by Anne Conley
After an hour in the supply closet, checking and double checking the inventory against her own papers and calculations, she realized there was a shortage. Somebody was either drinking all the booze or giving it away, cutting into profits in a big way. The same with other supplies, like paper towels and toilet paper. Judging by the cleanliness of the establishment, they weren’t being used here. There were also a lot of shot glasses and pour spouts missing. That type of stuff was really going to eat Mr. Calahan’s lunch, yet it didn’t explain the missing money. But it was a great way to get rid of a bartender.
Having a handle on the inventory, Miriam decided to take a seat at the bar and make some lists of things to do to clean it up while she watched the bartenders.
It didn’t take long to figure out Bo was keeping a full forty ounce cup of rum and Coke under the bar and passing free drinks along to a man in the corner. Doing an internal fist pump, she texted Quinten.
I’m firing a bartender tonight. You up for working tomorrow?
His response was immediate.
You got it.
She pretended to be absorbed in paperwork, drinking her water, until it was time for the meeting. She’d never fired anyone before and honestly had no idea how this would work out. But Miriam was a professional and she would count on that to hold her through this. Pfft. As if professionalism went very far here. A sudden case of nerves attacked, and Miriam felt her palms start to sweat. What if Mr. Calahan didn’t like this?
Again, she asked herself what was the worst that could happen. The bar would be open for business during the meeting, and he wouldn’t physically attack her in front of patrons. Bo was a tiny wisp of a thing, and Miriam thought she could probably take her if things with her got bad. Honestly, if things got bad, she could just go back and tell Simon he needed to do this job a different way. Evan had his software installed, maybe they could get what they needed from that.
She tried to fight the familiar fear, reminding herself Vince was out of her life and she wasn’t at risk of being beaten up for minor offenses. The real world didn’t work that way. That was her past, even if the sweaty palms and accelerated heart rate were here and now, very much a part of her present. Deep breaths and a steady mind were helping a little, but she needed to get this shit under control.
Besides, Miriam didn’t want to admit to Simon that she couldn’t do this. She was supposed to be using whatever feminine wiles she had, plus her managerial experience, to get to the bottom of where the money had gone. She could do this. Taking a deep breath and calming her sudden panic attack, she sipped her water to cool her throat and kept watching, marking things on her clipboard.
Ashley, the other bartender, showed up, and the tension between her and Bo was palpable. When she got there, Ashley put out a separate tip jar and the competition commenced. Noticing for the first time the tip jars each had the girls’ names on them, Miriam marveled at the tackiness. So customers had to choose which bartender to tip? No wonder. She wondered if Ashley gave away free drinks, too, to up her tips. Watching Ashley closely, Miriam couldn’t see anything too bad. She flirted mercilessly, but that was part of what a good bartender did.
The staff meeting was held in a corner of the bar, where customers could still get service but the employees could meet with a modicum of privacy.
“I’d like to start the meeting by introducing myself. I’m the new bar manager. It is my job to make sure you guys are doing yours, to place orders, do inventory, payroll, and take care of patrons.” Getting to the point, she looked at Bo. “I am the only one with the privilege of comping drinks.” Bo’s gaze dropped to the floor, and a sense of satisfaction poured into Miriam. Settling her eyes on both waitresses, she continued, “I’m making up a cleaning schedule for everyone, but I want it known that I expect you to keep the tables cleaned and clean up any spills or incidents as they happen, if at all possible.” She sniffed pointedly at the corner, where a noxious vomit smell was emanating. Back to Bo and Ashley, she said, “And it is illegal in the state of Texas for bartenders to imbibe alcohol on the job.” She finished lecturing them, assuring them she would have cleaning and task schedules for the next day, and then signaled the meeting was over. “Bo, can I have a word?”
When they were alone in the office, Miriam turned to the woman. Judging by her eyebrows, her blonde hair was a dye job, and her face was heavily made up. The ponytail her hair was put in was curled, and her t-shirt was tied up under her large boobs. Miriam tried not to focus on them, although, since her surgery, she’d become overly sensitive to how well-endowed other women were. Bo wore short shorts that probably exposed her ass cheeks every time she bent into the beer cooler.
With a heavy sigh, she began. “Bo, I know you’ve been helping yourself to the liquor. You have other assets that would have helped you get tips, and I can tell you use them to your advantage, but it’s time you moved on. You’re no longer employed here.”
“What?” Her eyes widened and pooled with tears. Miriam felt a pang of guilt, but reminded herself she’d watched this woman in action all day. She was a chameleon and able to manipulate the patrons emotions for tips. What would keep her from doing it to Miriam for her job?
“I’m sorry. As I stated in the meeting, it is illegal in the state of Texas for bartenders to drink on the job. I saw you doing it today. You really should know better. It would have been preached in your licensing classes.” She kept her voice firm. It was her tone she used for the boys and the security firm, and usually worked with them. “It’s common sense. You are the one responsible if the patrons get too drunk and cause a wreck on the way home, so you should be sober to judge that. Also, you’re not supposed to let them actually get drunk. That’s a law, too. How can you judge that if you’re just as drunk as they are? You are drinking this bar into the hole.”
She put her hands on her hips and stood patiently, waiting for an answer.
“I’m not the only one,” was Bo’s reply. “Ashley does it, too.”
“Well then, when I catch Ashley at it, then she’s fired, as well. Maybe y’all can work together at another bar where you can cause so much tension it chases people away.”
Bo rolled her perfectly made-up eyes and stomped out of the office. Grabbing her purse from behind the bar, she shoved past Ashley with a muttered, “Bitch,” before she left, slamming the door behind her.
Mr. Calahan’s voice behind her made her turn. “What’s wrong with Bo?”
“She just got herself fired. You’re inventory was short, and she’s been passing out free drinks as well as drinking plenty of her own. I wouldn’t be surprised if her ‘math’ is off when she’s filling in for your payroll, too.”
“Well, that sucks,” he mused. No anger. No indignation. He did seem genuinely disappointed, probably because he lost his afternoon booty call, but Miriam had no doubt he could find someone to fill that role easily enough.
“It does, but I’ve got somebody in mind to fill in.” She thought she might cater to his creepy side. “He’s cute. He might bring in a few patrons of the female persuasion. You could have fun with that.” She tried out a smile on Mr. Calahan, and he smiled back, a gleaming bright smile which could have sank her to her knees if it weren’t for his outfit, and the leer with which he followed it.
“Well, see if you can get him in here.” Miriam felt a disconnect with him here at the bar, which was fine. She had a job to do and had no business connecting with a surveillance job. Simon would flip his lid.
“He’ll be here tomorrow,” she said with a proud smile.
“Excellent.” When she turned to walk away, a resounding smack on her ass firmed up her resolve to wear jeans. “Keep up the good work.” Slime ball.
The next morning, Miriam drug herself into the Pierce Securities office at eleven o’clock after shutting down the bar and supervising the clean-up. Still bleary-eyed, she managed to grunt at the boys in the gym before she started gathering their sweaty towels.
“Are you guys nine? Fo
r Christ’s sake, I shouldn’t be picking up after y’all.” She was tired, and the frustration came out aimed at them, but they needed to hear it. They were grown men and needed to start picking up after themselves.
“Sorry, Mir. I’ll get a hamper in here ASAP.” To his credit, Simon seemed sheepish, but it wasn’t enough.
“With all due respect, Simon, I’m the office manager here, not the maid. I shouldn’t have to do your laundry. When we started this, I agreed to pick up some slack to save money. But business is better, and now you’ve got me working undercover, as well. I can’t do it all!”
“You’re absolutely right. I’ll look into a cleaning service. How’s the job coming?” Simon sounded like he was afraid to ask.
Welcoming the change of subject, Miriam replied, “It sucks. I can see why the place isn’t making any money. I fired the bartender who was obviously stealing and spent the rest of the night babysitting the other employees. I did get a chance to finish going over the financials, though, and what money Mr. Calahan is making is being taken out as petty cash and never seen again.”
Quinten was coming at her with a helmet and some boxing gloves. “You wanna spar? Get some of that energy out?”
What energy? She’d been at the bar until four, then up at nine. That wasn’t enough sleep for her. At all.
“Sure. I guess.” She had a change of clothes at the office for working out, and after changing into shorts and a needless sports bra, she emerged, ready to get the questions out of the way. She hadn’t drawn attention to the fact she’d had surgery and wasn’t looking forward to the questions ahead, but knew the guys needed to know. Now was the time.
When silence greeted her, everyone staring at her chest, Miriam took a deep breath.
“I had an elective double mastectomy.”
Simon was the only one who didn’t act like she’d just said she’d never seen a car. He was the only one who knew, and apparently had done what she’d asked and kept it to himself.
Ryan spoke first. “Why?” He was genuinely curious, and Miriam welcomed the chance to talk about it. She reminded herself these guys were her friends. They needed to know. She suddenly felt a little guilty for not telling them before now.
“Because I’m high risk. I’ve had eight instances of breast cancer in my family, my aunt died of it, my mother had two different types, and my dad had it. I don’t know if I carry the gene because I don’t feel like spending six thousand dollars to find out. I’ve had three very stressful mammograms in the last two years, and I get lumps all the time. I decided to save myself some stress and just have them removed.”
She spoke fast, having rehearsed the speech a lot, but not having to give it, yet. The words tumbled out, and when they were out there, the guys absorbed them while she caught her breath.
“Are you okay?” Quinten asked tentatively. He clenched his fists, but Miriam didn’t think it was anger. He looked like he wanted to give her a hug. That was strange. To her knowledge, Quinten didn’t do hugs.
“Yeah. I mean, not having boobs doesn’t really make me any less of a woman, does it? They’re just boobs.” Shrugging, she was suddenly uncomfortable with the attention. Miriam had lied through her teeth. She was less of a woman. Two boobs less.
“Are the incisions healed?” Ryan asked her.
“More or less. The stitches are out, but they’re sort of sore.”
“Then I won’t hit you. Get up here,” Quinten spoke from the mat they used for boxing, suddenly all business. Miriam welcomed the change in subject. She didn’t like talking about herself. Nothing good ever came from those conversations.
The mat was new, purchased last month while she was out for surgery, so she wasn’t prepared for the squishy, yet grippy, surface. Quinten gently steered her to the corner, where a punching bag was set up, and he squared her off in front of it, giving her gentle instructions.
“Keep your center facing the bag.” His hand lingering on her belly pointed her where she needed to go. She knew the extra attention Quinten gave her was a show of interest, but she ignored it. Quinten was a big, quiet brother who would knock out anyone who tried to hurt her. That might have been why she couldn’t feel more toward him—his tendency to talk with his fists.
“Why do I have to learn this? You start this evening. It’s not like I’m going to be there alone.”
“What if you run into him sometime when I’m not with you? It’s not like we’re together twenty-four-seven, Miriam.” He spoke to her like a child, and she bristled in spite of herself. He had good intentions, but it rankled her just the same. Why couldn’t he treat her as an equal instead of someone who didn’t know any better? Deep down inside, she knew that wasn’t the case, but the way he treated her sometimes, like now, really got to her.
Then she remembered seeing her boss at the grocery store and acquiesced with a sigh. “Fine.”
She worked half-heartedly on the punching bag while listening to Simon and the others talk about various assignments. Her incisions hurt, but she wasn’t pulling anything, so she focused on the boys’ conversation around her. Simon was finding an estranged daughter for her mother, while at the same time watching a husband’s extracurricular activities for his wife. Evan was trying to find a long-lost brother who’d been adopted in the sixties. Ryan was working a protection detail, his services as a bodyguard being farmed out to another firm to work with their men. Quinten had some sort of paper trail he was following to help out Simon.
Pierce Securities was doing well. It just seemed like something was off with everybody. Maybe it was Zack’s absence. The man was turbulent and constantly riled everyone up, but he was away at an intensive training conference for the blind, having been diagnosed with a debilitating case of macular degeneration. Maybe Zack being gone was putting the guys off.
Maybe it was Miriam’s absence. She had been out of the office for three weeks. Now, she was working out of the office for most of each day. Either way, she felt the need to bring them all back in sync, but wasn’t quite sure how.
“How’s Krista, Ryan?” Miriam was getting out of breath and her arms were sore from punching the bag, so she took a break to get some water from her bottle. She knew casual conversation wouldn’t fix anything, but she tried anyway.
Ryan’s face lit up. “She’s really good. We went fishing this weekend, and not only did she not fall in, she actually caught a whopper. She still doesn’t clean them, though.” His cheeky grin was infectious, and Miriam felt a twinge of something strange. She’d never wanted what these guys had, but Ryan seemed so damned happy with Krista in his life.
“I don’t blame her. Fish guts are nasty. Who knows what time it is?” Miriam missed the office, but didn’t want to get carried away. She had a job to do, too. Based on the talk, this one was the biggest they had right now. Maybe she could figure out what was wrong later.
“One-thirty,” Quinten looked at his watch and answered her.
“I gotta go. Lunch and a shower, and then off to my fake job.” Miriam took one last swig of water before capping the bottle and putting it in her bag. She grabbed the towels and started out the door.
Simon stopped her. “Leave the towels, Mir. You’re doing a great job.” His voice was quiet, but his smile was genuine. She appreciated it. Simon wasn’t ‘nice’ very often. He just wasn’t an overly demonstrative guy. So when he showed his appreciation, she couldn’t help but feel good about it. She grinned back.
Still feeling some of the adrenaline from her impromptu workout, Miriam pulled a loose-fitting top over her sports bra and walked home, a spring in her step. Passing the park, her steps faltered at the sight in front of her.
Mr. Calahan was playing basketball with a little boy about nine years old. And he looked hot. Mr. Calahan, not the boy.
Not hot, like sweaty, although there was that. Austin was experiencing an early December heat wave, weather in the eighties, and apparently, Mr. Calahan was running around a lot. He’d taken off his t-shirt and tucked it into
the back pocket of his jeans, as had the little boy he was with.
It had to be his son. He was a miniature replica of the grown up—dark brown hair tousled by the wind, penetrating blue eyes, and matching black Converse sneakers. But the rivulets of sweat ran down a wholly different sort of lean muscle on dad. Oh, yes. There was definitely a grown up on the court.
Miriam stood stock still, watching the two, while Mr. Calahan towered over the boy, exaggeratedly blocking and stealing, murmuring words of encouragement to him. The eager child mimicked his graceful moves, both of them grinning. After making a shot, the boy whooped for joy and did a victory dance, apparently beating his old man, who ruffled his hair and scooped up a bottle of water.
Mesmerized, Miriam watched his Adam’s apple bob as he gulped the liquid, feeling a heat spread through her belly at the sight. It was like somebody poured a giant bucket of lust over her. Suddenly, she wanted to strip naked and rub herself across his body, feel the heat as she slid across his skin, his sweaty chest damn near irresistible. She was a little taken aback by her reaction to him. It was so visceral, she wasn’t sure what to do with it.
Why didn’t he ever act like this at work? She didn’t even know he had a kid, for crying out loud. That would make him seem so much more… human.
Still frozen into a lusty statue, she ogled the man as he pulled the t-shirt out of his pocket and swiped the sweat off his chest before wrapping it around his neck, pulling on the ends of it while he spoke with his son, who copied his movements. It was like looking at a funhouse mirror, where one reflection was identical, yet warped.
Realizing she was staring, she shook her head. Oh well, turnabout’s fair play. She turned on her heel and resumed her walk home. Some part of her wanted to say hello, but then he would introduce her to his kid, and Miriam didn’t want that. A pang hit her deep in her chest. It was a familiar pang, but one she hadn’t felt in a while.