by Gina Drayer
The bar wouldn’t be open for hours, so she had time to kill. She thought about stopping at the deli, but in this part of town, she could run into someone she knew, that Christian knew. So she went without breakfast and took the subway to Brooklyn. She could explore the neighborhood in anonymity.
She was actually hopeful about this room over Bernadette’s. After all, “Bernadette” was one of her mother’s favorite songs. The Four Tops tune was hopeful. If she could move into a room over Bernadette’s, maybe she would find what she was searching for. Or at least a break.
She just had to hold on to hope.
Chapter Three
Lee sat in a Brooklyn coffee shop and watched the busy street traffic. It wasn’t a terrible neighborhood. It was clean and had a vibrant pulse. It was different from the financial district but energized all the same. Still, she couldn’t make up her mind. Even with the good omens—the name of the bar and the reassuring remoteness of Brooklyn—she hesitated. She didn’t know if this was the right choice.
Was hiding her only option? Or was it exactly what Christian had wanted? She needed to decide one way or another because she didn’t have a place to stay tonight. There was always another hotel, but delaying would only make things worse.
Damn Christian for making her this weak, indecisive woman.
Being frightened and unsure was new to Lee. She had spent time in the shark tank of the financial world where hesitation was fatal, and she trusted her gut. She knew how to evaluate the risks and reward, using everything she had—then act, without regret. Right or wrong.
She wanted that feeling back. To be able to take charge and be proactive.
But these weren’t numbers on a page. She was in danger. Her physical life was threatened. And that made it a different world altogether. The defenses she knew well were those of financial leverage and information. All that was useless now.
Until she could figure out how to handle her new situation, Lee didn’t dare move more than one cautious step at a time. She didn’t like running or hiding, but it was her best chance to find her feet and regain her courage.
She tore the ad out of the paper, stuffed it in her purse, picked up her suitcase, and walked the remaining blocks to what would hopefully become her temporary home.
At first glance, Bernadette’s looked homey enough. The four-story building was almost quaint, perched comfortably on the corner of a quiet residential intersection.
Despite the rather boring exterior, the inside was warm and inviting. The first person she saw was a cheerful blonde who looked like she’d stepped out of a time machine. She wore a retro swing dress trimmed with an old-fashioned apron, and held a polished silver tray as though it were an extension of her arm. She’d embraced the role by completing the ensemble with victory rolls and a big red bow.
“Sit anywhere, hon. I’ll be right over to get your order.”
Lee decided on a corner booth. She wanted to look around, get a feel for the place before finding out if the apartment was still available, much less decent. As she slipped into her seat, she noticed the man by the bar watching her. He stared at her openly, with a confident air, not trying to pretend he wasn’t looking.
After everything that had happened, she should have been nervous finding someone watching her, but Lee recognized that look. He was a predator looking for prey. He wasn’t watching for her in particular, just a woman alone. She could deal with a man on the prowl. She relaxed, confident she hadn’t been followed.
Followed. The idea sent a chill through her. Would she notice if a professional was following her? Even though Christian was under house arrest, he could definitely hire someone to shadow her. She hadn’t seen anything suspicious when she left the hotel, and certainly no one had tailed her on the subway. Thinking someone could have tracked her all the way here was just paranoia.
Lee considered the man at the bar again. He had the confident air of a man that knew he was good-looking. She smiled at him politely but turned back to her menu, letting him know she wasn’t interested.
Even if she was looking for a date, he wasn’t her type.
He was too big, sported too many tattoos, and the piercings were a big turn-off. But he was dressed nice for a dive bar. The white button-up shirt he wore was stretched over his toned muscles, and the sleeves were rolled up to expose the colorful tattoos on his forearm. The suspenders and hat added a touch of retro-chic that fit in with the place. It just wasn't her thing. Her ideal men wore tailored suits and looked like they were about to take over the world, not star in an off-Broadway production of “Newsies.”
When the spunky blonde waitress came to Lee’s table to get her order, she introduced herself as Abbie and went over the specials. Lee wasn’t in the mood for food, so she ordered a vodka martini, wet, extra olives.
“Gotcha,” she said. “I like a woman who knows what she wants.”
Lee glanced over at the bar and the man she’d noticed earlier flashed her a playful grin. Evidently, the waitress had noticed their exchange.
“I’ll be right back with your drink.” Abbie smiled and shook her head as she walked up to the bar. She approached the handsome, rough-around-the-edges man at the bar and slapped his arm.
“Time to stop leering at the customers and get back to work,” she said. “The lady needs a drink.”
He winked at her and rounded the bar. He was quick, his movements smooth, as he mixed the drink with a practiced flourish. He set the glass on a tray for the waitress and garnished the drink with the extra olives she’d ordered. Despite the waitress giving him a hard time, he was probably the boss. He might even know who ran the ad for the apartment. It made sense to ask him about it. Bartenders tended to know that sort of thing. Despite the fact that he was completely opposite of what she needed right now, the thought of talking to the man set a flutter of butterflies rushing to her stomach.
As the waitress headed back to the table, the bartender glanced in her direction and smiled again—a knowing smile that made her blush. This time, she couldn’t blame her fair skin. It was as if he’d read her thoughts. She nodded politely and hid behind her menu, deciding to ask Abbie what she knew about the apartment. If he could make her blush from across the bar, she didn’t really want to engage the man in conversation.
When Abbie put the drink down along with a basket of chips, she started to ask, but then didn’t. Maybe this wasn’t the right place for her. The staff seemed friendly enough, but the apartment was over a bar. There’d be a lot of people coming and going. She’d be seen.
On the other hand, it wasn’t like anyone who’d come to this eclectic, rockabilly bar in Brooklyn would have any clue who she was. Hiding out in the open might be the safest thing for her. Safety in numbers and all.
Not used to second-guessing decision-making processes, Lee got annoyed with herself. What was with all this uncertainty? Where was her confidence?
She drank the martini quickly, hoping it would relax her. Abbie caught her signal and brought her a second drink. Maybe by the time she finished this one, she would be ready to make her choice.
“Is Dylon mixing them right for you?” Abbie asked when she stopped by to refill the chips. Evidently, Lee had become a nervous eater too, because she didn’t even remember eating them.
“Perfect,” she said and took a sip. “Actually, it’s one of the best martinis I can remember having.”
“Dylon will be happy to hear that. Although, the man doesn’t need any more praise. He’s won the East Coast Bartender’s Brawl three years in a row. He lets it go to his head sometimes.”
“Oh? Is that some kind of boxing competition?” The guy did have huge muscles, but he was too pretty. She didn’t see him risking that face for some kind of trophy.
“It’s a mixology competition,” Abbie said, chuckling. “He’s got a good palate, and several of his specialty drinks have won awards. If you want to give one a try, I can bring over the menu again. People around here love them, which is why this place do
es as well as it does. But I always ask, because not everyone likes their drinks messed with. You’d be surprised how conservative people can be when it comes to their booze.”
“Well, this drink is wonderful.” She turned the glass on the napkin. “But I actually came in because of the ad.”
“The ad?”
The woman looked surprised, and now Lee was worried that she’d made a mistake. “I saw it in today’s paper in the classifieds. It said there was an opening at this place—Bernadette’s. Who should I talk to about it?”
The waitress pointed at the man by the bar. “Dylon Knightly. He owns the place.”
“You seem surprised. Is it still available?”
“I am surprised. Dylon said he ran an ad but—” She shook her head causing her blonde curls to bounce. “He really ran a fucking ad? I thought he was bullshitting me. Hot damn, girl. Go talk to the man.”
“In a bit,” she said. “It’s still early. I’d like to get a feel for the place before I decide. You understand, don’t you?”
She bit her lip, knowing she was stalling again. Looking over at the bar, she knew exactly why. He made her nervous. She’d didn’t have much experience in dealing with guys like that. She didn’t do the bar scene, and honestly, Lee hadn’t spent much time single. Now, she was just another single girl alone at a bar on a Tuesday evening.
Abbie just shrugged. “Sure. But you don’t need to worry. This is a great place with a lot of regulars. You’ll like it here.” She looked down at her watch and picked up the tray. “It’s time for me to go on break. Need another drink before I leave?”
Lee considered it. She really did want another, but she needed a clear head even if she would prefer to drink away her current troubles. In fact, she’d be happy to crawl into a corner with a bottle. But that wouldn’t do. “No. This is about my limit tonight.”
“Limits,” Abbie chuckled. “Don’t let the boss hear you talking like that. If people knew their limits, we’d be out of business.” She was still chuckling at her own joke as she left, heading through the swinging doors to the back room.
Now that she was alone again, Lee took a closer look at the man behind the bar, with new eyes. He was leaning against the counter chatting up a customer, but still watching over the rest of the room. He was the lord of his domain. His confidence made even more sense given that he was the owner. She had no doubt that the guy was a chick magnet—not that he was her type, though. In fact, he as was far from her kind of guy as he could get without being a biker or something.
The man ran a bar, for God’s sake. And those suspenders and hat, that he undoubtedly thought made him look sharp, were over-the-top. Well, she did kind of like the hat. It looked good on him. But then there were his tattooed arms and neck, and the gold rings in his nose.
He wasn’t bad looking in a purely aesthetic sense. He was around six feet tall, maybe taller, and had the build of some kind of athlete. He could have easily been the bouncer. The entire package screamed movie bad boy. Yes, overall he had sex appeal, but given the situation, it didn’t matter. All she wanted to do was rent an apartment from the guy, not go out with him. It didn’t matter that he kept staring at her with those smoldering eyes. Or that she blushed every time he caught her looking back.
Maybe these martinis were stronger than she thought.
“Okay,” she said and picked up her empty glass. “I’m definitely not getting another.”
She glanced back at him over the rim of the glass and tried to look from a more objective angle. Letting go of her prejudices, she could admit she was attracted to him in a purely primal sense. He was an alpha male. That’s what drew her interest. He was a lot like Christian, although in a less polished, more physical way. Dylon exuded maleness—he would draw the attention of any woman.
She took a breath. Yes, she found him hot, but that didn’t mean she had to act on it.
Dylon Knightly watched the redhead sitting in the corner booth as she drank the vodka martini, wet, with extra olives. Years of bartending had taught him that a person’s drink choice said a lot about them. That woman’s order spelled high maintenance, but also he felt that she was the kind of woman who knew exactly what she wanted.
He watched the curvaceous little redhead and decided she was waiting on something. She kept glancing at the door nervously, and when she thought he wasn’t looking, she was checking him out.
Perhaps she was supposed to meet someone or maybe she was just working up the nerve to talk to him. She wasn’t exactly his type—a little too uptight to be fun. But if she managed to approach him, he could make it work. She was attractive with enough curves to make it enjoyable.
Yes, he wouldn’t mind helping that one loosen up a bit.
“She's been drinking again,” Abbie said from behind him. The tiny blonde stood behind the bar with her arms crossed, all spit and fire. “How long are you going to let this go on?”
“I've been looking for a replacement,” he said. “But no one I've interviewed so far has been right.”
“Screw right. Just hire the next person who comes in.” She nodded toward the back of the bar. “A warm body would be better than someone who spills drinks on the clients.”
“She didn’t, did she?” Dylon let out a long breath. Abbie was right, of course; he needed to do something about Claudia. “I’ll talk to her.”
“I know you're trying to keep this whole retro vibe going, but you need to start thinking about the bar. You can slap a dress on anyone and make it work, but Claudia is bad for business.”
Almost as if she'd known they've been talking about her, Claudia came out of the back room and headed straight toward the bar. Or rather, shambled toward the bar.
“I need three drafts and a hard cider for table ten.”
Even from this distance, he could smell the alcohol on her breath. Dylon knew he couldn't wait any longer to deal with this problem. Even if it meant being short-staffed for a while.
“Claudia, come see me after your shift.”
“Whatcha need, boss man?” she asked, breaking out into a wide smile. “We can talk now if you want. It's pretty slow. I only have the two tables.”
“It can wait until after your shift,” he said handing over the beers. “Just don't leave. I really need to see you.”
“Oh,” she said her eyes going wide. “It's been a long time since we've had an after-hours meeting.” She tried to wink at him, but only managed to scrunch her face into an unattractive grimace. “Why don’t I drop off these beers and we can go back to your office now. I'm sure Abbie can handle the floor for half an hour or so.”
This was why you didn't sleep with the staff, he reminded himself.
But he’d known Claudia long before she started working at the bar, and after she started waitressing for him … Well, they had a history, so he didn't see the harm in a few after-hours hookups. The problem was she saw his attention as permission to do anything she wanted. He had given her some latitude because of their relationship. But her drinking was a problem that quickly got out of control.
The fact there was more than a boss/employee relationship between them had made it that much harder to see the problem and act on it. He made a promise to himself not to fall into that trap again. He wouldn’t hire women he was sleeping with and wouldn’t sleep with another employee. A lesson learned late was better than one never learned. He hoped.
Now he had to deal with the problem of how to get rid of Claudia without it becoming a major drama. Given her attitude, firing her should have been easy, but he still cared about her. He worried what she’d do without the job.
“Just see me after we close,” he said sliding the drinks across the bar.
“Sure thing, Dylon.” She put the drinks on her tray and headed toward the customer’s table with a little extra swing in her walk. Wiggling her hips made her even more unstable and just as she reached the table, she teetered. The tray tipped. The drinks she'd been carrying slid off onto the floor, luckily missing
the customers. The beer glasses bounced and the cider glass shattered. Claudia looked stunned as a small round of applause went up around the bar.
Accidents and spills happened all the time in bars, and this could have just been a simple matter of a few spilled drinks and a broken bottle, but hearing the sarcastic applause Claudia did something completely uncalled for.
“How dare you?” She spun around, almost tipping over in the process, and slapped one of his regulars sitting at a table behind her. “Did you see that?” she said loud enough for everyone in the bar to hear. “He grabbed my ass.”
“What the fuck?” The confused man reeled back and rubbed his cheek. “I didn’t touch you.”
“I don’t have to put up with that kind of harassment. Dylon, throw this asshole out,” Claudia said, still playing the victim.
“That's enough,” Dylon said with a sigh and stepped out from behind the bar. “Claudia, I think you should call it a night.” Everyone in the room was watching as he approached the scene. He wasn't quite sure where to start with this one. He turned to the man she’d slapped. “I'm so sorry, John. The drink’s on me tonight.”
“But Dylon, that bastard—”
“Enough. We’re done.” With all eyes on him, he felt forced into doing what he should have done in the first place. Hell, what he should have done weeks ago. He didn’t want it done in public, but now he had no choice. “Claudia, consider this your last shift.”
“You can’t be serious. Over a couple lousy pint glasses?”
“It’s not just this,” he said pulling her aside. “I’ve noticed the drinking on the job and the long breaks you take in the back. And so have other people. This has been a long time coming.”
“Well, you can’t fire me. Because I quit,” she screamed. “The Irish pub down the street pays better. They’ve been after me for months.”
It was a bluff, but he wasn’t going to bite. “Then take them up on their offer.”
And in usual dramatic fashion, she didn’t back down. She stood there, glaring at his face, and he knew she expected him to break, to apologize and beg her not to leave. He was beyond caring at this point. She’s pushed her luck one too many times. Something in his expression must have tipped her off to the fact because her lower lip began to quiver and tears streamed down her cheeks.
