They now needed someone to help structure it all.
Uniquely, they were the type of client that fell outside of Savvy’s typical, more mainstream fare, but Mallory felt like a challenge might do them good. They could be just as hip and edgy as the next guy. More, in fact. She spent the latter part of the morning making some client calls and setting up a few new consultations, before a singsongy alarm sounded across the room.
Sam stood triumphantly with her phone in her hand. “Happy weekend, everybody! It’s time to road-trip and sing badly to the radio. Race you to the car. I call shotgun as long as Brooklyn’s not driving!”
*
Hope Sanders blinked against the slash of sunlight across her eyes and reached absently in the direction of her bedside table, anything to shut up the incessant beeping of that God-awful alarm clock. After snoozing the sucker, she rolled onto her back and slid farther beneath the covers, luxuriating in the warmth and how peaceful her body felt after a little bit of rest. Still craving more time, she was thereby willing to ignore the fact that it was 12:30 in the afternoon and time to get up. Well, at least ignore it for a little while longer.
Hope ran a hand through her blond hair, smoothing it from the night’s sleep, and brought it around to rest on one shoulder as she mentally scrolled through the checklist of things she needed to accomplish before opening the bar that night. As it was Friday, she’d start with payroll before meeting the electrician about the blinking lights in the kitchen, then take delivery on her liquor order, and end with a quick staff powwow to talk through the drink specials for the weekend. By that time, it would be time to get Showplace up and open by four p.m., as she was expecting a busy weekend ahead. Hopefully by two a.m. the next morning, she’d be back home in her small Soho apartment, eating dinner and doing it all again for Saturday night.
It wasn’t a glamorous life, but Showplace was everything to Hope.
Her dream, in fact.
She’d purchased the bar from the struggling owner at a steal just over a year and a half ago with a down payment she’d spent years socking away from big tips tending bar on the Lower East Side. It’s amazing the kind of money a dedicated bartender could make in New York City. Men tipped well when you smiled and listened to their stories, tossing in an occasional sympathetic nod. They tipped even better if you left a couple buttons undone, which she wasn’t opposed to doing when the occasion warranted it. Well worth it too, as it put her on the path to where she was now. Showplace was her ticket to a better life for herself, and after all of the slogging and hard work, she wasn’t about to blow it.
Hope stretched her limbs like a cat and with a deep exhale pushed herself into a sitting position, which was, you know, progress. Her muscles were sore from lifting the bins of glassware she’d hauled to the bar from the kitchen, but it was the kind of ache she loved, a badge of honor that kept her in the midst of the hubbub. She would never be the type of business owner that rode a desk all the time. She preferred to be out there in the mix, working the bar and keeping her eye on the traffic.
She checked the clock. Time to get moving.
“Hey, Teddy,” she said as she strolled into Showplace an hour later. It was dark and quiet, a sharp contrast to the way it would spark to life in just a few hours when hundreds of twenty- to thirty-somethings occupied spots at the bar, tables, and dance floor. Mainly lesbians, as that seemed to be the flavor of the place lately, but it was all the same to her. Though she dated women herself, people were people and everyone was welcome at Showplace.
“Hiya, boss,” Teddy called back. “Liquor arrived early. I signed for it and am updating the inventory.”
“This is why I keep you around,” she said, sliding onto a stool across the bar from Teddy, who was hard at work stocking the much-needed liquor for that night. The kid was good, she had to admit: the kind of employee you could count on to have your back. A little on the shorter side, but nice-looking with sandy-brown hair, which never hurt in this business. He was close to twenty-five years old and had pretty much come with the bar when she’d purchased it. However, his presence had made the transition an easy one for her. Sure, she’d implemented a number of changes to attract a hipper crowd to the place, but he’d liked the direction she was taking Showplace and had eagerly made it his mission to become her right-hand man.
She looked around, still very much surprised that it was all hers. In the year and a half since the place had become hers, revenue had nearly tripled, which meant they were doing something right. It still wasn’t easy though, as rent was ridiculous in the city. Some months she barely squeaked by.
Teddy snatched the schedule from where it hung on a nail behind the bar and consulted the night ahead before handing it to her—part of their opening routine. Three cocktail waitresses and two cooks were scheduled to work. Teddy pointed at the schedule in her hands. “Kendall called in sick again, so we’re down to two wait staff, but I can call in that new hire. What was her name?”
Hope mentally recalled the somewhat awkward girl she’d hired the week prior. Not the most sophisticated of individuals, but there was something about her that Hope took pity on. Plus, she seemed like a fast learner. “Right. Sophie. Though I’m not sure Friday night is a great first put-in. It gets a little crazy in here.”
Teddy shrugged. “She has waitressing experience. Just seemed a little timid personality-wise.”
Hope nodded. “Maybe she’ll find her stride. She seemed like a sweet girl. Give her a call, I guess. Trial by fire it is.” She tapped the bar once and headed to her office at the back of the room. “Oh, and tell Kendall she’s on probation. I don’t care how much the regulars like her. That’s her third call-in this month, and she had five the month prior. It’s convenient that she’s sick every time her girlfriend’s in town.”
“Will do, boss. Oh, and Hope,” he called.
“Yeah?” she said, leaning on the doorjamb.
“Four girls left numbers for you last night.” He held up several small sheets of paper in various states. It wasn’t new. Because she spent most nights mixing drinks behind the bar, she got a lot of attention from customers, most of them women. Flattering? Yes. Good for business? Most definitely. But she wasn’t interested.
“You can toss ’em,” she told Teddy.
“You sure?” he asked. “Some of these girls were cute, and you need a social life.”
“The bar is my social life.”
He stared at her, dubious. “The short blonde who always bats her eyes at you and then whispers to her friends might be a good one to call. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed her. She sits at the bar and stares at you longingly at least three times a week. It’s starting to get sad.”
Ah, yes, Leslie. Sweet girl who wore very little. Perhaps she had an aversion to clothes and their purpose in the contemporary world. “I’ve noticed her. I’m just not really feeling it with Leslie, ya know? Let me know when the electrician gets here.”
Teddy sighed. “Yeah, yeah.”
Chapter Two
The fire danced in the most mesmerizing way. Mallory stared into it, finding it utterly calming. Something about the way the flames licked back and forth, up and down in a never-ending ballet lulled her somewhere peaceful.
It was nice out. She didn’t know what time it was, probably close to ten, but it had been a relaxing evening. As she sat with her friends on the beach, she felt the stress of the city sliding off her exponentially. They’d enjoyed some fantastic conversation around the fire after a killer round of cheeseburgers prepared for them by Brooklyn and Samantha, the tag-team duo of BBQ greatness. They’d even worn matching aprons, which was cute and obnoxious in tandem.
As night had fallen, the temperature had followed suit. Hunter’s dog, Elvis, exhausted from frolicking along the shoreline, snoozed on his side next to the fire. To combat the chill, the five of them had draped themselves with blankets and slipped into hoodies, but the fire put out enough heat to make the night feel comfortable, cozy even.
<
br /> Earlier that day, after picking up Brooklyn’s girlfriend, Jessica, and of course, Elvis, they’d made the two-hour drive from the city in a giant SUV Mallory had borrowed from her father, collector of all things automotive. He’d graciously handed her the keys and kissed her on the cheek after one of their traditional lunches the day prior, telling her to enjoy the weekend and take care of the house.
She wouldn’t let him down on either count.
Once they arrived in Montauk, they’d quickly unloaded the car, carrying groceries, wine, and beach supplies into Mallory’s family’s beach house.
“So this place is yours?” Jessica asked as she stood in the entryway and looked upward to the ceiling that towered two-stories tall in the living room. “It’s gorgeous, and I’m not just saying that because it’s a nice thing to say. It truly is.”
“Thanks,” Mallory said. “But it’s technically a family home, not all mine. My brothers and sisters and I trade weekends. The décor all comes from my mother, however. All custom finishes.”
“I can tell.” Jessica turned to her in sincerity as her three friends whirled past in a flash of chatter about bathing-suit colors and which BBQ sauce was the most kick-ass. “I just wanted to say thank you for including me this weekend. I’m really happy to be here.”
“Of course. I’m glad you made it.” Mallory and Jessica had come a long way from their days of hating each other on the corporate battlefield, and Mallory could honestly say that Jessica was a good person, and surprisingly quite likable. Apparently, it was best not to judge a person until you knew them. Lesson learned.
After everything had been unpacked and deposited in its proper place, Samantha and Brooklyn met in the living room for their traditional game of Rock-Paper-Scissors to determine who got the good room. Well, the second-best room, really, as Mallory’s was the luxurious master with a balcony facing the beach and the Jacuzzi tub to die for.
“Don’t be a cheater,” Samantha warned Brooklyn. “You’re often a cheater. I know this because I’ve met you.”
Brooklyn narrowed her gaze at Sam. “Please. What I am is good at this game and you’re terrified. That’s what’s going on here.”
Jessica seemed to be following the showdown with mild concern. “Brook, why don’t we let Samantha and Hunter have the good room? We’ll be happy wherever.”
“That’s really not the point,” Brooklyn whispered back.
“You should listen to your girlfriend,” Samantha said, joining the whispering.
Hunter glanced over at Jessica and held her hands palms up. “You should know that I couldn’t care less what room I sleep in.”
Jessica bumped Hunter’s shoulder with her own. “That’s because you’re low maintenance in the most awesome way possible.”
“Why, thank you,” Hunter answered, smiling.
“Shhh,” Sam said, reaching back and squeezing Hunter’s hand. “This is important and requires intense focus.”
“It is,” Brooklyn said, a gleam in her eye.
Mallory watched her two friends face off while their respective girlfriends surveyed the scene with tepid interest, the stakes a lot lower for them. Round one went to Samantha, who trounced Brooklyn’s scissors with a rock. Brooklyn came back swinging, however, and threw paper over Sam’s rock, scoring a point.
“Way to change up your strategy, Sammie Sam,” Brooklyn shot sarcastically, clearly in game mode. “A little fixated on that rock, aren’t we? How boring.”
Samantha met her gaze with a gleam in her eye. “Don’t be jealous. At least I have a strategy.”
“Shock! Gasp! Horror!” Brooklyn said, her jaw falling open in offense. Finally, in a dramatic tiebreaker, Brooklyn lost when Samantha stayed true to her rock-throwing form and once again smashed Brooklyn’s scissors, sending her falling backward onto the couch in dramatic defeat. Typical Brooklyn.
“I can’t believe I lost to a rock. This is tragic. I shan’t recover.”
Jessica glanced down at her girlfriend. “But you’re cute when you’re tragic and say shan’t.”
“Oh yeah?” Brooklyn pushed herself up on her elbow, moving closer to Jessica’s mouth. “I shan’t help it,” she said, which earned her a chuckle and tender kiss from Jessica.
Mallory glanced away, as they were clearly entering the land of goo-goo eyes, and she didn’t need to go along for that ride. Instead, she turned to address Samantha to offer good-room congratulations, but stopped short when she saw her slip onto her toes and meet Hunter’s lips with a kiss of her own. Look at that, another happy couple moment. Oh, and check out the fancy pattern in this granite countertop. All swirly and such. Fascinating stuff.
Hunter and Samantha headed off to the hard-won good room to unpack, and Brooklyn and Jessica remained on the couch lost in the land of new love. Except, you know what? It wasn’t that new anymore and they were still obsessed with each other. Curse them. Bitter, party of one?
Shaking herself out of it, Mallory headed upstairs to relax in her own room for a bit. After inhaling a little of the glorious seaside air, she spent a little time organizing her space and checking her email to be sure there wasn’t a client in need out there. Alone with her thoughts, she reflected on the new group dynamic. She’d be lying if she said a tug of envy didn’t pull at her heart. Everyone was coupled up now, and though she didn’t begrudge her friends their happiness in the slightest, part of her wondered what that must feel like. To have someone.
This was the first Hamptons trip they’d taken since Hunter and Samantha had become an item in addition to Brooklyn and Jessica’s well-established thing. Mallory had acclimated to it in their everyday world, but here on vacation, it felt different somehow. Everyone was a twosome and she was the odd one out—which was stupid because these were her best friends on the planet and nothing had truly changed.
Plus, it wasn’t like she never dated. Hell, she dated. She went on a date, what was it? A year ago? And then there was the flirtation with the woman at the law firm who handled some of their legal paperwork. And when she’d had dinner with Angela from college there’d been some…interplay. Though whatever it had been had fizzled out.
In fact, they always fizzled out.
Something to think about maybe…
Sitting around the fire on the beach now, the stars twinkling brightly overhead, Mallory felt that pang again as she glanced around at Brooklyn and Jessica snuggled together in their chairs and Hunter leaned back against Sam’s legs from her spot in front of the fire. As they talked, Sam occasionally picked up Hunter’s hair and dropped it. It was a simple gesture, but it pricked Mallory a bit.
“Mal? Did we lose Mallory?” Hunter’s voice pulled her from her thoughts and she glanced around, realizing she’d drifted from the conversation.
“I’m sorry. What?” Mallory smiled and gave her head a small shake. “Dazed out there for a second. The fire’s a little entrancing.”
“Just asked if you wanted another marshmallow? Because I happen to excel at marshmallows and fire and all things related to the two,” Hunter said, indicating the almost perfectly roasted marshmallow on the edge of her spear. Mallory refrained from showing her up, as the title of Best Marshmallow Roaster on Planet Earth definitely resided with her.
“No, thank you. I’m good.”
Hunter caught her eye and offered a questioning glance that seemed to say where’d you go just then? In the background Jessica and Sam debated whether it was better to start the morning with volleyball or to hold off until the early afternoon when it would be warmer out. That next night they’d have a few friends over for cocktails and kick off the season properly. After all, Mallory loved a good party.
“You sure about that? The being-okay thing?” Hunter asked, and Mallory understood that her friend was checking in on her.
“Yes, of course. But I am heading inside for a moment to refresh my drink. Can I get anyone anything?” Mallory asked the group, forcing a bright smile.
“Maybe a bottle of water?” Brook
lyn asked. “I’d love you forever if you brought me a bottle of water.”
“Then I shall complete this task and be forever loved.” As Mallory turned, she caught sight of Hunter nudging Sam gently with her elbow. Interesting. She didn’t know what she’d started, but she had a feeling she was about to find out.
As she poured herself half a margarita—never one to overindulge, Samantha appeared in the doorway right on cue, Elvis at her heels. “Drink for you?” Mallory asked, stealing a bottle of water from the door of the fridge for Brooklyn. She poured some extra water into Elvis’s bowl. He licked her ankle in gratitude.
“Nope. Just thought I’d keep you company.”
Mallory studied her friend. Her auburn hair was pulled into a loose braid, her face happy, relaxed. Beach Sam was quite possibly her favorite version of Sam. “Super nice of you, but why do I feel like you’ve been sent on a mission?”
Samantha shrugged. “Just wanted to check in. I know it’s gotta be a little strange for you—”
“Because you’re all in love now and I’m not? Nah. I’m good. I happen to adore all of you and will happily be your fifth wheel anytime.” She smiled her most breezy smile for emphasis.
Sam looked skyward. “Well, how could you not? Plus, someday you’re going to even out that number, I bet.”
“Yeah, don’t count on it. I’m kind of high maintenance if you hadn’t noticed.”
Sam slid onto one of the oak stools that surrounded the kitchen island. “What? You?!” Mallory had to throw a dishtowel at Sam because it was ordained by God.
Ready or Not Page 3
