by Erin Bevan
“Kit, look at me,” he whispered.
She opened her eyes. He had a half smile on his face as he stared up at her. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s this. You’re my boss.”
“I think we’ve taken our relationship to another level besides employee to boss, don’t you?”
“Yes, that’s my point,” she whined. “Are you going to fire me?”
He cocked his head back like he couldn’t believe she’d ask the question. “Fire you? No. Are you going to quit now?”
“No.” She shook her head. “I need my job.”
“And I’ll always need you, remember? In more ways than one.”
There was that line again. It was the same line he’d said last night that had resulted in her practicing her splits while lying on the cold granite countertop.
“You sure?”
“Of course.” He lifted a hand to her cheek. “And I’m sorry I didn’t go about this the proper way, dating first then bed time fun, but let me make that up to you.”
Their bed time had been fun. “How?”
“I want to take you out on a date. A real date. Well…” He raised an eyebrow and squeezed her arms a tad tighter. “Probably a breakfast date, as most of my nights the next few months will be getting the bar rolling, but I’ll bring you flowers and everything.”
“Flowers?” Kit couldn’t help the tug of her lips as she stared at him. His green eyes danced at the idea of taking her out. “I like flowers.” She leaned in closer. “And I like pancakes.”
“You do?” He tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear.
She scooted closer, her knees now hitting the side of the bed. His erection poked into the fabric pressed against her skin. Her stomach churned at the idea of round four.
“Kit.” He pulled back a little. “There’s something I need to tell—”
Oh God. The churning in her stomach accelerated to rip roaring, thrashing, crashing waves. Saliva filled her throat, a feeling she knew to happen only when…
“Oh God, Brant.” She dropped her clothes and ran to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. Almost there. Please let me make it.
“Kit,” he hollered behind her.
Hovering over his toilet, she let out the contents of this morning’s post-sex pizza fest. Oh, holy hell. Could this get any more embarrassing? He’d seen her be a bunny, cry in front of the entire city, and now, she crouched on his bathroom floor, hurling in his toilet. He might not fire her, but dating and donuts were probably out of the question.
“Kit, are you okay?”
She heard a phone ring on the other side of the door. “Brant here,” he answered.
“Oh, Ace, are you serious?” There was a long pause before he continued. “Yeah, the stomach flu is a pain. It’s okay. Get some rest man. I’ll cover the bar tonight.”
Stomach flu. Lord, if Ace had it and she had it, who else working for Brant had it?
The grand opening.
No.
Once she felt better, she flushed and stood, wiping her mouth on a hand towel by the sink. She had to suck it up. Had to. For Brant.
She stared at herself in the mirror. Her cheeks flamed a bright red, from embarrassment or sickness, she wasn’t sure which.
Suck it up, buttercup. You have work to do.
She opened the bathroom door, the towel still placed over her mouth. “Brant,” her voice muffled from the cloth. He stood by his dresser. He’d managed to pull on a T-shirt and a pair of jeans. “I’ll be fine. I’ll be able to work tonight.” She held the doorway for balance, her head tipsy and lightheaded, as she felt even more embarrassed because she stood in his bathroom doorway naked when he’d managed to be fully dressed.
“Oh, no you don’t.” He led her to the bed. “You rest. You programmed everything into my calendar. I know exactly what’s supposed to happen when.” He nudged her to sit. “Lie back.”
“Brant, I’m naked.”
“I know. Just the way I like you.” He kissed her forehead then grabbed the ends of the sheets and pulled them over her body. “I’ve got to get to the bar and start getting things in order since I’m playing Ace tonight. You rest. I’ll swing by this afternoon with some soup.” He patted the sheets around her body.
“Brant, this is sweet, but I could just go home.” He placed a hand on her forehead, gently rubbing.
“You could, but I like you here. Let me take care of you.”
Her insides warmed and tingled at his touch while her stomach churned. Perhaps she would just stay right there, for a little while at least, until her stomach settled. Besides, her car was still at the bar. She’d have to drive there first then home.
Gurgle. Snarl.
Her stomach was in no mood to travel. “Oh, Brant. I’m so sorry. Tonight is so important to you.”
“It’s all right. It’s important to you, too. I’ll just make sure everyone knows what spectacular work you did. Get some rest, Kitty Cat. See you later.”
He kissed her forehead before he bolted out of the bedroom. His footsteps echoed around his house, the jingle of his keys letting her know he’d grabbed them off the kitchen counter, and a click of the backdoor telling her he left.
But he would be back. With soup. The idea warmed her all over as another bout of nausea set in and had her moving faster than their relationship.
Chapter 8
Forty-five minutes.
Brant had forty-five minutes before the doors to his dream opened, and he didn’t have Kit by his side, or his main bartender.
He’d gone home to check on Kit earlier this afternoon, and she had been sound asleep, still naked in his bed. Not wanting to wake her, he made quick order of getting ready for the evening.
When he went to leave, he placed a kiss on her warm forehead. He’d been sure to leave some medicine and a glass of water on the nightstand for when she woke up, along with a fresh container of soup.
A few of his other staff members knew the drinks, but they didn’t have the leadership skills Ace did. He needed someone who could keep everyone on their toes, and Ace was the man for the job. Brant needed to be back of the house, front of the house, and everywhere in between, greeting and thanking guests who’d arrived.
He’d have to make it work. No choice.
He was placing fresh glasses on the shelves behind the bar when he heard hard footsteps trotting on the tile. His front of the house crew should be arriving any minute. Someone must be early. He turned, but instead of his hired hands, Harry, the bartender from Jake’s, stared back at him.
“Harry.” Brant held out his hand. “How are you, man?” The burly guy had on a pair of ragged jeans, and another flannel button-up shirt. His hair was about a week past needing a cut, but at least all of his chest hair remained covered.
“Good. Good.” Harry clasped Brant’s hand to shake it.
“What brings you by? You don’t need a job, do you? Because I need a bartender.”
“Actually, I was here to see if that job still stands. I could use one.”
“Still stands if you can start right now. You’ll need a white shirt and a pair of black pants. Got that?”
“Back at home, yeah.”
“And you’ll need to read over this menu in a hurry and learn our drinks. All come with some sort of garnish, lime, lemon, orange wedge, etc. Got it?”
“You’re referring to the lemon I didn’t give you for your girl’s Seven and Seven. Listen, Jake is a cheap SOB. Said I couldn’t give out the ‘squeezes,’” Harry did air quotes with his finger, “unless customers specifically asked for them. Bastard’s so cheap he stopped paying me for my overtime. That’s why I quit.”
“Well, I’ll tell you what. You make sure you make those drinks properly, and I’ll pay you fifteen an hour plus you get to keep your tips.”
“You could have had me at ten.” Harry held out his hand again to Brant.
Brant pumped the guy’s meaty palm, then ran around the bar. “I’m so glad you showed up. My
main bartender, Ace, came down with the stomach flu.”
“Yeah, it’s going around. Hey, where’s pretty thing at? Did she keep the job you offered her?”
“Pretty thing’s name is Kit, and yes, she did. But, she’s at home sick with the stomach flu also.”
“Man.” Harry shook his head. “That’s a shame. A pretty girl like that, a man would want to keep her company, make sure she is well taken care of.”
Brant cracked his neck, remembering Harry’s comments at Jake’s about having to swoop in if Brant didn’t.
“Yes, well, she is in bed, in my bed, resting.” Brant slapped Harry on the back. Hard.
“Hey.” Harry pulled his shoulder back. “Ease up there, boss. I’m guessing if she’s in your bed you told her the truth about who you were.”
The truth. Shit.
Something that didn’t quite come out as easily as their clothes had come off. Damn, she was going to hate him. Then sue him.
“Well…” Brant cringed. “Not exactly.”
“Damn, boss. You’re in deep shit. You better tell her the truth, like now.”
If another employee talked to him so candidly, he might be irritated and then they’d be fired, but the only thing that really irritated him was himself. Harry spoke the one hundred percent truth, and Brant, well, he had been a complete dipshit.
“I will, tonight. But right now, we have a grand opening in like…” Brant stared at his watch. “Thirty minutes. Get home, get changed, and get back, quick.”
“Sure, boss. See you in a minute.” Harry saluted him and headed for the front door.
Brant turned and marched back to the bar area.
Harry’s muffled voice sounded behind him. “Evening, Mr. Mayor.”
Mr. Mayor?
Brant swiveled on his heels and stared at the entrance of the bar. There, in living color, was his father and his stepmother. Two people who were supposed to be off celebrating their anniversary.
“Dad? Regina? I thought you guys were out of town tonight?”
“You don’t think I’d miss my only son’s grand opening, do you?”
“Your father insisted.” Regina flapped open her hand bag and pulled out a cosmetic kit.
“Well, that’s very nice of you guys to come, but you shouldn’t have cancelled your plans for this.”
“Nonsense.” His sister waddled behind their father, her husband, Greg, closing in behind. “None of us wanted to miss it.”
“Yes.” May stepped up from the back of the group, showing herself. “None of us wanted to miss it, but I will admit, my invitation must have gotten lost in the mail.”
Yeah, if lost meant never sent, then sure. None of his family, besides his sister and Greg had been invited. And yet, they were all here.
Brant blew out a breath. This wasn’t something he wanted to deal with tonight, but out of everything going wrong, at least one thing did go right. Kit wouldn’t be here tonight to find out his secret. He still had time to tell her on his own. Right after the bar closed. And he would because a girl like her deserved the truth. The full truth, and he’d been a terrible man from keeping it from her.
Chapter 9
Kit wrapped herself in the comfort of Brant’s shirt. All day she’d lay in his bed, running between the warmth of his sheets to the cold porcelain of his toilet. Her stomach had finally settled around six p.m. and at seven, she was able to reheat and eat the soup he had placed on the nightstand for her.
Brant, for lack of better words, was a keeper. He’d rescued her from the park, rescued her in her time of need with a job, and now he’d stolen her heart as he made every effort to see to her comfort during the busiest time of his life.
Her heart ached for him. He’d mentioned over the past week that no one in his family, besides maybe his sister, would show up for the opening. And while Kit gathered his dear mother looked down on him from Heaven, it still wasn’t the same as having an actual mother there with you, to celebrate your successes.
Kit kicked her feet over the bed and glanced at her phone. Ten p.m. The party would last another hour and the bar wouldn’t close until one. She could be there for the end. Tell him how proud she was of him and for him. With anyone else, after only two weeks working together, those sentiments would seem rushed, but with Brant, nothing about their relationship seemed normal or even real. He understood her, her fear of failure, and her desire to make something of herself.
Yes, she had to get to him. Let him know someone who cared for him stood by his side.
She pushed off the bed, and thankfully her stomach didn’t churn. Her energy remained low, but a bit of Gatorade could help. She put on last night’s clothes, ran his brush through her hair, and found a spare toothbrush in the medicine cabinet. One click quick of an app, and a driver would be at his house to pick her up in five minutes.
Her heart raced as she tidied his room and headed for the front door.
Just a few more minutes, Brant. I’m coming.
“Wow, I’ve never seen so many cars before,” the driver said as he pulled up to the alley of Betsy’s.
Kit stopped applying her lipstick and stared at the main drag. Cars lined every available space on both sides of the curb. The press releases Brant wrote, along with the social media ads she’d started, all seemed to have paid off. Her stomach danced with excitement as her fingers shook on the door handle. “Isn’t it great? Thanks for the ride.” She closed her compact and lipstick tube and tossed them all back in her purse. Thankfully, she always carried a few enhancements with her. After a day like she’d had, she could definitely use a bit more mascara and blush, but she’d make do with what she had.
She stepped out, careful not to let her heel sink in any of the cracks in the road. Steadily making her way down the alley, she waved hello to the two bouncers Brant hired to stand by the door and stepped into the foyer. The new hostess, Lacey, greeted her, raising her voice above the noise of the swing music playing in the background along with the noise of customers talking. “Kit, you’re here. Mr. Brant said you weren’t coming.”
“I was sick earlier, but I had to come. Tell me, Lacey, do I look okay? I had to apply my makeup in the car.”
“Amazing as ever.”
“How is everything going?” Kit peeked into the main room to get a glimpse. Customers weaved between each other. Every table in the place was full, and the line at the bar wrapped all the way to the spiral staircase.
“Crazy busy. I think Mr. Brant is stressed. Word is some random guy showed up at the last minute to play bartender, then his dad showed up.”
“Oh?” Kit stared wide-eyed at Lacey. “That’s good.”
“Yeah, I guess, but I don’t think Mr. Brant is happy. His dad keeps talking about mayor stuff, and I don’t think Mr. Brant likes his stepmother. He seems a bit uptight.”
Mayor stuff? Uptight. She could see why someone talking politics would make him uptight. With the political world in such upheaval, who wanted that at their grand opening? Her decision to come settled her nerves. He needed a friend. He needed her. “Well, let me go tell him I’m here.”
“I saw him in the office a few minutes ago.”
A couple stepped in through the entrance, and Kit stepped out of the way. “Thanks, Lacey.”
“No problem.” The hostess grabbed a pair of menus and showed the guests to the bar.
Kit shuffled through the throngs of people, her route to their office completely blocked. Mayor Fuller and his wife stood by the bar. His boisterous voice carried so loud, she wondered if there was anyone in the bar who couldn’t hear him.
“I’m so proud of my boy.” He spoke to someone standing next to him. “He’s done a fine job. So proud,” the man shouted to the couple standing next to him.
What the heck had his son done that was so amazing? Probably nothing as awesome as what Brant had done. She shuffled past a few other people and caught a glimpse of Mrs. Fuller standing next to the mayor. She had a placated smile on her face, but her stiff
posture read she’d rather be anywhere but here. Like that anniversary trip they were supposed to be on. No wonder Brant was upset. His father must be the man talking with Mayor Fuller. Lacey had said the man talked political talk. Perhaps somehow they could come up with a plan to get the mayor to stop talking.
“Kit, you made it.” Kyle, a bus boy, tossed her a smile.
“Barely.” She winked at the young guy and weaved between a few more people. Nervous jitters coursed through her. A different kind than every other time she graced the door to their office. These were jitters of excitement, anticipation. Would he be happy to see her? Of course he would. Kit shook off the stupid doubts. They’d planned this party together.
The black door to their office stood closed. She reached for the cool brass handle and turned.
This woman needed to get out of his office. Now.
Brant had rushed in here to sneak a peek at the schedule. In his mingling, he’d lost all track of time and the order of the events, and stopping in the main area to read his cellphone calendar would appear unprofessional. Besides, he needed a second to breathe. Kit had worked hard at scheduling a giant confetti drop on the entire bar right after he made his thank-you speech. And for the life of him, he couldn’t remember what time that was supposed to take place. Last thing he needed was a million pieces of confetti dropping on everyone and in their food and drinks before he had a chance to warn the crowd or his bartenders to close all bottles and all ice buckets.
“You know, Brant,” May closed the door behind her, “this party of yours sure is nice.”
“Thanks, May.” Brant gave her a passing glance then placed both palms flat on his desk as he leaned over and stared back at his schedule. If he ignored her, then maybe she would leave. She was usually good at reading body language, or fondling bodies, anyway. The woman should know a closed-off stance when she saw one.
He read his calendar: Seven o’clock: Open. Check. Eight o’clock: Happy Hour. Check.
