“Should’ve known. I’m so stupid to think anything could work out between us.” Grayson’s good at predicting the needs of people. Or maybe he’s well-versed in people getting their pride handed to them. Who knows. But in a matter of seconds, a cran vodka slides in front of me, and I take a deep pull, sucking the entire drink down in two gulps.
“Slow down there, speed racer.” He pauses to glance down the bar at the far end where Reid sits with his new friend. “I don’t know what’s up with him. He usually doesn’t resort to immature shit like that.”
I raise a brow at him.
“Okay. Maybe a couple of times. But trust me when I say I have no clue what’s going on with my best friend.”
“You know what that means?”
“You want to go home?” He shifts, reaching for the back of my chair to grab the thin sweater I’d brought along in case I needed to ward off the overachieving air-conditioning. I lay my hand on his wrist, drawing him to a stop.
“Hell, no. I want to have a good time.” I dig at the ice cubes in my drink with the two tiny straws. “It’s time for the real fun to start.”
Grayson frowns. “Listen, I’m here for moral support, but I don’t want to do anything that would hurt Reid.”
I give him a pat on the cheek. “No need to worry. I’m just going to blow off steam in the best way I know how.”
“Which would be…?” He trails off. I can tell I’m scaring him, but at the moment, I give zero fucks. I’m out. I did my makeup. I’m going to karaoke this joint up.
“Go get me the karaoke playlist.”
He gives me a questioning look, but as soon as I kick back another drink, he slides off the barstool and brings back the song book.
Usually, I have Mel by my side, ready to belt out a song with me. Something tells me Grayson isn’t the type to bust out Britney. Or any of the powerhouses of the nineties. So, it’s solo hour for Callie, which is fine by me. The room has taken on that fuzzy quality that means I’m in the sweet spot of my drinking tonight.
Granted, I’ve never done a karaoke night quite like this one. Warner’s is not exactly proving to be a karaoke mecca. Only one other patron has gotten on stage to sing an old Elvis Presley tune. It’s a pretty low-key operation, and it appears as though the bartender is also in charge of cueing up the requested songs.
I thumb through the pages and find just what I’m looking for. Good old Spice Girls. Because nothing says I’ve had a few too many to drink and I’m lamenting my life choices like British pop.
“You have this weird look in your eye. Please tell me you’re not planning to do something you’ll regret.”
I wave a dismissive hand. I’m way past regret at this point. This whole week has been hell, and now I’m stuck working with a guy I have feelings for, and we’re both just too goddamn far from each other’s orbits to get back in sync. “Grayson.” I lean toward him and wobble in my seat. He reaches out to steady me. “My gentleman caller.” I wiggle my eyebrows but abruptly stop because...whoa. Okay, so maybe I’m a little tipsy. I never claimed to be a heavyweight drinker. I school my features into an expression of utter seriousness. “You can never regret singing from the heart.”
I smile and flag down the bartender who’s at the end of the bar, chatting with Reid and Miranda. I pointedly ignore looking at him, but we’ve known each other long enough that I sense the moment he fixes his gaze on me. The heat of his stare warms my skin.
It also might be the fact that I’ve downed three drinks like I was in a spring break drinking competition. Yeah, let’s go with that.
The bartender hands me a microphone and picks up another one from the back of the bar. She announces me with a flourish as if I’m participating in a competition and scouts are in the audience.
“Now, live from Warner’s, we have Callie singing the Spice Girls' hit, ‘Wannabe’!”
A few paltry cheers erupt from patrons, and then I bust out my best Sporty Spice. I always did admire her beastly abs. Instead of turning to Reid, who is full-on eclipsing my judgment, I pivot to Grayson and proceed to serenade him. There might be some interpretive dance going on, and maybe some gyrating against a chair, but I plead the fifth.
By the time the second chorus begins, the entire place is singing with me. Who knew this place held closet fans of the Spice Girls? Grayson is still shifting in his seat, probably wishing he was anywhere but here. But hey, when you sign up to go on a date with Callie, this is what you get.
All of a sudden, another voice sounds over the speakers. One that is horrifically off-key but familiar nonetheless.
And there’s Reid, on the other side of the bar, leaning against it like he owns the place. Miss I Can’t Get People’s Names Right Miranda stares up at him in adoration, and the whole thing is just too much.
He ambles over to me, not even looking at the TV with the words to the song. He’s staring straight at me like he has a bone to pick.
“What are you doing?” I hiss at him. First off, this is my song. And second, he’s totally killing my buzz.
After all we’ve been through, I can barely stomach being in the same room as him, and it’s killing me.
Reid ignores me, belting out the big crescendo. I wince, preparing for the windows to blow out. Luckily, they remain intact. The crowd whoops and cheers, clearly not caring how off-key we are when I sing even louder than him.
He glances over at me, arching a brow.
I arch mine in response.
It’s on, Reid Morgan. You may be a worthy opponent, but I’m coming out on top.
We near the end of the song, performing with flair as each of us attempts to outdo the other. Once we finish, Reid takes a big bow, and the whole bar goes wild.
I curtsey and return my mic to the bartender. Then I turn and make a beeline for the restroom. I only need a few minutes to myself, and then I can go back out there and face him.
Before I can make it to the ladies’ room, someone grabs my wrist. I whirl around and find myself nose to chest with Reid.
“What do you want?”
“Callie, we need to talk.”
“Oh? I’m surprised you can remember my name.” I arch a brow in challenge. Okay, I’m being a total biotch, but I’m three drinks deep, and there’s no going back now. “Go ahead.” I swing my arm out, my tone ripe with sarcasm. “Have at it.”
“You know what? I was going to apologize. That’s why I came over here.”
“Then, by all means, don’t let me stop you.”
“There’s no point.” He rakes a hand through his short hair, his movements agitated. Spoken with such disgust, his words come out in short disjointed bursts. “Because we’re both just too incompatible. You with your stuck-up parents. Everything’s been handed to you on a silver platter. But I know the real you.” He points his index finger at me, and his icy expression chills me to the bone. “Hell, you’re a fucking fraud. You have been since day one at On Tap.” His lips press thin, and he speaks through clenched teeth. “You don’t have a clue what it takes to make it in this industry. You don’t even like beer.”
“Doesn’t matter what I drink or if I plan to open my own bar someday. Just matters that I do my job. Although you’re trying to steal that now, too, huh? This job means more to me than you know.” I can’t help the venom that seeps into my voice. Between my head swirling from the alcohol and the thought of going back to the way things were with me and Reid before, I’m in no mood to play nice.
“Why does it fucking matter to you so much? Because let’s face it, we both know I was always more qualified for your job,” he snarls.
This cuts deeper than I expect it to because he’s right. Reid was always the better person for the job. And I have felt like a fraud the entire time. But we were supposed to be past this. He said that I wasn’t like my parents after we had dinner with them. Now I’m not sure what to think. I’ve had a charmed life, college paid for, my apartment paid for with money I’d accumulated since I was a kid. Maybe he’s
right, and I don’t deserve this. Unexpected tears sting my eyes, and I blink them back before he can see. “Because if I can’t keep this position, then it’s back to my parents’ company. And we both know how that would end.”
I move past him, and before he can say anything else, I add, “Just stay away from me. I’ll be professional at work, but I don’t want to see you anywhere else.”
His voice has a razor-sharp edge with a finality that cuts deep. “Won’t be a problem.”
I flip him the bird and bypass the ladies’ room. Instead, I grab Grayson and head out of the bar. I’m done with Reid. No use in trying to make something work that obviously isn’t there.
I take one final backward glance at him before I head through the exit. And the cold look in his eyes confirms anything between us is gone.
The next evening, I’m polishing the bar. It’s twenty minutes till last call, and a few of the regulars are here. A new guy’s seated near the middle section of the bar. I take quick notice of the white collar standing out in deep contrast to his black shirt, identifying him as a priest. I’m Catholic only by familial inheritance, but I still have the guilt of one, though.
“Looks like something’s troubling you,” he tosses out casually.
I look up from scrubbing the counter. Shit. It’s not like I can lie to a priest. This may be a bar, but right now, it’s going to be my damn confessional. All my other patrons are too far away to hear anyway.
“Oh, Father. I’ve sinned. So, so much.” Way more than I should be admitting to someone who has direct connections with the big man upstairs. I really don’t know how the Big G would feel about what I’ve done the past few weeks. Or that one time in the back of Marty Springsteen’s car. I looked it up—it’s illegal in four states.
He quirks a brow and takes a sip of his beer. This is a clear indication to me that he wants me to keep talking.
“I’ve been hooking up with one of my co-workers. Well, hooking up is putting it mildly. We were hot and heavy, if you know what I mean.”
He clears his throat.
Yeesh. I should not have admitted that, right? But my mouth has a bad case of the runs, and I keep talking. Because come hell (the very likely place I’ll be going) or high water, I’m laying it all out on the table.
“Right. Sorry.” I scrub at the counter, giving my hands something to do. “Well, anyway. We’ve had to hide it because I’m his manager, and even if there’s nothing explicit in the manual, it’s clear my boss doesn’t want co-workers to date. And I know the reason now. Because it gets awkward when things go south. Dammit. He was really good at going south.”
Seriously. I’m in vagina exile again, and it sucks.
I must be really getting to the father because he’s chugging his beer at an alarming rate.
“We got into this huge fight. And he can be such an as—jerk.” He can also make me laugh. And smile. One look from him and my toes curl. I shake my head and rid my mind of those thoughts. The only thing I have left is this stupid job, and it will remind me of Reid every damn day. What was I thinking? Maybe Reid is the right guy for my job, and I should look elsewhere. But then I think back to my parents’ ultimatum.
His words keep going through my mind on a constant loop. You’re a fraud.
And I am.
A throat clears behind me. I slowly turn around, and my heart plummets to my stomach. By the way Tom’s arms are folded over his chest, I assume he heard me.
“What’s this about you hooking up with a co-worker?”
“Tom. I can explain.” I point at the priest. “I couldn’t lie to a man of the cloth. It’s my religion.”
“Bernie’s not a damn priest. He’s a mechanic on 5th Street. And a part-time actor for the local Broadway rendition of The Crucible.”
Bernie shrugs. “I didn’t feel like taking off my costume.”
I gape at the man I’ve just confessed my sins to. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I wasn’t done with my beer and didn’t want to waste it. I didn’t know you’d talk my ear off.”
“Callie, I’ve been watching you for the past couple of weeks. You’ve been distracted. You’re getting sloppy. And now this?” He frowns, and the disappointment etched on his features is like a gut punch.
“Tom—”
“You’re fired. Close up and get your tips. I’ll lock up when the patrons are gone.”
And just like that, my world drops out from under me.
30
Reid
This place is way too damn quiet. Most of the locals are inside due to the nasty weather. Remnants of another tropical storm swirling along the coast have brought a deluge of rain. Seems fitting since I’ve been in a funk since the night I left Callie’s after the dinner debacle. I sank even deeper after seeing Callie and Gray the other night. Not sure if she’s adjusted her schedule to further avoid me, but I haven’t caught sight of her, and me...I freaking miss her. As stupid as it is. But I know I need to get past that. I also feel like a complete tool because if I end up taking her position, she’s screwed into going to work for her parents.
I’ve cleaned just about everything there is to clean. The bar’s stocked. Only two patrons, Bert and his war buddy, Cliff, are deep in conversation at the end of the bar.
Now’s as good a time as any to brainstorm my ideas for this place. To prove I’m motivated and have a vision for this place and its growth. That I’m management material.
I pull a small notepad from where it’s normally stowed beneath the bar, near the register, along with a pen. A new app has caught the attention of a lot of locals where they can look up certain bars and restaurants to see what beers they serve on tap. Customers can rate the beers and check into our bar or share the bar on their social media pages. I think it’d be a great way to drive new customers here, and it’s cheap to be a bar featured on the app, costing less per month than any drink you can order at Starbucks.
“What are you working on over there?” Bert says.
“Just an idea for the bar.”
“Let’s hear it.” Bert folds his hands over his chest and waits eagerly.
I tell him my idea, and his face lights up. “That’s genius. I like the way you think outside the box. A sign of a true businessman.”
I smile for the first time in the past couple of days. “I’m going to bring it to Tom today.”
“Let me know how it goes. Did I ever tell you about the first time that I tried to open my own woodworking business?”
I shake my head. Bert’s barely mentioned work in the years I’ve bartended at On Tap.
“I used to work as a bagger at Publix, and any chance I got, I’d be in my parents’ garage building things. Chairs. Stools. One time I even made a sleigh bed.” He smiles wistfully at the memory.
“What’d you do with the stuff you made?” I ask, tapping my pen on my business plans.
“I’d take them to the farmers market and sell them. One weekend, a guy comes up to my booth and asks me what I did, really interesting fella with a bowler hat. He came back for three weeks, then ended up buying my entire stock, handed me a check, and told me to open my own business.”
“That’s awesome.”
“Sometimes, it takes the right person at the right time to give you your start. You’ll get there, kid.”
“Thanks.”
“Oh, I almost forgot.” And then he pulls a card out of his jacket pocket and hands it to me.
“What’s this?”
“It’s for your birthday. Don’t open it until then.”
I nod and tuck it away in my jeans.
Tom strolls around the corner, heading my way. He has paperwork in his hand, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s already made his decision about the manager’s position.
“Reid.” He sets the papers on the bar top and rests his forearms on the wood. “How are things going for you?” Tom eyes me in an odd way, almost analytically.
“It’s going...well.” I attempt to fi
ght off my wariness and forge on. “I wanted to talk to you about an idea I had for the bar, actually.”
He arches an eyebrow. “What idea’s that?”
I straighten and clear my throat, then give him the details of my idea for utilizing the app. I’m finishing up when Tom suddenly interrupts.
“No, that’s just not something we’re into here.”
His immediate negative response catches me off guard. “But I can see it bringing in a good deal of new customers. And it’s not expensive to be a part of it.” It’d be a no-brainer. Something that, if I had my own bar, I’d implement.
Tom waves me off. “Reid. That’s just a fad the young kids are into right now. It’ll pass. We need to keep up with what we’ve been doing here.”
Which is basically nothing.
Not to mention, it might be a fad, but it sure as shit isn’t one that’s costly if we were to participate. Less than four bucks a month and potential new customers who will order at least one beer? It’s seems like a win-win for me.
“I actually need to talk to you about something.” My boss’s tone is hushed, and he darts a look at where Bert and Cliff sit at the far end, well out of earshot. Tom’s gaze locks with mine, and I get one hell of a foreboding feeling from it.
“Okay.” I swallow hard, a million things flitting through my head, wondering what’s got him so serious and stern looking.
“Callie no longer works here.”
Shock reverberates through me at his words. “She quit?”
His expression turns to one of distaste. “No. I fired her. She was getting sloppy with her work and she also”—his eyes bore into mine—“apparently fraternized with a co-worker.”
Oh, shit.
But Callie’s been fired? After all this job meant to her. Fuck.
“Tom, I—”
“Look, Reid. I get it. We all have our weak moments. But I can’t have that become an issue here.”
Wait a minute… “Are you firing me?”
Tom scrunches his face in distaste. “No. You’ve been with me for years.” Then he sobers, the stern expression coming to the forefront. “Just don’t pull a stunt like this again.”
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