by Ava Harrison
It’s only my demons that taunt me.
Throwing it in my bag, I move to grab Carter. “Let’s go, bud,” I say, trying and failing several times to help him to his feet.
His arms flail before I’m finally able to drape the one around my shoulder. We wobble to the cab, and I help lower him into the seat.
“Is he going to get sick in here?” the crotchety man barks from the front seat.
“If he does, I’ll pay to have it cleaned,” I hiss before rattling off my address.
He’s just coherent enough that I don’t fear an overdose, but there’s absolutely no way I’m deserting him tonight. His head falls limply to my shoulder, and I look down to ensure he’s breathing.
“T-Thanks, Bae,” he slurs.
My hand finds his, and I squeeze it in reassurance.
“We’re going to figure this out, Carter. I’m going to help.”
If not for Harper, I’d probably be dead. She pulled me out from the darkness and gave me light. I’ll be Carter’s Harper. Tonight, I’ll watch over him, but tomorrow, a plan needs to be put into place because if he keeps up this toxic behavior, it’ll be the death of him.
After I get Carter back to my place, I strip him down to his boxers and have him climb in under my covers. I’m snuggled into his side, listening to his steady breaths and contemplating my next move when he speaks.
“I’m sorry you had to see me like this.”
“I’ve been there, Carter. I was taking pills and drinking myself to death. You don’t have to apologize to me. I just want you to be okay.”
He sighs. “Things aren’t good, B. I’m blowing every paycheck on drugs. I’m about to lose my place and still . . . I dunno.”
“How late are you on rent?” I ask, afraid to know the answer.
“Three months. I just got another eviction notice. I’ve been dodging my landlord.”
I blow out a deep breath, feeling for him. I’d just been in a similar situation myself, albeit not because of addiction—for once.
“If Drew finds out, he’s gonna kill me,” he murmurs.
“Well, then he can’t find out,” I say with a sense of determination.
Carter is my lifeline at Silver. I can’t lose him.
“We’ll figure it out. Tonight, sleep,” I instruct, and he does as I suggest.
Within minutes, he’s snoring into my ear, and as annoying as that would be any other night, it’s music to my ears tonight. Because that means he’s alive.
I can’t sleep, so I quietly exit the room and pad to the kitchen, grabbing my comfort food of Oreos and milk. Tonight has been a bit much, and I need something to calm my nerves. I dip the chocolate cookie into the chilled milk and allow it to sit for a few seconds. I count. One . . . two . . . three, finally lifting the cookie that’s falling apart. My lips wrap around the spoon, and I moan at the gooey goodness.
For these few minutes, I’m not thinking about pills and addiction. I’m not worried about losing another friend too soon. In the quiet of my little place, Oreo cookies in hand, I carry out my father’s and my tradition, and I’m able to escape the world. If only for a moment.
15
Bailey
I wake the next morning to a text from Drew. It’s an address with a simple command to be at the above location by eleven. Then another text comes through.
Drew: We will be working through lunch.
I groan. What have I gotten myself into?
I look down at Carter, who is curled in the fetal position and snoring away.
“What am I gonna do with you?” I say aloud.
It’s already nine, and I need to take a shower before meeting Drew. I turn on my computer and type in the address, trying to figure out where I’m meeting him. He didn’t give me any more details about where we were going, dress attire, etc.
I chew on my bottom lip when I see it’s an address for an upscale restaurant that, from what I’ve heard, serves an amazing brunch. Well, at least I’d be treated to some good food.
I lightly shake Carter’s shoulders, and he cracks open one eye.
“Where am I?” he asks, voice groggy and full of sleep.
“You’re at my place. I wasn’t gonna take you home. Not that you were in any condition to even tell me where home is,” I bemoan.
He sits up, looking straight ahead, refusing to meet my eyes.
“Listen, Bailey.” He pauses as if trying to formulate his words. I think he’s going to change the subject, but I see his face drop, and he continues. “I’m so sorry. You shouldn’t have seen me like that.”
My lips are pressed into a thin line, and I don’t say a word. I wasn’t going to lecture him because I am the last person who has any right, but I also don’t want him to think that was okay.
He knows I’m dealing with my own shit and being thrust right into the middle of someone else’s has the ability to throw any recovering addict back into the fray. At least he has the decency to look regretful. That’s a start.
But at the end of the day, this isn’t about me and my issues. My friend needs help. He’s in bad shape, and if I don’t step in, who will?
“What made you get like that?” I ask, because there’s always a reason behind that type of use.
He looks away from me, but I don’t miss the way his cheeks redden.
His voice is thick when he asks, “The truth?” He’s staring at the ceiling and still not looking at me. I remain quiet, allowing him to speak on his terms.
“Your promotion,” he finally says, and my head jerks back as if he’s slapped me.
I’m the reason he used?
“How so?” My question comes out with the exact inflection to showcase my bafflement. He sighs. “I’m happy for you, Bailey. Truly. It has nothing to do with you, just the fact that you’re moving ahead while I’m stuck in the same rut. I just feel like my life isn’t going anywhere. I’m a middle-aged bartender with no real direction.”
He runs his hands roughly down his face, finally looking at me.
“You know how hard it’ll be for me to get clean working at a bar.” He looks tormented, and I have the dire need to reach out and soothe away his pain.
It won’t be enough.
“I’m going to die from this shit, Bae. I don’t know how to stop.”
A tear runs down his cheek, and my heart threatens to crack in my chest. His pain is palpable, and I feel it so acutely as if it’s my own pain. Having been in his exact situation, I empathize more than most ever could. I want to help him, but he has to want to help himself before anything I do will work. His words seem like a cry for help as far as I’m concerned, so I’ll offer help.
“I’ll help you, Carter. I promise.”
He smiles, but it’s written all over his face—he doesn’t believe help is possible.
My smile falls a bit at the realization, but I know it’s time for me to get a move on. This conversation will have to pick up at another time if I don’t want to be late for my first official day.
“Listen, I have to get going.”
“Ah, first day,” he says with a fake smile plastered to his face. He’s trying to be supportive, but I know it’s hard, considering what he just confessed. “I’ll grab a cab.”
I pull him into a hug and squeeze. “I’ll see you later?”
He nods before I run off to shower, leaving him to pull himself together and find his way home. The conversation about getting clean will happen. I’ll make sure of it.
But something else niggles at the back of my mind with everything Carter said. Why did Drew give me this job?
I’m seated at a small, round table in a back corner of some grand restaurant on the Upper East Side. The place has an old-world charm to it. White marble columns bleed into the white marble floors, and ivy vines snake their way up the posts. The entire ceiling in the section where I sit consists of windows like a greenhouse. There are trees and bushes throughout the interior, making you feel like you’re in a garden and not indoors. The
white tables coupled with yellow high-back chairs make everything bright and airy.
I might not know much about Drew Lawson, but this place doesn’t fit his personality. The fact he chose this one of all the restaurants in this area is surprising. This place couldn’t be any further in style from Silver.
My eyes wander the room when they catch on the sight of Drew. He’s wearing a dark navy suit, sans tie, and the first two buttons of his white collared shirt are undone. The virility of the man is so potent, I almost choke on it. He is beautiful—in an all man sort of way. His confident gait makes my mouth water.
Get ahold of yourself.
I blow out a harsh breath, tearing my eyes away from him, hoping that the burning in my cheeks dissipates before he makes it to the table.
“Thank you, Gary,” Drew says to the graying man on his right.
They shake hands, and the man walks off while Drew pulls out the chair across from me and takes a seat.
“Glad to see you made it here on time,” he drawls, voice husky as though he’d just woken up.
I really need to stop thinking about all the ways in which Drew Lawson is sexy as hell. It won’t fare well for me if he realizes how affected I am by his mere presence. I need this position, and if I can’t be professional, it won’t work out.
“Yeah, I made it,” I reply, looking around the place and noticing, upon closer inspection, that it’s not at all as it seems.
The wallpaper on one wall is yellowed—likely due to the direct sunshine streaming down on it daily. It is tearing away from the wall in places too. The marble is chipped in places, and many of the chairs have torn upholstery.
For as regal as the place had seemed at first sight, it’s actually falling apart, which makes me even more curious as to why we are here.
“You see what I see,” Drew remarks, drawing my attention back to him.
“Huh?” I say, pulling away from my inspection and not fully hearing his words.
“The place is a wreck. It’s in dire need of a facelift.”
“I don’t know,” I muse. “It has a sort of charm to it.”
“It’s literally falling apart, Bailey. That’s why we’re here.”
My eyes snap back to his. “We are? How so?”
“I’m in the process of buying it,” he says flippantly, and my eyebrows rise.
“And this impacts my job as an accountant how?”
He huffs out a laugh. “You’re not going to be doing my accounting.”
“I’m not?” I’m starting to sound like an imbecile, and I hate feeling off-kilter in his presence.
“No. You don’t have a degree in accounting. I only said that to gauge your willingness to take on challenges. You passed, by the way.” He smirks. “No, you’ll be my assistant. As such, you’ll work with my accountants, but your job will be more evolving.”
“So . . . you don’t know what my job will actually be?” I challenge, starting to feel like he’s messing with me. Who offers up a job they haven’t already thought through? What is he playing at?
“You’re going to help me with a number of jobs, Bailey. I’m branching out and buying several restaurants in the city. I need someone to help with hiring, training, managing teams of contractors, etcetera, etcetera.”
My eyes widen with every additional task he adds to the list. It’s sounding more and more like a real job with every word he speaks.
“No need to worry, Bailey, you’ll be compensated appropriately. How does project manager sound?”
“Fancy,” I deadpan, starting to feel inadequate for such a position.
“Stop it, Bailey. You can do this. I watched you handle everything that was thrown at you at Silver. This isn’t brain surgery. It’s simply organizing projects and people. You’ll have a team to carry out the tasks. You can do this.” His gray eyes bore into me, conveying that he truly does believe what he’s saying. But how? He doesn’t know me. Regardless, it warms me to have his absolute confidence. I only hope I don’t screw it up.
16
Drew
I can see it in Bailey’s eyes. She’s petrified. She is in no way qualified for the job I’m giving her, but I don’t doubt she can do it. Watching her work the other night had been eye-opening.
She worked circles around my best girls without so much as a complaint. She is hungry for the money, and this position will change her life.
It will help her.
It will help you.
I’m doing this for her, not for me, not in some sick, twisted way to redeem myself from my own twisted path. But as much as I think these words, they feel shallow even to me.
Does it matter the reason or the why?
I shake the thoughts away.
Bailey will be put out of temptation’s way and get paid better. Nothing else should matter.
“Good,” I say, patting the table. “Now let’s negotiate the terms.” Her brows furrow. This part is going to be fun. Living in New York is expensive, and I know where she lives. I need her closer to the action. Somewhere safer.
I want to protect her.
“Your starting salary will be ninety-seven thousand, which is already over the average here in New York.”
Her mouth drops open, and she begins to stutter. She’s adorable.
“Um—” She starts, but I cut her off, loving the way I have effectively dumbfounded her.
“Fine. You drive a hard bargain. One hundred and that’s the most I’ll go until you’ve proven yourself.” I dive right on to the next topic, leaving her completely speechless. “You’ll need to hire a few people for your team. I’d suggest an assistant, someone with clerical experience who’s good with computers. The second hire should be two people physically strong who can help with staging and can be on the jobsites overseeing the crews that come in and out. You can’t be in three places at once.” Things are about to get hectic. I’d already purchased two new restaurants, and I have my eyes on another. Each will be modernized but with different cuisine. I want to diversify my restaurateur portfolio.
Bailey remains silent, seemingly overwhelmed with everything I just threw at her. I need her to speak. I want to know if this makes her happy. I’m not sure why I care so much, but I do. For some reason, I want to make this woman smile.
You’re in over your head, Lawson.
“Bailey, say something,” I command. “Does this work for you?”
She nods, eyes still as wide as saucers. She clears her throat before finally speaking.
“I’m . . . overwhelmed.”
I figured as much, but I can’t help but grin as a smile spreads across her face and a single tear falls from her eye. She swipes it away, shaking her head.
“I won’t let you down.” Her voice is quiet and reserved, and that lack of confidence turns my own smile to a frown.
“You’re going to have to believe the words you say in order to carry out that promise,” I chide, hoping to break through her lack of belief in herself. At this moment, she reminds me too much of Alexa, and it makes my stomach turn.
“Do you have any ideas for your new hires?” I ask, trying to get my mind back to the present.
She blows out a breath before chewing on her lip in contemplation. Then her eyes light up, and that smile graces her beautiful face once again.
“I’ll need to post an ad for my assistant, but I do have at least one person in mind for the muscle.”
I quirk a brow. “Muscle?”
She nods once. “Yes. I think Carter would be the perfect person to oversee the sites. He’d be an amazing manager one day.”
My nose scrunches, not in disgust but in disagreement. Carter is an amazing bartender, but his extracurricular activities—ones I’ve overlooked, despite my rules—won’t fly in management of any of my restaurants.
Yes, I’m not ignorant. I know drugs are readily available anywhere, but my team needs to be better than that.
Bailey’s face falls before I can even voice my concerns. “You don’t thin
k he’d do a good job?”
“It’s not that I don’t think he could do it. I know he could. It’s just . . . Carter has some habits that I’m not on board with.”
She stiffens in her seat, eyes flying around the room, looking anywhere but at me. She’s probably thinking about her own background. The difference is, she’s rehabilitated. She’s sober. Her past won’t prevent me from offering her this job.
When she looks back at me, there is a resolve in the depths of her blue eyes. “What if those habits went away?”
I internally groan. She doesn’t know Carter like I do. He is so far gone, it would take a costly intervention to bring him around, and even then, his friendships and lifestyle would lead him right back to using. I’ve watched the cycle with him. He’s been much better, but you have to want to quit, and I’m not sure that Carter does.
“We need someone ready to go, Bailey. I don’t think Carter’s our guy.”
She places her hands on the top of the table. “Then I’m not either.”
My head jerks back, caught off guard that she’d put one hundred thousand dollars on the line for someone she barely knows. She’s either the most loyal person I’ve ever met or the dumbest.
“I believe that people deserve second chances, Drew. Carter is good people, and he needs this. Desperately.” The sheer fierceness of her tone has me compelled to hear more.
“Go on,” I urge.
She goes from determined to flustered in two seconds flat. I clearly have her confused, based on the way her eyes are narrowed, brows pinched together.
“It-it’s just,” she stammers, and I purse my lips to bring out the fight in her.
It works like a charm. Steel replaces uncertainty in that lovely face, and she forges on.
“These habits have been formed by feelings of inadequacy. He needs a purpose.”
“He has one. He manages the club,” I cut in, and in exchange, I receive a scowl, followed by a very pointed eye roll.
“A club. Do you think that’s going to help his situation?”
I damn near flinch at the way she’s lecturing me. It’s been a very long time since someone chewed me out, and that’s exactly what I feel is happening now. If I’m honest, I’m truly loving her bite.
