by Dani McLean
However, no amount of talent excused rudeness. And yes, she was beautiful, but she was also brash and volatile.
On first look, it would have been easy to pass her off as all bark, her loud appearance not enough to distract from the fragility of her slimness. But she was anything but fragile. That impression could only pass for a moment because everything else about her screamed control, power, and energy. This was not a person to trifle with.
So, I shouldn’t be blamed for letting a bit of snark seep into my voice. I felt so much older than my thirty-six years. “Miss Young. Take a seat.”
She folded herself into the chair with ease, one leg tucked underneath her in a way that I thought must be constricting in her skintight jeans. The position highlighted the curve of her waist and the sharp angle of her hips. I pressed my lips together. As casual as the pose looked, there was nothing casual about the way her eyes bore into me. “It’s Tiff.”
“Okay. Tiffany.” Her eyes narrowed, but her smile didn’t waver. It was mildly terrifying, although impressive.
“I wanted to thank you for coming in this morning and for waiting.” I might be biased when it came to the most decorated employee here, but I could at least appreciate that she’d shown up. I had noted not everyone had.
“You’re welcome.” She had manners. Surprising.
“As I mentioned before, I will be making some substantial changes around here, some which will take place immediately, others that will be more gradual.”
“What sort of changes?”
Put bluntly, the bar needed an overhaul. For years, Harry had kept this place open every day from 2 p.m. to midnight. After reviewing the figures, I couldn’t see anything to warrant it. And from the number of staff employed, there was hardly enough people to appropriately cover those shifts.
I’d worked the twenty-four-hour lifestyle, and it was deadly. As soon as I’d met them today, I could see how rundown the staff and the bar were from being stretched thin.
“I’m changing the opening hours. Starting next week, we’ll only operate Wednesday to Saturday. I also will be reviewing the cocktail list, replacing some of the obscure choices with more popular drinks.”
“Don’t you think, as head bartender, I should make the decisions about the drinks?”
“You are, of course, welcome to provide suggestions, but no. As the owner, I will have the final say.”
“And if I disagree?”
“Then you might need to reconsider if you’re comfortable working here.”
She laughed at that, humorless and dry. “So, you’re demoting me and castrating me in the same day? Classy.”
My muscles tensed, although I kept my expression clear. I’d always had a great poker face, but I knew immediately that Tiffany would test the limits of it. Of me.
“You’ll still be in charge of the drinks. I might not approve of the way you handled my brother, but I am aware of your reputation, and your skills should be considered an asset to this bar.”
I moved a pen perpendicular to the paperwork in front of me before affecting my own “casual” recline in my chair. If she wanted to play power games, then I’d be happy to return the favor. “However, if you decide that you cannot accept this new arrangement, I won’t stop you from leaving. I suspect you won’t have an issue finding work elsewhere. I would only ask that you give appropriate notice so that we can replace you.”
“I don’t know what you think you know about me, Mr. Cooper,” There was venom beneath that sultry voice, and I did not enjoy the way it made my blood sing. “But I’m not a quitter. You got one thing right, though. I’m a hell of an asset to this bar.”
The Basement had a good rep, and the last thing I wanted to do was risk that, but I wasn’t here simply to keep the lights on. If I was going to run this place, I wanted to put my stamp on it.
And in my experience, there was always room for improvement. No matter how talented the head bartender was.
“Are you claiming the success of the bar is entirely your doing?”
“Never.” The conviction in her voice caught me off guard. I quickly quelled the flicker of curiosity that sparked within me. There were layers hidden beneath her staunch exterior, and I had an unfortunate affliction for uncovering mysteries.
I could not afford to let this be one of those times. Strong women were my weakness, but there was no way I was letting this one get too close.
Tiffany was clearly trouble with a capital T, and I was still dealing with the aftermath of the last woman who had ripped my heart out.
“I’m not demoting you. I appreciate that while my brother was here, you accepted additional responsibilities, but I don’t run my businesses like that. I prefer to work at least as hard as the people who work for me. Yourself included.
“Now, I’m going to review the sales figures for the last two months and make some decisions. In the meantime, the bar will operate largely as normal, but I will require you to honor the managerial changes and redirect any staff queries to me.”
“Ok,” she said quickly. Too quickly.
“Ok?”
Then came a smile, too calculated to be cheerful. “Sure. Take the bar management stuff. Have fun. But if you really want to know how things work around here, you could just ask me. I’ve been running this place for years. I know every single person who has taken a sick day, every bottle we need restocked, the name of every wholesaler we deal with.”
“So, tell me.”
She snorted. “Didn’t your mama ever tell you to say please?”
“Tiffany.”
Her grin sharpened, but I had the distinct impression it was forced. She really hated her full name. I locked away that piece of information. “Riley. I want to fire her. She’s been either late or skipping out on shifts, and she didn’t turn up today.”
I thought it over. “I’ll consider it. Is that all?”
“We need a coffee machine.”
“I hardly think that’s a requirement for a bar.”
“I think it’s a crucial requirement if you’re going to want me awake before noon. Besides, aren’t espresso martinis a popular drink?”
I flexed my fingers against my thigh, grounding myself so that I wouldn’t do something irrational like laugh. She was gunpowder, kerosene, and oxygen to my system.
Definitely. Trouble.
It was going to be crucial for me to put some distance between us. Be professional. For one thing, I was her boss. And that was absolutely not something I wanted to take advantage of. The fact that I had to sit here and remind myself of that did not bode well.
“I have work to do. I’d appreciate it if you locked up on your way out.”
With a smirk, she left.
Once I’d heard the tell-tale click of the lock, I allowed some of the tension in my shoulders to bleed out, finally relaxing back into my chair and contemplating the enormity of the job ahead of me.
There was no denying it. I felt tired. Drained and battered if I wanted to be honest about it. And yet underneath it, there was a small thrill in starting over. With the benefit of distance, I was able to face that I had been running on autopilot these last few years.
Not since opening my first bar had I had the option of being bold. After that, I’d been a brand. I’d needed to be consistent.
Now, I had the chance to do something fresh. Re-evaluate my brand. Re-evaluate myself. I groaned. Great. My therapist would be thrilled.
Drumming one hand on the desk, I mentally started splitting up the tasks ahead of me, the first of which had to be cleaning up Harry’s office.
My office. Right.
Then I’d finalize the order for the new POS we needed.
I couldn’t help replaying the conversation with Tiffany. Her statement about the bar almost failing was news to me. In the many years since I’d left, I’d tried to keep in touch with Harry, but my work had always been my priority. Of course, I’d known he was out of his depth, but I had my own businesses to run, and I’d accepted it whenever he
’d told me things were going well. Even though I knew I should have questioned it. Guilt that had always plagued me about leaving him behind now stirred worryingly from Tiffany’s accusation, even though there was no chance she’d meant it to. But my mind filled the gaps anyway.
The bar had been floundering, and she’d been the one to step in. Because I hadn’t.
He never asked me to, but I knew he hoped. I should have been here. Perhaps if I had, I wouldn’t feel the weight of my guilt so heavily now.
Over the years, I’d listen to my brother’s stories about Tiffany, although he’d been careful to be diplomatic. But I’d read between the lines. I’d seen how she had railroaded Harry into their current working situation, and I’d grown angry on his behalf. It was easy to recognize Tiffany as similar to my ex—someone who would take advantage when the opportunity arose.
There was no doubt in my mind that she wouldn’t be getting her way with me.
Dialing my brother, I toed off my shoes under the desk and undid the top button of my shirt, flexing my back against the hard back of the chair.
There were distant sounds of a baby crying when he answered. “Hey, Sam. How’d the first meeting with the staff go?”
Mostly well. With one exception. “Acceptable.”
“Acceptable?” He didn’t believe me and sounded happy about it.
“For the most part. Tiffany will be a handful.” Instinctively, I looked over at the empty chair, still seeing the ghost of her. Unique and bold. She was as magnetic as she was frustrating.
“She always is.”
“Only because you let her walk all over you.”
“Brother, you’ll soon find that you don’t let Tiffany do anything.”
It was easy to believe that. Already she’d shown how quickly she was provoked, telegraphing her every feeling. How emotionally driven she was. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, but passion did not make for good business decisions. It was exactly why I prided myself on my planning and strategy.
I liked things that made sense. And Tiffany was illogical. “Actually, I think you’ll both find I can be quite immovable when I want to be.”
“That, I can believe.”
“How are Imogen and the baby?”
“Good. We’re still working on night feeds, but it’s easier now that I’m home more. Thanks again for taking the bar off my hands so I could do this.”
“It was an easy decision. You and Imogen have been through so much with the IVF. I know how much it meant for you both to finally have a family.” We both knew it had more to do with my circumstances than his, but he was kind enough not to say anything.
“Thank you. It means a lot. You should come over and meet your niece now that you’re back.”
“I will. I’m still waiting on a few boxes to arrive from over west, not to mention all this paperwork I need to work through. You know, for an accountant, you have a hell of a way of being disorganized, Harry.”
His throaty laugh was all too familiar and something I hadn’t heard in a long time. It twisted the guilt and nostalgia that had been building in my gut since I’d stepped off the plane two days ago, reminding me of how long it had been since I felt close to him. The last decade of my life had been lived on the other side of the country, focused entirely on work and very little else. Due to my lackluster efforts, we’d barely seen each other outside of special occasions and, unfortunately, our parents’ funerals.
“Can’t do much about it from here, I’m afraid. Besides, anything outside of the money was Tiffany’s realm. You’ll need to work with her to wrap your head around it.”
I grimaced. “I was afraid you’d say that.”
“Don’t be like that. It was a good thing. I didn’t know what I was doing, and the bar wouldn’t have made it without her.”
Harry confirming her statement was not what I wanted to hear. No wonder she was so insufferable. She’d been right.
Not that I would ever tell her that.
As I let out an unimpressed hum, Harry chuckled. “Welcome back, baby brother. A lot has changed since you were here, but it can’t be worse than what you left behind.” He didn’t need to remind me twice.
Nine years. It had been nine years since I’d packed a bag for the other side of the country and taken a chance on my future. I’d left my family behind and gone as far as I could go, convinced I could make something of myself.
And I had.
It had been a long shot, but over time, I’d learned that I quite liked disproving other people’s expectations. Of putting in the work to move beyond the “shoulds” that everyone else had thrown at me.
Years of hard work, long hours, double shifts, and pushing myself beyond what I was getting paid for, all in service of my goal.
Until I’d finally had my own bar. Then two. Then three.
And now I was back at square one.
“Has Piper signed the dissolution papers yet?” Harry asked.
“No. She’s dragging her feet.”
I sincerely hoped it wouldn’t take much longer. Considering that the benefits were heavily weighted in her favor, it made no sense why she was delaying it, and I knew that she knew that. This was purely a power play.
So, it was with bitter amusement that I now found myself back in a city I had long left behind, starting over and facing off against another maddening, intriguing woman.
When I’d first met Piper, it had felt like the universe aligning itself. She’d arrived just when I’d needed it, promising to help find the funding for my first bar. Like destiny, it had felt perfect. Love and work colliding. She’d brought in the money, I’d built the brand, and it worked.
It seemed like the perfect partnership.
I’d had no idea that she would rip my world out from under me.
“Need me to take a look over the figures? Make sure she isn’t reneging on your deal?”
“No, the lawyers are taking care of everything.”
“You should have fought for more.”
Removing my glasses, I pinched the bridge of my nose. I was completely sick of this conversation. The faster the papers were signed, the faster I could move on. “There are a lot of things I should have done, Harry. But I have my name and the settlement, and I will just have to accept it as a lesson learned.”
“It’s still disgusting that she’s profiting off of your hard work.”
An understatement if ever I’d heard one.
There was no doubt that I was angry—at myself most of all. All that work, undone by a single document I’d signed years ago. Before anything had even existed.
My own feelings of outrage were stirring, making it clear this conversation needed to move on before I got worked up. “Right. Well, there’s a lot to do, and I’m sure you’re busy with the baby, so I’ll let you get back to it.”
“Don’t be a stranger, Sam. And good luck.”
I sighed, staring at the phone.
How did I end up back here? Starting over after a decade.
At least half of the blame rested on me. Piper and I had hurt each other deeply, but if I hadn’t let love blind me, I wouldn’t have made the decisions I had. Taken the risks that had ultimately resulted in my downfall. Her actions since the breakup were fueled by a pain I understood, and for that, I was fully to blame.
I’d left Chicago convinced I’d return a success. I’d left behind family, friends, my life to achieve it. I’d moved as far away as I’d been able to, to chase it.
And in the end, it hadn’t mattered. I’d still failed.
Home had been a backup. The last resort if all else didn’t work. I just never thought I’d actually need it.
So, ok. I’d fallen. But I could get back up. I would make this work. I just had to stay the course. Be smart. Not do anything reckless.
3
Tiff
I was still thinking about the meeting as I waited for Audrey to rock up at my place. Stupid smug Sam and his floppy hair and arrogant attitude and little hoop ea
rrings (what was he? A freaking pirate?).
And that outfit? So polished and primped. He probably wore shorts on the weekend and played tennis, the bastard. I bet he’d never worked a day in his life.
Telling me I’d overstepped with Harry and that if I didn’t like it, I could quit.
The fucking gall he had to act all nice in front of the others when he was really a sadistic asshole. And what the hell had Harry told him about me?
I measured out an extra shot of espresso tequila and added it to the espresso martini I was mixing. Ever since the conversation with Sam, I’d been craving one. I couldn’t help but make it a little interesting, adding a cold brew from my favorite artisan coffee place and a splash of Irish cream.
It tasted like tiramisu, and my first thought was that I would love to add it to the menu.
Then, I remembered.
Fucking. Sam.
At the sound of my phone ringing across the room, I put the cocktail shaker down and ran over to answer it, smiling at the sight of my girlfriend’s ID.
“Hi, sexy.”
“Hey. How did the meeting go?”
I groaned. “Terrible. He’s a pompous, pretentious ass.”
“Please tell me you didn’t say that to his face.”
My spine bristled at the implication. It wasn’t far off, but her tone, that implicit judgment, made me defensive. “Not in so many words.”
“Geez, Tiff. I’m surprised he didn’t fire you.” Guess I won’t mention that he’d threatened to. “You need to learn to be nicer when you dislike people. It’s not a crime, you know. It’s actually the normal thing.” She chuckled, but all I felt was cold.
“Maybe I like not being normal.” Whatever that was.
“One day, it’s going to bite you in the ass.”
I swallowed my irritation, glad she couldn’t see me. We’d had this same conversation too many times. Why couldn’t I be more like other people? Why did I always have to say what I was thinking? I was starting to wonder whether I’d ever measure up to the image Hannah had in her head. If I even wanted to.
“Did you at least manage to get the night off next weekend as you promised?”