The Party Crasher: Novella

by Erin Bevan

  Brant tapped his fingers on the bar. Exactly the reason he had lied to Kit. She didn’t seem to know who he was, because if she did, she wouldn’t have talked so openly about his family to him. Her responses would have been guarded just like everyone else in the town putting on a façade when it came to his family and politics. And that was exactly what he did not want. A façade. Lying to her about his last name was an ass move, but he wanted the freedom they’d shared while talking to last a little longer. Another week. Tops. Then he’d tell her the truth.

  “I’ll eventually tell her.”

  “You’re going to have to. A small town like this. How long do you think you can keep that a secret?”

  The bartender was right. He’d been stupid. Real stupid. And not only had he lied to her, but he’d also offered her a flipping job. Yeah, she needed it, that much he could tell, and he didn’t necessarily regret his decision in hiring her because the look of sheer relief on her face had been worth it; of course that only came after she choked on her whiskey.

  But how was he supposed to get to know her on a more personal level if she worked for him? A stumbling block he’d have to figure out how to work past.

  The bartender reached for his old glass and poured out the ice.

  “Got any advice?” Brant nodded to the man.

  “Be honest. Monday morning when she walks in through your door be completely truthful. Well, maybe not completely. Women like hearts and flowers and all that shit. Make sure your words fall in line with that crap.”

  “Hearts and flowers? You insinuate I like her.” Brant took a sip of his drink.

  “A person with half a brain could see that you like her. You ordered her a drink, you smiled like an idiot the whole time, you stood when she left. Actually stood. Who does that anymore? Not saying it’s a bad thing.” The big guy grabbed a towel from under the counter. “Just something lost on a more recent generation.”

  “Okay, I’m a gentleman. So?” Brant shrugged.

  The man laughed and rubbed the bar down with a white towel, not bothering to make eye contact with Brant. “So much so a gentleman the minute the damsel sounded in distress about her life, you swooped in to rescue her. Dude, you’re so far gone you aren’t thinking straight.” The man stopped wiping the bar and flicked the towel to him. “Which is why I’m offering you advice, man to man. You got it bad. Rightfully so, she’s beautiful, but don’t screw it up. Otherwise, a girl like her…” he whistled. “I might have to come in and clean up your mess, and I’ll be honest with you dude, if that’s the case, I’ll be thanking you.”

  Brant’s grip tightened on his glass. No way in hell this guy would have a chance to move in on his turf.

  Shit. Why am I thinking like that?

  She wasn’t his turf. She was his employee, and everything the guy had just said proved true if his thoughts continued on the same path. He had tried to come in and rescue Kit like some ironclad knight.

  Moron.

  Brant watched the man clean the counters. He might not be the best drink maker, but he did seem to be a good employee.

  “Hey.” Brant pulled out a card from his pocket. “What’s your name?”

  “They call me Harry.”

  Brant stared at the bunch of black curls peeking out from the man’s shirt. “Well, Harry, if you ever think about leaving this place give me a call. I could use a few seasoned bartenders.” Brant slid the card and the money for the drinks toward the guy.

  “Yeah. You gonna try to date me, too?” Harry laughed.

  “No.” Brant drained his glass. “You’re not my type.” But he would like to make sure he wasn’t Kit’s either. He pushed his empty highball toward the man. “See you around, Harry.”

  “Yeah, maybe so.” Harry reached for the glass, not giving him another glance.

  Brant exited the bar and decided to walk around the block a few times to allow his drinks to settle before he got behind the wheel. Something else he needed to make sure he had in place before Betsy’s opened in two weeks: a way to get patrons designated drivers.

  The air blew heavy with moisture, while the few clouds above still held everything inside. The more ominous clouds had passed over, but a few still lingered. A very small, greedy part of him was thankful the Easter hunt didn’t get rained out. If it had, Kit would still be working for the city and not for him.

  Harry had been right though. It wasn’t right for him to lie to Kit. Whether she knew him or not, the truth was better. He’d tell her Monday, for sure.

  Brant turned the corner, the aroma of garlic and dough lingering in the air. Gio’s, the local Italian restaurant, sat nestled at the end of the street. The gated patio held small bistro tables while white lights hung from the awning. At the very end, giggling with some man, sat his step-cousin May, her claws extended over the guy’s arm, trying to hold the poor sap’s attention. Brant backed up and turned around before she had a chance to see him, bumping straight into a couple, the O’Neil’s—his father’s biggest supporters.

  God help me.

  “Brantley, so good to see you.” Mrs. O’Neil wrapped him in a hug.

  “You, too, ma’am.” He patted the lady on the back, her silk blouse smooth under his palms.

  “Your father told us you were moving back into town,” Mr. O’Neil continued. “Said he hoped to get you on the city council before it was all said and done. We have a couple of spots open if you’d like to run. We need a few business owners on the board, and it would be a great way to get your foot in the door to bigger and better things.”

  Bigger and better. Like owning his own business wasn’t good enough.

  “Oh, Bud, leave him alone. He has his little bar now. He doesn’t want to be on the city council.”

  Little bar.

  His little bar had cost him more than a little bit of money. He swallowed what felt like a lead ball that plopped all the way to his feet. Maybe a town like this wasn’t ready for a little bar like his, a bar that brewed specialty beers. Two of which were his creations. Regardless, he’d made his bed and now he had to lie in it. He needed business to support his little bar, no matter whom it came from.

  “Betsy’s will be opening soon. I’d love for you guys to come visit. Free meal on me.”

  “Oh.” Mr. O’Neil puffed his chest out and smiled to his wife. “Well, we aren’t one to turn down a free meal now are we, Nita. We’ll be there. When does it open?”

  Brant cringed. If he’d had his affairs a little more in order, people would know when his place opened, and if he had the support of his father, then everyone in town would surely know. But he didn’t have his father’s support. Because it wasn’t what he wanted for Brant.

  “Two weeks.” Brant placed his hands in the pockets of his cargo shorts. He had a feeling he might have to give out a lot of free meals at first to get everyone to realize he’d found his niche.

  “Oh. I almost forgot.” Mrs. O’Neil’s eyes got big. “I heard you got smashed into a cake today, you poor dear. Your stepmom is beside herself. We just came from their house. It was nice of your dad to offer that girl a job, but May should have been the one he hired from the start.”

  May.

  Mrs. O’Neil said his cousin’s name like the woman was perfect.

  “Yeah, we teased your dad that he’s losing his edge in his second term. Time to retire,” Mr. O’Neil joked.

  The couple laughed and the joyous sound unsettled him. Were they laughing at his father? Kit’s misfortune? He couldn’t tell, and a bubble of anger boiled in his chest.

  “Of course, we were only teasing. We love your father, but today was some debacle.” Mrs. O’Neil shook her head. “How are you fairing, dear, from it all?”

  “Well, getting knocked into a cake by a beautiful girl…” He shrugged. “Life could be worse, and truly, Kit did the best she could with the hand she’d been dealt. The man designated to be the Easter Bunny didn’t show up, and no one would play the part, so she did her best in making the event work b
y going above and beyond, playing the Easter Bunny. Unfortunately, the only costume she could get her hands on right before the party was one way too big. But, fortunately for her and me, when one door closes another opens. She might not be the city’s event coordinator anymore, but she’s mine. After she knocked me off my feet, I hired her.”

  “You…you hired her?” Mr. O’Neil cocked his head to the side, moving his ear in Brant’s direction.

  “Yes, sir.” Brant bounced on his toes. “She’s my new event coordinator.”

  The O’Neil’s blanched at his defense for Kit.

  “Well, how lovely for the both of you.” Mrs. O’Neil faked a smile.

  “Yes, it is. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Brant held out a hand for Mr. O’Neil to shake. “I was just heading to my car. You two have a lovely evening, and come see me for that free meal.” He waved and headed back toward his vehicle.

  The look on their faces as he walked away were laughable. They’d obviously never imagined he would defend Kit, the party crasher.

  How true was that sentiment. She’d literally fallen into his world and crashed right in the middle of his life.

  Too early to think silly thoughts like that. He’d known her about four hours. Literally. He was a grown man for Christ sakes, not some pubescent zit-faced kid. He could push her out of his thoughts. Completely. But maybe he would wait an extra day or two before he told her who he really was. He enjoyed being out of his father’s shadow, even if it was all just pretend.

  His phone dinged. He pulled the device out of his pocket and stared at the readout. A missed call from his father. Yeah, he definitely wanted to wait a little while longer before he returned that call. He cleared his phone and slid it back in his pocket. He would deal with his dad another day.

  Chapter 5

  Kit clicked off her phone and slid the device back in her purse. Definitely not a conversation she had wanted to have but needed to. If the mayor had any doubts she had left her job before, they were gone now. But, like she’d suspected, he’d agreed it was best for her to step down. He didn’t bring up the specific reasons of why he thought she should be let go, but he hadn’t needed to. Looking back, she could see exactly what she’d done wrong. Everything.

  Hiring a bunny without getting proper referrals, not planning proper shade for rain or shine, and not delegating tasks properly. All of it, her fault.

  But not again. She let out a deep breath, thankful she had a backup job. She would learn from her mistakes. Now, if only she could contain the giddy feelings she had every time she so much as glanced at her new boss, then her life would be even better. She could get past the butterflies. She had to. No choice. Her future depended on how she handled herself in this next position if she ever wanted to create a business of her own.

  Her phone dinged. She pulled it out of her purse once more and stared at the read out. Her father. Great.

  “Hey, Dad. How are you?” Kit said into the receiver.

  “I just opened my email, and I’m reading yesterday’s Stony Brook Gazette. Why are you front and center in their Sunday paper, with a bunny suit on top of some man who happens to be on top of a cake?”

  The Stony Brook paper? She groaned. “Seriously, Dad, why are you reading the Stony Brook paper? You live in Dallas.”

  “I signed up for it when you took the job at City Hall. I figured I could get a better idea of what’s going on in your life through print since you don’t tell me.”

  She didn’t tell him for this reason. Because he would hound her. Exactly like he did now.

  “It was an accident, Dad. I fell on top of Brant and he landed in the cake. But, it’s all okay now.”

  “So you still have your job then?”

  “Well, no, not exactly.”

  “Damn it, Kit.” She heard the muffled sound of what sounded like rolled up newspaper hitting his desk. Her dad always read the morning paper and drank coffee at his computer. Apparently he read the Stony Brook on-line news as well now, too. “You’ve got to grow up and hold down a real job. I’m not making your rent payment for you.”

  “Dad.” Kit took in a deep breath. “I am an adult, and I do have a job, and I didn’t ask you to make my rent payment. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to be late for work.”

  “Where? Where are you working then if not for the city?”

  She could tell him she was hired on as the event coordinator for a new establishment, but thought that sounded too classy for her mood toward her father right now. She wanted to make him sweat. “At a bar. I gotta go. Bye.”

  “A bar,” she heard him yell as she clicked off the phone.

  Ha! He probably imagined she worked on top of said bar versus for it. Good.

  Her dad thinking she couldn’t hold down a job provided all the more reason she had to keep this one. In reality, he had been right so far. She hadn’t had good luck with jobs. But this one would be different, and she’d prove it. Something about it just felt right. Cliché, she knew, but a part of her wondered if she’d plowed into Brant for a reason.

  Enough with the serendipity. If she didn’t hoof it, she would be late.

  Kit marched down the sidewalk and looked to her left. According to her phone, the bar should be right where she stood, except the only thing she saw was a back alley with construction trucks. Construction meant building, and Betsy’s was new. She stepped carefully around the cracks in the road and tiptoed toward the action. Two men, carrying a large television, entered through a set of old wooden doors. A small, white, tin sign hung from the crumbling brick wall. Betsy’s Place. Not very inviting. The excitement of having a new job sank as she stared at her dismal surroundings.

  To the left, a teasing strip of the main street shown between the buildings at the end of the alley. Then across Main, another alley. To her right, construction trucks blocked her view, but she assumed the same scene waited to greet her on the other side of the giant trucks. More cracked and broken alley roads lined with more cracked buildings and strings of electrical wires hanging from poles that let people know somewhere around this dark alley there was life. Somewhere. But there sure as heck didn’t seem to be much here, spare the two construction workers.

  You can do this, Kit. Prove to your dad, the town, and yourself you can do this.

  Steeling her determination, she stepped through the doorway. Her heels clicked on light tile flooring, and a deep breath caught in her lungs. Whatever she expected Betsy’s to be, it sure wasn’t this. Crossing the threshold of the old, rusty doorway was like crossing the threshold of time, back to prohibition days.

  On the back wall, thick wooden shelves stood tall, each one lined with a glass mirror that went from floor to ceiling. In front of the shelves stood a bar that went almost from one side of the pub to the next. The bar top shined a deep green marble, and the wooden surface of the base was so deep a brown it danced with the color black. Leather-covered stools lined the bar, while giant, rawhide plush chairs provided seating for the rest of the establishment, every two chairs sharing a small round table.

  All the walls except the back one were covered from floor to ceiling with intricately- carved, dark cherry wood. The tile under her feet, examining closer, had speckles of green to add a bit of contrast to all the dark wood, and the ceiling above her had a cloud like mural painted in various shades of gold, yellows, browns, blacks and a touch of green.

  To the left circled a spiral staircase wide enough for three people to go up at a time, the rails the same deep cherry wood colors as the walls. Whatever the history of this building, Kit could imagine something like this back in its prime. A flapper sitting beside her soldier at the bar, stroking his ear, whispering the things she wanted to do to him later that night as he smoked his cigar, each drinking their illegal booze.

  The outside décor suddenly made sense. The only thing missing was a deep, dark stairwell as soon as one entered the bar.

  “You’re here.” Brant’s voice caught her off guard.

  She
pivoted his direction. “Yes. This place is…” She opened her mouth but meaningful words escaped her. “I mean… just wow.”

  “You like it?” Brant smiled and a faint blush peppered his cheeks.

  “Like it? Brant, this is unlike anything I have ever seen before. Places like this only exist in cities like New York. Not Stony Brook, Texas. How come I haven’t heard more about this?”

  “I know, I haven’t done such a good job of getting the news out, but that’s why you’re here. I obviously need your help.” Brant stared at her like she held the answer to all his problems as he stepped closer, closing the distance between them.

  Her heart did a flip as her body gave a nervous jolt, and instead of staring in his deep green eyes, she focused on the green of the tile. Interesting. The colors looked the same.

  Hell.

  She stared at the bar instead.

  Shit, green there too. She focused on a plush leather chair. There. No Brant reminder there. Except for the fact that he picked that chair, and it’s in his bar, and…she’d lost her mind. Twenty-six years old and she had gone absolutely coo-coo over the weekend.

  “Kit? Kit?” Brant moved his head to catch her gaze.

  She refocused on him again. “Uh, yeah?”

  “I asked if you wanted a tour.”

  “A tour? Yes.” She gave him a tight smile. “That would be great. And then I guess we can discuss everything you want for the grand opening. Two weeks doesn’t give us much time.”

  And while the place was magnificent, nothing about it said, “Betsy.” A feminine touch was definitely in order to balance out all the masculinity of the place.

  “True.” Brant nodded. “But I have faith in you.”

  And luckily, after seeing the inside, she had faith in herself too. And absolutely no costumes this time. At least none on her, but the word costume did give her an idea.

  “Would you like to go put your purse in the office?”