by Meg Benjamin
“A new barmaid.” Tom sighed. “Wonder if Docia Kent would consider applying.”
Nando nodded. “Not a bad idea. Not Docia, of course,” he added hastily. “But maybe a Docia type.”
“A six-foot redhead with a figure like Venus de Milo? There aren’t many of that type available.”
Nando grinned. “Just keep looking, Ames. If you build it, they will come.”
Tom frowned. Coincidence that he’d been thinking the same thing? Maybe the universe was trying to tell him something.
Chapter Three
Deirdre bought a cup of coffee to go at a café a few blocks from her new apartment above the bookshop. The café was called the Coffee Corral, but the coffee wasn’t one of its best features. At least, she hoped it wasn’t. If it was, the food must be really awful. She wandered down the street, feeling the warm autumn sunshine on her face. This was the slow season in Konigsburg, assuming the place ever had a really slow season. No upcoming festivals, no school holidays to bring families up for the weekend, just the usual blue-haired retirees and shoppers clogging the sidewalks on Main.
She figured she could spend a couple of days checking out possible shop locations before she had to find some kind of temporary job. Once she had an idea of what was available, she could start sizing up the landlords, trying to decide how to convince them to give her a lease on spec, since she had next to no money for a down payment.
She took a deep breath, pushing away the familiar clenching in her chest. You can do this. You’re almost twenty-five years old. You have a degree from the McCombs School of Business. Docia can vouch for you with the Konigsburg landlords. You’re not helpless.
She felt helpless, though. It had always been so easy when she had money. And, of course, up to now she’d always had it. Having money was much easier than figuring out how to get it.
Which is why you’re in this spot right now. You took the easy way.
Deirdre blew out a breath, squaring her shoulders. She wasn’t taking the easy way any more. It was way past time to be a grown-up.
She strolled along Main, sipping the lousy coffee and studying the shop windows. This was the central part of town, the area with the most tourists and the greatest visibility. Also, of course, the area with the highest rent, and, probably, the fewest empty buildings. Not many landlords in this part of town would be interested in making a deal. She saw a couple of empty windows, but both spaces were wrong for what she wanted, more retail than food. She couldn’t afford a place that needed lots of renovations. If the place she rented needed anything fixed, she’d have to do it on her own. At least at first.
Farther up Main, the shops thinned out. More restaurants and bars, interspersed with merchants who actually served the real citizens of Konigsburg rather than the tourists—insurance agencies, dry cleaners, a hardware store.
Deirdre glanced back down the street at the discreet sign for Brenner’s restaurant. They’d be one of the first places where she’d try to sell her custom blends, the kind of restaurant where the customers would be willing to pay a little more for a premium cup of coffee. And the owners were friends of Docia’s.
In front of her, another sign wasn’t nearly as discreet as Brenner’s. The Faro. Deirdre narrowed her eyes, trying to remember what she knew about the place. Live music on weekends. Beer garden out back. Limited food service, probably burgers, nachos, bar food. So not a potential customer.
She grimaced. Potential customers for a hypothetical coffee shop. Talk about putting the proverbial cart before the proverbial horse. She went back to scanning the storefronts. Maybe if she went one street over, back to the street where the Coffee Corral was located, she might find more affordable possibilities.
She glanced idly at the limestone block building that housed the Faro. And stopped.
Next door to the bar was a small, glass-fronted shop, the same aged limestone block construction and tin roof as the club. Maybe even part of the club once upon a time—they shared a common wall. She leaned forward, pressing her face against the glass so that she could see inside. It looked like a single room, fairly narrow, stretching back to a counter at the rear. She could dimly see a door in the back wall, probably to a storage area beyond.
The floor at the front looked like concrete, although it also looked like it hadn’t been cleaned since the first Bush Administration. The walls between the built-in shelves were just as dingy. They’d need to be scrubbed, but she’d guess there was a good surface underneath.
Deirdre did a quick mental estimate of the floor space. Enough for four, maybe five tables with three or four chairs each.
Her chest clenched again. Her heart pounded in her ears. Perfect. Absolutely what she was looking for. Plus it just felt right.
This is the place. This is what I want.
Maybe she should go find Docia. Ask her what she knew about the Faro, particularly about the shop next door to the Faro. Maybe Docia knew the owner of the building. Maybe she could call him and…
Enough! This is your project, Deirdre Ann.
She licked her lips, squaring her shoulders again. This is what I want. The first step would be to locate the owner of the building. She’d see how things went after that.
Tom took a desultory swipe at the bar with his rag. It was clean, or as clean as he could get it without stripping it down to bare wood and starting over. He watched Bobby Sue take orders from the customers sprinkled around the lunch tables. Food service wasn’t exactly their biggest source of revenue, but people liked Clem’s burgers and enchiladas, and she was beginning to branch out into more interesting things, some soups and salads. They weren’t making a lot of money off food yet, but the customer base was building.
Even with the widely spaced lunch tables, Bobby Sue was having trouble getting around. Tom figured her arthritis was acting up again. At her age she should probably be sitting with her feet up, knitting an afghan or something. Instead, here she was limping from table to table, writing orders on her green pad. Part of the reason she still worked the lunch crowd was her own aversion to what she called “idleness”. The rest of it was most likely Bobby Sue’s boy, Leon, who had a fondness for get-rich-quick schemes that quickly turned into get-poor-quick.
Oh well, better than a fondness for crystal meth and petty theft, like Tom’s long-lost brother Burton. Tom just hoped Burton had the good sense to stay lost.
Leon himself pushed open the kitchen door and headed toward the bar with a tray of glasses from the dishwasher. Tom had taken him on originally as a favor to Bobby Sue, but Leon wasn’t all that bad. He could load the dishwasher at least, and sweep up. Besides, Tom sort of liked having people around who had a stake in the place, which Leon did, thanks to his mother.
Chico lounged in the doorway to the beer garden. They didn’t need a bouncer with the lunch crowd, but he liked to carry the trays for Bobby Sue. And Tom got a kick out of seeing the tourists’ reaction when he did.
“Excuse me?”
Tom stopped wiping. He wasn’t sure he’d really heard anyone say anything, what with the jukebox blaring Reckless Kelly in the corner.
“Excuse me?” The voice was louder, but still faint.
He turned toward the other end of the bar, toward the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
Tall. Maybe five-ten or so. Hair the color of a moonless night, falling straight to her shoulders. Skin the pure white of marble, so that her faintly curving eyebrows stood out against it like parentheses. Full lips, dark pink.
And blue eyes. Sky blue. With a dark circle around the outer edge of the iris and lashes like dark smudges against her cheeks. He’d be willing to bet she wasn’t wearing makeup. Everything was natural. If she ever put on mascara, she’d probably have to carry a stick to beat off the male population of Konigsburg.
Of course, now that he got a closer look, he realized she was dressed in some of the worst clothes he’d ever seen on such a glorious woman. At least he assumed she was glorious. Given the bagginess of her je
ans and T-shirt it was hard to tell. Her clothes were so nondescript she might as well have been wearing bib overalls.
Lord have mercy!
“Excuse me?” she said for the third time, her voice becoming somewhat sharper.
Tom had the feeling she’d go on saying it, maybe getting a little more pissed, until he pulled himself together enough to answer her. He took a deep breath, dragging his scattered wits back into line. “Yes, ma’am.”
“I was wondering…that is…”
She paused, licking her lips, and Tom felt a jolt of electricity straight to his groin. If she kept that up he’d be vaulting the bar in another five minutes. “Yes?” he said encouragingly.
“Do you happen to know who owns the shop next door, the one that’s vacant?” It came out in a rush, as if she were trying to say the words before she lost her nerve.
“Yes ma’am, I do. That is, I own it.” Shit, he sounded like a shy schoolboy himself all of a sudden. The brunette had a hell of an effect.
“Oh.” She licked her lips again. “Well. I’d like to discuss leasing that shop. That is, if it’s available. Is it available?”
Tom frowned. Not only was the shop available, he’d been trying to find a renter ever since Ken Ferguson had closed his T-shirt shop and taken off for parts unknown, owing a couple of months’ rent and leaving him with a complete stock of cheesy T-shirts in his back room. “It’s available.”
“Oh, good.” The brunette gave him a dazzling smile he felt all the way to the tips of his toes. Apparently keeping a poker face was not part of her negotiating style. “Maybe we could talk about it then.” She reached a hand across the bar. “I’m Deirdre Brandenburg.”
Tom nodded, taking her incredibly soft, warm hand in his. “Tom Ames.” Reluctantly, he let go again.
She glanced quickly around the room. “Is there an office where we can discuss this, Mr. Ames?”
Tom watched Bobby Sue limp toward the kitchen. His only office at the Faro was a prep table near the walk-in refrigerator. Somehow he didn’t think the brunette would be impressed, and Clem might drive them out with a meat cleaver if she was feeling feisty. He shook his head. “Sorry. I have to cover the bar.”
He caught her glancing at the empty stools. Okay, so covering the bar didn’t currently take a lot of effort. “Have a seat,” he said quickly. “Can I get you something to drink? Maybe a soda?”
Deirdre Brandenburg shook her head as she slid onto a barstool in front of him. “That’s okay, I’m fine. About the shop, what kind of rent are you asking?”
Ferguson had been paying fifteen hundred a month, when he’d paid, but Tom hadn’t had any nibbles yet at that price. And the shop had been empty now for a couple of months. They were too far up Main for a lot of tourist traffic. “A thousand a month. First and last month in advance.”
“Oh.” The brunette’s forehead furrowed slightly as she chewed on her lower lip. “What’s the square footage?”
Tom shrugged. “I don’t know off the top of my head. I could look it up. It’s a single room in front with a storage area at the back of the building. There’s access to the delivery entrance for the Faro at back too.”
“Could I get in to look at it? All I’ve been able to do so far is peek through the windows.”
Tom sighed. A more trusting man would give her the key and let her look. But trusting men didn’t usually own bars like the Faro. And if they did, they soon learned not to be so trusting. He himself had been born suspicious. “If you can wait a few minutes, I’ll take you over there.”
“Of course.” The brunette turned as he signaled across the room. He watched her eyes widen in consternation as Chico lumbered toward them.
“Chico’s the bouncer. His bark is usually worse than his bite,” he explained. “Although not always.”
Chico pulled out a barstool and sat. “What?”
“I need you to take over the bar for a few minutes while I show Ms. Brandenburg here what Ferguson’s shop looks like inside.”
Chico glanced at the brunette for the first time, narrowing his eyes slightly as he studied her. “Why?”
The brunette swallowed hard. Chico wasn’t making much effort to be charming.
“I’d like to lease the shop,” she murmured, her voice dropping again.
“What for?” Chico leaned back against the bar. “Crummy location. Lousy economy. What can you sell we don’t already have more of than we need right now?”
Succinctly put. Tom leaned forward on his elbows.
“Coffee,” the brunette muttered. She gave Chico a look of mixed terror and defiance.
“We got coffee.”
“Good coffee.” Her voice sounded slightly more firm.
Chico shrugged. “We got good coffee.”
Deirdre Brandenburg raised her chin. All of a sudden her eyes were flashing. “Not as good as mine,” she snapped.
Chico grinned, slowly, which was a fairly terrifying sight in itself. He always reminded Tom of a smiling rhinoceros. “Well, then, you got something somebody’s likely to buy.” He turned to Tom. “I’ll keep an eye on things. All they want is beer with their burgers, anyway.”
“Right.” Tom opened the gate at the end of the bar and motioned to the brunette to follow him.
Craig Dempsey was summoned to the big man’s office at nine in the morning. He had a sneaky suspicion this had something to do with Dee-Dee, but he wasn’t sure exactly what. Big John might have found out about Dee-Dee’s breaking up with him, but he’d bet he hadn’t. Dee-Dee wasn’t the type to clue her father in on her love life. Or anything else, as far as that went.
Fortunately. Craig still had hopes of getting her to rethink the whole breaking up thing. He wasn’t under any illusions about why Big John had hired him in the first place—it was the NFL-star shtick. Hire an athlete and pretend his accomplishments on the field somehow rubbed off on the company he worked for. Craig had no problem with that idea, as far as it went. His football career had opened most of the doors he needed to have opened. But marrying Dee-Dee Brandenburg would have made his position a lot more secure in the long run. And security was something he’d become very aware of over the past few months.
People seemed to think he’d come out of his years as a player with enough money to see him set for life. And he probably would have, if it hadn’t been for that freakin’ car dealership his brother Arnie talked him into. Or those weekends in Vegas. Who knew a few hands of poker could end up costing so much? His cards hadn’t been that bad, all in all. He still had money left, but not enough to go on living the way he liked to live, at least not long term.
And Dee-Dee was nice enough. She cleaned up well when she put her mind to it. After all, he’d seen the body underneath those pricey suits.
So what if she sometimes seemed too smart for her own good? She hadn’t been able to get any of her ideas across at Brandenburg, Inc. anyway, particularly when her daddy paid no attention to anything she said.
Craig paid attention. He had no problem with lifting ideas he’d heard Dee-Dee toss around. Her father never noticed they weren’t his. And she didn’t need the credit, anyway. She already had the money. Of course, when he’d lifted that last one, the one about the wind farms, she’d told him she didn’t think they had a future together, which was as close as somebody that well-bred could come to telling him to go fuck himself. But she hadn’t told her father, or at least she hadn’t yet.
Craig frowned. Could that possibly be what this meeting was about?
The big guy didn’t look happy, that was for sure. Big John stood around six-two, and was built like someone who’d once played football but hadn’t kept it up. Craig hit the gym every morning, and he didn’t have much patience with men who didn’t, even billionaires. Big John could stand to lose at least fifty pounds and build up a little muscle in place of the fat.
But he was the boss, also the key to the immense wad of cash Craig could get access to once he reeled Dee-Dee back in. “What can I do for you,
sir?” Craig gave him a practiced smile.
Big John turned bloodshot green eyes his direction. “Sit down, Dempsey. I’ve got a job for you.”
Well, now, this was more like it. A job for him, possibly with a bonus at the end of it. Craig sat down opposite the big man’s desk. “Glad to do what I can.”
“Are you?” Big John ran a hand over his thinning reddish hair. “When did you last talk to my daughter?”
“To Dee-Dee?” A fairly stupid thing to say since Big John only had one daughter, but Craig needed time to think. “Maybe a week ago. Why?”
“Don’t lie to me, Dempsey, I don’t have time.” Big John’s expression turned bleak. “Do you know where she is?”
“The last I talked to her she was in her apartment. Isn’t that where she is now?”
“No that’s not where she is now. That’s a company apartment. Only available to people working for Brandenburg, Inc.”
“But…” Craig felt like he’d missed a step. Dee-Dee’s not working here?
Big John narrowed his eyes. “You didn’t know she was going to quit? She didn’t tell you about it? What’s going on, Dempsey? I thought you and my daughter were close.”
“We were. That is, we are. We had a little…falling out…a couple of weeks ago. I was letting her cool off before I gave her a call.”
He backpedaled furiously. Why the hell would she quit? Was she planning some kind of corporate take-over? Dee-Dee as ruthless corporate raider? Nah.
“Well, she’s cool by now, believe me. She quit a couple of days ago. And now she’s left Houston for god knows where.”
Craig managed to conceal his confusion by staring down at the desk, pretending he was thinking. Dee-Dee going off on her own, away from Big John, made as much sense as Dee-Dee going off on a quick trip to Neptune. In his opinion, she didn’t have the survival skills of the average eight-year-old. “We could have security run a trace on her credit cards if you need to locate her, sir. See where she used them last.”