by Vesper Young
Yeah, Samson hadn’t told me getting into bar fights with customers was a bad move, probably because it was supposed to be obvious, but I was tempted.
I distracted myself by taking in the surroundings. The bar’s furniture was outdated and worn. To Samson’s credit, the place was mostly clean and the small kitchen in the back made good food, even if half the appliances didn’t work. The servers seemed happy, and not just the fake happy that’s expected from customer service. Coworkers traded jokes and smiles in passing; regulars were greeted warmly. The Rattler was a good place. I wouldn’t need to change things too radically, just update them a bit. These assessments came second nature after so many years at the helm of a company. Figure out who was used to slacking, who went above and beyond. If things were working well, no need to insert radical changes. A few smooth adjustments could do wonders, and I’d turned that into a science.
Those cold assessments went out the window when it came to Kara. Even when I made a cursory effort to readjust my focus, my attention faithfully returned to her, catching the shine of her hair, the melody of her laugh. Eventually I gave up all pretense and watched, waiting for an opening to talk to her.
It was just after ten when I saw my chance. The first shift had ended, which meant Kara was getting ready to leave. I caught up to her at the coat rack.
When she turned to face me, she didn’t smile. Not even the fake one she hadn’t let drop once when behind the bar. She just stared in my direction, like she wanted to be anywhere else.
All of a sudden I wasn’t sure what to say. A decade of imagining seeing her again hadn’t prepared me for the reality.
“Mr. Northman,” she said coolly. It seemed she wasn’t nearly as keen to talk to me.
“Mr. Northman? Kara, you know damn well I’m Luke to you.” My words reflected my exasperation.
That, in turn, seemed to annoy her. “No, you’re my boss. And right now, I’m off the clock. Good-bye, Mr. Northman.”
It was like she was trying to piss me off. “If that’s how you want it.” That’s not how it’ll stay. “As your boss, I need to speak to you about something business-related.”
She crossed her arms, staring up at me in disbelief. “Seriously? Talk to Amelia, she’d be more than happy to talk business with you.” She almost looked surprised at herself when she said that, as if she hadn’t expected to sound so angry. Then she recovered, the cold wall back in place as she determinedly stared at some point past my head.
I didn’t have a clue who Amelia was, though I suspected it was the red-head I’d nodded at before. I tried not to smirk at her jealous tone. She must’ve still felt something, even if she wasn’t embracing it like I was.
“Look, you majored in interior design, right? You know as well as I do the bar needs some work done. You know the vibe of this place; you’ll be able to help me figure out what will draw in new faces without turning off the locals.”
She blinked at me, as if she couldn’t believe I’d really wanted to talk business. I was a bit surprised at myself too, considering I’d pulled it out of nowhere. But as I spoke, I realized it made sense. Kara had always had an amazing sense of aesthetics. Hell, one long weekend at my place she’d taken it upon herself to rearrange my cramped room’s furniture. When she was done, it somehow felt more spacious and tasteful even when it got as disorderly as any college dude’s space.
“I can’t do it. I never got my degree.”
It was clear from her tone the statement wasn’t an invitation for questions. No matter that I wanted to know what had changed when I left.
“That doesn’t matter. You know your shit, Kara. I need you.” I needed her badly, but not for the bar.
For a moment, I saw her waver. I pressed the advantage.
“I’ll pay you a consulting fee. Say, a hundred an hour?”
That got her attention.
“Seriously?”
I nodded. “Absolutely.”
She bit the bottom of her lip, considering. That habit hadn’t clearly changed over time.
“Alright,” she conceded. “But it’ll have to be between nine and two, and no weekends. And now I need to go home.”
“That works for me.” I’d have agreed to just about anything she said. Anything as long as I got to keep her in my sights.
This time, I wasn’t letting Kara Iver go without a fight.
4. Kara
Lucas—Mr. Northman, I kept reminding myself—let me know I wouldn’t start “consulting” for a couple weeks. He wanted to focus on the backend first, updating the kitchen, getting things up to code. I hadn’t even known we’d been grandfathered into lower standards, which apparently wasn’t good enough to him. Typical.
Every time I went in, things were a bit better, for the Rattler anyway. My coworkers seemed to have warmed up to our new boss. Amelia made doe-eyes at him every chance she got, and despite being the closest thing I had to a friend at the Rattler, I wanted to strangle her. And Lucas. Particularly Lucas.
I was admittedly anxious to start consulting. A hundred an hour, even after taxes, would be incredibly helpful. I knew if things ever got really bad, I could reach out to my friend Mindy, even if it would sting my pride. She understood what it was like to be on a budget, though now that she’d gotten hitched to her boss she didn’t need to. Still, her habits hadn’t changed despite her newfound wealth. She was frugal, but more relaxed.
I wasn’t particularly bad off. The city wasn’t cheap, especially with a child, even though I’d been lucky to get my two-bedroom apartment for a steal. Missing those shifts had made things a bit tight, sure. With the slower winter season fast approaching, tips would be slightly down. So, yeah, the consulting would help and I wouldn’t be ashamed to take the money even if I’d never finished my degree.
I’d quickly learned working two jobs, in addition to being a new mother with a limited support system, wasn’t conducive to being a full-time student. I hadn’t even been able to manage part-time, though I hoped one day to get the last thirty or so credits I needed.
The elephant in the room was our past relationship. And I spent my shifts dancing around its chunky invisible body. I kept busier than ever behind the bar, making small talk even when my smile felt like it would crack on my face. Breaks? I took them whenever Lucas was safely distracted sorting out a customer dispute or checking in on people. I’d clearly peaked in where Ryan did in maturity levels.
All my avoiding and pretending-Lucas-didn’t-exist-while-being-hyperaware-of-him didn’t stop my breath from catching when I saw him. Not every time. Just when he’d be leaning against the wall, eyes flickering around the bar to make sure everything was in order in the way that let you know he saw everything. Or when he’d roll his shoulders back and shake himself off after he’d been sitting in the office. Or when the fading sunset would catch his hair, softly framing him like a halo.
Okay, it was also pretty much every time I saw him.
It wasn’t my fault. Every time I saw him, it felt like the day Samson announced he’d sold the bar and we’d stood across the room. I couldn’t believe he was here. I was reeling and failing to process what this would mean for everything.
Tonight was a Friday late shift, at least. I’d missed out on the happy hour rush, and the folks who tended to drink too much would be well past drunk by closing, but the reality was Friday night tips were pretty okay. If I got enough extra, I might even be able to take Ryan out somewhere fun that weekend.
The Rattler was unusually packed. A glance at the TVs told me about some sports game going on.
I tried not to visibly deflate. Sports drinkers were different from the regulars who came in. They tipped less and tended to drop their glasses. Or throw them at the televisions, at least one of which was directly behind the bar. Where I worked.
To make matters worse, Amelia was off. On a night like this we wouldn’t have much time to talk, but there’s a lot to be said for a familiar face.
Speaking of which… Lucas was here. H
e was standing by one of the tables, arm propped up on the booth’s frame, chatting with some customers. He was wearing his staple, dark jeans and a black V-neck that clearly displayed the definition in his arms. He looked casual. He looked completely comfortable in the space.
He looked hot.
It was impossible not to stare and let my eyes roam over his body. As if he could feel my gaze, he turned away from the guests and looked at me.
Crap.
He leaned back to disengage from the people he’d been talking to a moment ago. I rushed to the back to hang up my coat so I could get to work. I’d agreed to consult for him, which would inevitably have one-on-one time, but it didn’t mean I had to face him now, right?
Instead I got behind the bar. Tonight, I was on duty with Ethan. He was already chatting with the people physically at the bar, so I was by default in charge of getting drink orders handled. In the end, the bartenders split tips from the shift, so one was as good as the other. The downside to this was that it was a lot harder to avoid Lucas.
Because I was a hypocrite who couldn’t make up her mind, I wished Amelia was here to flirt with him and keep my ex-boyfriend at a distance.
Huh. Ex-boyfriend.
Somehow I’d never thought of him that way. He was The Boyfriend, in my head, even if it was in past tense. More than that, he was the father of my child.
The thought hit me right as Lucas walked up behind the bar towards me. I didn’t process what he said, caught in the tornado of “how do I fix this mess?”
“Huh?” I said intelligently. Well, intelligently for a caveman.
“I asked how your week was.” He didn’t seem to mind my inattention. He gave me a smile, a mind-melting smile that made me want to smile back.
So I turned back to the shelf of drinks and started pouring the next order.
“It’s been fine. How was yours?”
“Good. Electrician agreed to come in Monday and thinks by mid-next week everything will be up to snuff. Then we can start meeting and talk about redecorating.”
I nodded. I wasn’t sure what to say to Lucas. When I looked at him, I was taken back to our time in college, carefree and in love. A time when I’d been able to tell him anything and everything. The more I looked at him, the more I saw Ryan’s features on his face. More accurately, I saw where Ryan got his features. That made it hard to breathe.
Lucas stopped talking, intuitively knowing my mind was elsewhere. He didn’t say anything for a moment, just watched my face as if he could figure out what I was worried about.
I looked away. I was worried that, somehow, he might know me so well he’d pluck the thought right from my head.
“Next week, then,” I finally said, just to break the silence. Granted, it wasn’t silent in the bar, but when I was this close to him, it was like there was a bubble around us that stopped anything from getting in. A girl could forget herself in that bubble.
Thankfully, said bubble was burst a moment later when Julie came up, her notepad in hand.
“I need to take my break. These are the drink orders for table six. Do you mind taking them over?”
“No problem,” I assured her. Julia was frazzled, a vaguely panicked expression on her face.
Normally, someone else would cover her tables while on break, but busy as it was easier to cut out the middleman and have me bring them over. I glanced at the notepad, noting from the corner of my eye that Lucas moved out from behind the bar to let me get to work. Which was good because it was hard to focus around him. I’d be liable to make a gin and tonic with ouzo if he kept staring at me.
Thankfully, the drink orders were pretty basic. Five different beers, two on tap, three in bottles. A glance at table six told me the people matched their drink orders; it looked like recent grads, the frat type that wound up working on Wall Street, I guessed by the suits they wore and the way they were drinking. I took the tray over, customer service smile bright on my face while I dodged a few french fries that had fallen on the floor.
I plastered my smile in place when I set the tray down, reaching over to hand the beers to the respective drinkers and pretended I didn’t hear the not-so-quiet whispering the guys did to each other, followed by the not-at-all-quiet guffaws. It was the usual comments about my “rack” or whatever else drunk guys thought was hysterical after a couple rounds. And from the way two of them had already half-finished the beers I’d just brought over they were going to get very, very drunk.
“Thanks, babe,” one of them said, his smirk indicating he thought he was as charming as could be.
My smile remained frozen in place. I couldn’t mess with Julie’s tips just because him calling me babe made me want to dump the rest of his drink on him. So I nodded in acknowledgment, silently using my own terms of endearment befitting his piggish behavior.
My smile only slipped once I turned away, tray by my side, when I felt a sudden smack against my ass.
Oh, no, he didn’t.
From the cackling behind me, one of them had indeed.
I turned around. It was immediately clear who the handsy one had been—the same one that called me babe.
That pissed me off even more.
I gripped my tray, about to lift it and whack him. That would definitely get me fired, and I couldn’t afford to be fired, but I really, really wanted to.
Before I finished deciding against it, Lucas appeared. He’d seen what happened, and he looked every bit as pissed as I felt.
One hand was balled in a fist at his side, like he was trying not to deck the frat dude. He pointed his finger at him.
“What the fuck was that?” he demanded.
“Chill, man, I was just playing.” The table laughed, a bit nervously in the way drunks do when they know something’s up but aren’t really sure how it’s gonna go.
“Don’t give me that shit.”
The laughter died off and the spectators glanced between each other. All except the one who grabbed me. He looked up at Lucas, trying to seem defiant even though he’d started slurring his words.
“You’re not i’volved in this. Go away. We’re just flirting.”
Then he had the balls to look at me for confirmation. Like he was some hotshot I’d fall over myself to defend. “Right, babe?”
If Lucas looked pissed before, now he was furious. Me, I was simply stunned this guy was so out of it he thought I would defend him.
Lucas leaned in and grabbed the hotshot frat dude’s collar.
“Hey!” he yelped. His buddies made small noises of protest in sympathy, but none of them dared make a move against Lucas.
When he spoke, Lucas's voice was low and menacing. “She’s not your babe. She’s not your anything. All she is to you is the woman you’re going to apologize to before I kick you and your shithead buddies out of my bar, and you’re gonna damn well hope I don’t press charges.”
“Charges?” Hotshot sputtered. “For what? Slapping her ass?”
“For assaulting my employee.” Lucas’s voice was even, the words made of cold steel, in sharp contrast to Hotshot’s sputtered defense.
“Says who? None of us saw any assault.” He pulled back, hard to do with Lucas him by his tie, to wink at his buddies.
Oh, God, he must’ve been a lawyer wannabe. But he was right. It’d be his word against ours if we pressed charges.
Lucas let go of the tie abruptly, causing the wannabe lawyer to fall back against the booth.
“It’s all on camera, you fucking idiot.” He jabbed his thumb backward.
I glanced backward, surprised. Sure enough, a shiny new camera was mounted inconspicuously in the corner. In fact, there were several. Lucas had clearly been doing more than just getting the place up to code.
“Now apologize. Or I’m calling the cops about a bunch of drunks in my bar and by the time they get here, those drunks might have a few black eyes.”
Hotshot Lawyer Wannabe started to look a little less certain. He glanced at his buddies.
“C�
��mon, Paul, just say you’re sorry and let’s bounce,” one of them urged.
“Fine. Sorry,” Paul spat out. Actually, he also let a bit of spit hit the table. Yuck.
I didn’t bother nod in acknowledgement, just stepped back with Lucas so they could get up. Not taking any chances, he followed them to the door while I made my way back to the bar. Once they were outside, he said a few words I couldn’t hear. The guys took off quickly and Lucas came back in. He came up behind the bar again, leaning against the side. He angled his body towards the front in warning, but his eyes were trained on me.
“You alright?” he asked.
“I’m fine. You didn’t have to do that,” I told him, even though I was glad they were gone.
He shook his head before I even finished speaking. “I don’t want people like that in my bar.”
“They were just drunk.” Why I was defending them? They were shitheads, like he’d said earlier.
The look he gave me said he couldn’t believe I was defending them either.
“Okay, yeah, they sucked,” I admitted. “But that comes with the territory. I knew that when I carried the tray over. And I don’t need someone to come to my rescue and defend my honor just because some idiot gets handsy.”
Why I was so annoyed? Didn’t people want other people who would stick up for them and defend them? It was nice to have someone watch your back.
But the issue was I didn’t know if I could trust Lucas to always have my back. In fact, I was almost sure I couldn’t. And if I started expecting him to be there, the day he wasn’t I’d be crushed all over again.
Through all this, Lucas didn’t say a word. Didn’t tell me I was wrong, didn’t ask why I was being such a bitch. Just leaned back and looked at me. He didn’t even seem angry at what I was saying, however ungrateful it was. He was looking at me like a puzzle he wanted to figure out.
“Look, thank you,” I said. “I get it. You don’t want that vibe for here while you’re running the Rattler, and I respect it. The cameras are a nice touch. But I can handle myself and I want you to know that.”
