kind of girl,” she whispered, hating that he broke straight through to her earlier longing.
“I can’t figure out what kind of girl you are.” His mouth turned up at the corner. “But I know you’re the worst waitress I’ve ever seen.” He straightened, dropping his hand. “I’m the boss now. So you’d better practice all day with those glasses. Because you helped get me into this mess and I’m not going to let you cost me more money every night. Luke may have owed Julia a favor, but I don’t owe anyone anything.”
Lexi sucked in a breath. “Are you threatening to fire me?”
“It’s no threat,” Scott told her. “I’m sure you’ve got a corner office waiting for you somewhere. I don’t care why you’re slumming it in a bar. But it’s mine now. I don’t play favorites. Show up a half hour early for your shift tonight. We’re having an employee meeting.”
He turned and headed for her door.
“This is because you’re mad that I wrote the contract. You want to blame me. It’s not fair.”
He held up one hand and ticked off several points. “I’m mad that I signed the contract. I blame myself for that, but I don’t appreciate you being a part of that moment. And if you haven’t realized it before, life isn’t ever fair. Deal with it.”
Without looking back, he strode from her apartment, slamming the door shut behind him.
Chapter Three
By five o’clock that night, Scott’s headache was way beyond a hangover. He’d driven down to Charlotte to pick up some updated electronics the bar needed right away, along with a few extra clothes until he had time to get to his condo in D.C. for his stuff. He’d noticed a bathroom and shower off the office in back, where he’d bunk until he could figure out what to do with his new investment.
Damn. His plan hadn’t included staying in Brevia for more than a few days, and definitely not in this run-down bar. He didn’t know why he’d come in the first place, other than wandering around D.C. and watching ESPN in his place had been driving him crazy.
He and Sam hadn’t been close in years, and he knew his brother still didn’t trust him after Scott’s part in breaking up Sam’s first engagement. He pressed two fingers to the side of his head as the pain of regret mingled with the dull pounding inside his brain.
He’d thought they were going to put the past behind them when Sam was planning to take the job with the Marshals, but the relationship with Julia had ended that. Scott had been mad as hell. He’d stuck his neck out to get Sam the job. Although he didn’t want to admit it, he’d craved a second chance at a relationship with his brother.
He knew Sam didn’t want him here. Maybe that had been part of the motivation for making this stupid deal. He’d always had a talent for getting under his brother’s skin.
Hefting another box of beer bottles into the large refrigerator in the back room of the bar, he spun on his heel as someone cleared his throat behind him.
Scott slammed the refrigerator door and faced a craggy-looking man whose thin blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail at the nape of his neck. He looked to be in his mid-forties and wore faded jeans and an army-green canvas jacket over a white T-shirt.
“You ain’t Luke,” the man told him.
“Great observation.” Scott eyed the stranger, clearly ex-military by the way he held himself. “I’m Scott Callahan, the new owner of this place.”
“New owner?” The man’s eyes narrowed. “I didn’t hear nothing about a new owner.”
“It’s a recent development.” He’d also met earlier with Luke, who’d been thrilled to hand over his keys. He’d offered to stick around for a few weeks to help, but Scott had declined. From what he’d seen this morning going through the bar’s accounts and ledgers, Luke hadn’t known much about running a business. Scott had certainly spent enough time in bars. He figured he could pick up most of what he needed to know from the staff. As long as he kept the beer cold and the liquor flowing, how hard could it be?
“You can’t be any worse than Luke. That guy could barely tap a keg when he got here.”
“I’ve tapped plenty of kegs in my day,” Scott assured him. “I didn’t catch your name.”
The two of them stared at each other for several moments. Finally, the man said, “I’m Jon Riley.”
“As in Riley’s Bar?” Scott tried not to look surprised.
Joe nodded. “My dad opened this place almost twenty years ago. Luke took over when Dad passed a few years back.”
“I’m sorry. You work here?”
“Unfortunately.” When Scott didn’t reply, Jon continued, “I’ve worked in restaurants most of my life. Trained as a chef up in New York. But I got hurt over in Iraq and, well...ended up back here.”
Scott had noticed the full kitchen, although from the looks of it, nothing had been cooked there for years. “Riley’s doesn’t serve food.”
“Used to when my dad had it.” Jon shrugged. “Now I wash glasses, clean up, handyman stuff. Whatever needs doing. You gonna change things around?”
“I’ve owned the place for less than twenty-four hours. My head is still swimming.” And pounding.
“That didn’t answer the question.”
“You’ve still got a job if you want one.”
“I do.” Jon stuck out his bony hand and Scott shook it. “Nice to meet you, boss.”
“You, too, Jon.”
“I got one more question for you.” Jon nodded toward the unused kitchen space. “My apartment’s only an efficiency. I can’t cook anything worth eating. I clock in here at six-thirty most nights. Would you mind if I brought in some supplies and made myself dinner before I started? I’ll keep it clean.”
“Is that what you’ve been doing?”
“Nope.” His gaze dropped to the ground. “Luke didn’t want to deal with it or have customers smelling my meals, but—”
“I don’t care what you do in the kitchen. I’m not using it. We’re having a staff meeting in a few minutes. Be great if you could be there.”
“Thanks.” Jon shrugged out of his coat. “I’m going to get started moving last night’s empties.”
Scott nodded, feeling overwhelmed by the task in front of him. He liked the fact that he was moving, at least. It gave him less time to think about what he couldn’t do. Like his real job.
He heard voices at the front of the building. He glanced out to see four women, including Lexi, come through the entrance. He’d contacted the five waitresses and two male bartenders from the employee records he’d found in the desk. One of the women had just had a baby, which explained Lexi’s hire. Both of the guys had come in right after lunch to go over things. Scott had asked the waitresses to meet just before they opened tonight. He had no idea what he was going to say to them. Should he give a football-huddle pep talk or beg for help? He’d never been an employer. Never had to worry about anyone on the job but himself. That was about to change. He had his first employee meeting to run.
“Hello, ladies,” he called with more confidence than he felt. “How is everyone doing tonight?”
All four women stopped and stared at him. He recognized Tina from last night, her gaze still an open invitation. Lexi looked wary, making eye contact with everything except him. The other two women he didn’t recognize. He’d left messages for both of them earlier, so he didn’t know what they thought of the change in ownership.
He stepped forward. “I’m Scott Callahan, the new owner of Riley’s Bar.”
“I’m Misty,” the first woman told him. She was older for a bar waitress—early fifties if he had to guess. Her jet-black hair curled on top and was held back by a shiny clip. She couldn’t have been more than five feet tall. It was hard to imagine her hefting a tray of glasses. But that remained to be seen.
“I appreciate all of you coming in.”
Tina gave him a slow smile. “I didn’t know you were going to buy the place.”
Scott returned her smile. “I didn’t know Luke was your boyfriend when you invited me for a drink.”
She shrugged. “We’re on a break.”
“I’m single.” The fourth waitress piped up. “My name’s Erin.” The young woman sidled up to him. “I’ve been here awhile, so I can help you with anything you need.” She wrapped her long fingers around his wrist. “Anything.”
He heard Lexi snort as he unhooked his wrist and stepped away from Erin. He felt like more of a fraud as he tried to think of what they’d want a new boss to say. “I’m going to do my best to make Riley’s Bar the spot for nightlife. I think there are a lot of opportunities for improvement.”
“You can say that again,” Misty agreed.
“First and foremost, we need to take care of our customers—both current and potential. I’m going to be making some changes that will help with that.”
“What kind of changes?”
“Making this place look a little better for one thing. Nightly specials, more events to get locals and visitors in the door. It’s your job to keep them happy once they’re here. I want good customer service. Be attentive but not overbearing.”
“Do we let them hit on us?” All the women but Lexi giggled. She looked horrified.
“Only if you want them to.” He smiled. “But I’d prefer you kept your time here professional.”
The three experienced waitresses nodded, while Lexi continued to look straight ahead. She seemed as nervous as a deer at a shooting range.
“What about tips?” Tina asked. “Luke used to take part of what we got because he made the drinks.”
“He skimmed your tips?” Scott didn’t know why this surprised him. He’d checked the liquor on the shelves earlier and found several bottles watered down. Apparently, Luke hadn’t been cutting corners only on the alcohol.
“He said it was his fair share,” Misty offered.
“What’s fair is that you keep the money you make.” Scott stepped behind the counter. “Most nights I’m going to be handling the bar. Max and Jasper, the other bartenders, will fill in as needed.”
“You know how to mix a decent Tom Collins?” Misty asked.
Scott nodded. “I can mix almost anything.” He had spent time as a bartender when he’d been younger and had picked up a thing or two from his favorite haunts in D.C.
They watched him as if they expected more. He’d called them in here, but now had no pearls of wisdom to dispense. Basically, he’d wanted to see what he was working with. Other than Lexi, they all looked competent and at home in the bar.
He pulled shot glasses down from a shelf and grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. He needed something to take the edge off. Just one. He turned to the man standing in the doorway. “We’re going to have a round to welcome the new owner. Join us?”
Jon Riley shook his head. “No, boss. I’m five years sober.”
Scott’s hand paused in pouring. “Sorry. I didn’t know.”
“It’s fine,” Jon said quietly and disappeared through the door.
“I don’t want one, either,” Lexi told him when he pushed four of the small glasses forward.
“You on the wagon, too?” Tina asked.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea to drink while working.”
Scott felt a hot burst of irritation skim along his spine. He didn’t need to be judged by his little mouse of a waitress. “It’s a special occasion,” he told her. “Maybe if you relax, you won’t have so much trouble keeping the glasses on the tray instead of the floor.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I’ll be fine. Thanks.” With a huff, she followed Jon.
“Anyone else got a problem?”
In response, the remaining waitresses each picked up a shot glass. They toasted and downed the whiskey. It burned his throat, but after a moment the familiar warmth uncurled in his stomach.
“Thanks, boss,” Misty told him and headed toward the back behind Lexi.
The other two women left the glasses on the bar and after a bit of small talk, meandered out the front door. Lexi and Misty were the two working tonight.
When he was alone again, Scott cleaned up the glasses and wiped down the top of the bar. He stared for a moment at the whiskey Lexi hadn’t drunk. It seemed a shame to waste perfectly good alcohol, so he quickly downed it before putting the glass in the stack to be washed.
He turned to see Lexi watching him from the side of the bar. “Do you think that’s a good idea?” she asked quietly.
“Sweetheart, none of this is a good idea.” He returned the bottle of Jack to the shelf. “Luckily, I’m not much one for caring. If it feels right, I go for it.”
“And drinking on the job feels right to you?” She took a step closer. “It seems to me that’s what got you this bar in the first place.” She pulled the apron in her hands over her head and reached behind her back to tie it, causing her breasts to push against the soft material of her light pink T-shirt.
Scott sucked in a breath. Hell, the T-shirt wasn’t even formfitting and its conservative crew-neck collar practically covered half her throat. Misty was wearing a low-cut, skintight number that barely held in her ample chest. But it hadn’t had any effect on him. Unlike Lexi’s buttoned-up outfit.
He walked around the edge of the bar and took her arm, spinning her away from him.
“What are you doing?” she said with a gasp.
“Helping you,” he answered and tied her apron strings together. “It seems to me the reason I’m in this mess is because of you and your contract.”
“You wanted to buy the bar,” she argued.
“I wanted to pick a fight with Luke,” he countered, resting his hands on her hips, unable to resist circling his thumbs against the place where her shirt hem met the fabric of her black dress slacks. Attorney clothes, clearly made of expensive material. Not the sort of pants someone wore to serve drinks.
Which reminded him that Lexi wasn’t the sort of woman who should be waitressing in a bar. “If it wasn’t for your ever-helpful legal skills, we would have exchanged some big talk and called it a night. Now I’ve got a business I don’t want in a town I don’t want to live in.”
She went perfectly still, whether because of his words or his touch, Scott didn’t know. But her voice was breathless when she spoke. “Maybe you should have stopped to think before you agreed to anything. Maybe if your ego wasn’t so big you would have left when he told you to go.”
Ouch. Scott didn’t want to admit how close to home that hit. The phrase if you’d stopped to think could have saved him so many different times in his life.
“I never do,” he said quietly. “Stop. Or think.”
Because then he might remember how lonely he always felt, how afraid he was of needing someone and being left alone, the way both his parents had done when he was a kid.
“You should try it sometime,” she said, her voice just a whisper.
