Martinis After Dark (Bernadette's Book 1)

by Gina Drayer

  “You’re an asshole, Dylon. And a lousy lay.” She tore off her apron, threw it on the floor and stormed out the front door.

  Dylon watched her go, sad that things had to end that way. He might not be the relationship type, but he was always upfront and honest about it. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt someone.

  Applause broke out in the room behind him, bringing him out of his pity party. There wasn’t much he could do about it now, except learn from his mistake.

  “Are our drinks going to take much longer?” a man in the back of the room asked. “We’ve got tickets to a show.”

  “I don’t know,” a small, feminine voice said from the floor. “I don’t work here.”

  He turned around to find the redhead from the corner booth on all fours, picking up the broken glass and stacking it on the tray as Abbie mopped up the beer and cider.

  The worst was over. Or at least it seemed so. He grinned at the man. “I’ll tell you what, why don’t I get your drinks myself and I’ll even buy the round. On top of that, I won’t charge you for the floor show. Deal?”

  The man laughed. “Fair enough.”

  After dealing with table ten, he went over to where Abbie was cleaning up the mess. He didn’t understand why she was letting the redhead help her. He squatted beside the customer and tapped her on the shoulder. “You don’t have to do that.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “She’s here about your ad,” Abbie blurted out. “Talk to the woman, Dylon.”

  “You came about the ad?” he asked, confused.

  “Yes. The ad,” the woman said. She turned her face up to look at him, and he saw the stress in her eyes. Whatever had brought her here, the lady wasn’t happy about it. “I would have said something earlier, but you’ve been busy. And after that show, Abbie looked like she needed a hand.”

  Abbie giggled. “We do need help, and not just for this little mess.” She stared at Dylon. “So what do you think?” Abbie didn’t wait for an answer. “Well, I think she’s perfect. Go ahead, talk to her.”

  Not for the first time, Dylon felt like the universe aligned, and everything just fell into place for him. He looked back at the redhead. She had the prettiest light gray eyes, and right then they were staring back at him with uncertainty. He wasn’t sure where she’d come from, but if she wanted the job, it was hers.

  “Hey, if Abbie’s satisfied, so am I,” he said with a smile. “The jobs yours. Can you start now?”

  She looked puzzled. “The job?”

  “Yeah. Since I had to fire Claudia, we’re a body down for the night. I know it’s short notice and if you don’t want to that’s fine, but we could use the help.”

  She looked at Abbie and then back down at herself. “I don’t think I’m dressed right for waiting tables,” she said.

  “I have an apron in the back you could wear,” Abbie said. “It will be a little long for you, but it will keep your clothes clean. You won’t have to do much. I’ll take all the orders if you run the drinks and food.”

  “Work here?” she said and looked around as if she’d just considered the idea. “I could make that work.”

  Then it dawned on him—her puzzled expression made sense. There was no ad. He’d lied to Abbie just to get her off his back. What the hell was going on?

  She dropped the last chunk of glass on the tray and rose up on her knees. Her smile was unforced and devastating. “I’m happy to help tonight, as long as we can talk about the apartment later.”

  As she got up, he got a look at her shapely legs and the way her nice dress and heels emphasized her lusciously rounded ass. He put her at five-seven, tops; several inches shorter than him. But what she lacked in stature, she made up in shape. She had a nice hourglass figure that suited her frame.

  “I guess if you’re working here I should at least know your name.”

  “Lee,” she said.

  “Just Lee?”

  “Lee Taylor?” she said with the slightest hesitation.

  He held out a hand, and she shook it with a firm grasp. “I’m Dylon.”

  She tied on the apron Claudia had tossed her and smiled. “I know.”

  “What apartment?” Abbie asked.

  “The one in the ad,” she said.

  Dylon chuckled as another piece of the puzzle fell into place. The ad for the apartment on the third floor had totally slipped his mind. It had been running for months, and no one had responded. Honestly, he’d written it off.

  “After we close, we should have a long talk. Right now, we have some customers that need drinks.”

  “Hey, Dylon, nice upgrade.” He turned and saw John watching Lee’s ass as she followed Abbie to one of the back tables. “Maybe she’ll slap me too. I don’t think I’d mind if she did, especially if I deserved it. As a matter of fact, I’d like to do something to her to deserve being slapped.”

  Dylon didn’t like his teasing. “You know the rules, John. Keep your hands to yourself,” Dylon said.

  “I’m just looking.” The man raised his glass. “How about another?” He grinned. “And could you let the new kid take care of it?”

  Dylon glanced back at the employee door, wondering what he’d gotten himself into. “I’d better get that for you.”

  He went back to the bar, but he kept a watchful eye on Lee for the rest of the night. She caught him staring and smiled, a genuine smile. The wariness he’d noticed earlier was gone, and her whole face lit up. Fuck, she was trouble. He’d hired Lee because of the problem that grew out of his personal, sexual involvement with Claudia. He wouldn’t risk that happening again.

  “Don’t fish off the company dock,” Uncle Mac had warned him. Maybe now was a good time to start taking that advice.

  Chapter Four

  Lee was exhausted and a little delirious by the end of the night. It took all her willpower not to collapse into a heap and start laughing like a madwoman. It was about all she could do as her life stumbled from one unfathomably chaotic event to the next.

  She wasn’t used to stumbling. She’d always evaluated risk, taken decisive action, and accepted losses.

  When she’d discovered Christian’s criminal activities and realized he was dragging her into them, she’d done exactly that. That discovery made her stumble. And she hadn’t quite found her footing since. It seemed like with every problem in her path, she underestimated the risks and was paralyzed into inaction.

  Now, even when she was trying to hide, to keep a low profile so she could regroup and reevaluate her life, her plan had devolved into a chaotic mess. She’d walked into this bar looking for an apartment—just hoping to get a cheap place to live with no strings, no paper trail. But of course, she found herself in the middle of yet another drama. It should have played itself out around her, leaving her untouched and able to walk away.

  But fate, so it seemed, had her on a collision course with trouble.

  At least, this time, it was someone else’s mess. The public scene had been hard to watch, and her own irresistible impulse to jump up and fix things seemed to have gotten her the drunk woman’s job.

  It wasn’t exactly the kind of work she was looking for, but there were some advantages. Most importantly it gave her a shot at the apartment she so desperately needed. So she put on an apron and finished the shift for the drunk waitress. Hopefully, Dylon would take her willingness to help into account, so she wouldn’t have to look for a place to sleep tonight.

  The job itself was easy if exhausting. It was simple enough to take drinks to the tables. She spent half the night apologizing for not knowing anything. They’d laughed and joked about the drama that had played out as if it had been a show for their benefit, like Dylon suggested. His response had been perfect. Clearly, he was good with people and seeing how the women in the bar came to life when he talked to them, he was probably very good with women.

  “I knew you’d be perfect,” Abbie told her at the end of the night. “The customers loved you, and you stayed on top of thi
ngs.”

  After an evening of struggling to keep up with the fast pace, mixing up tables and drink orders, and generally making more work for Abbie, Lee decided her praise had nothing to do with her personally. The woman would have been happy with a pack of monkeys over the drunk waitress.

  “Thanks,” she said with a shrug.

  She pushed a stack of dollars across the table. “This is your share of the tips—don’t spend it all in one place.”

  She stared at the money. “Mine? I was just filling in.”

  “It’s all yours. I put Claudia’s tips aside, in case she comes back.” Abbie gave her a once-over and smiled. “You’re pretty and nice to the customers. That’s a good combination for this job. Once we get you all styled up, you’ll rake in the tips.”

  “Assuming I have the job,” she said.

  “Oh, you are definitely hired, or I’ll break Dylon’s head.”

  “Don’t worry. She has the job,” Dylon said after locking up. “Why don’t you come in back and we can talk it over?”

  As Abbie finished cleaning, Dylon had Lee fill out some paperwork. She’d wanted to avoid a paper trail, but hopefully, no one would be able to find her. Lee Taylor was the one who’d been hired, not Lee O’Brien. Instinctively she’d given the fake last name. It wasn’t much as aliases went since Taylor was her middle name and any detective worth their salt would work out who she was in a heartbeat. Still, it was a name she could remember. Finally, her reflex had been right.

  She finished filling out the application and went back to Dylon’s office, which was just an area off the break room. The office was a stark contrast to the lovely, well-designed bar. Barren cement walls framed a cheap and battered gray metal filing cabinet and a desk that had seen better days. It looked as if it also doubled as a makeshift storage closet. Cases of booze were stacked around the desk, and there was barely enough room for her to sit down. The rickety wooden chair creaked as if its joints were crying out in protest.

  She and Dylon faced each other across the chipped surface of that desk and once again, the butterflies were back.

  “I see the interior decorator didn’t make it this far, or they missed this room,” she joked, trying to break the tension.

  “I ran out of money,” Dylon said flatly. “I had a vision for this place. Unfortunately, it was an expensive one.”

  “You’ve done a great job. The bar looks fabulous. Not at all what I was expecting when I walked in.”

  He grinned. “I’ll be sure to tell my partner. She fought me on every decision. You can’t throw a stone without hitting a bar around here. We had to stand out if we were going to build a loyal clientele. The theming, down to the staff, it all makes a difference. I’m glad you took the job. You’ll be a great addition.”

  “Partner? Do I need to interview with her or something?” Dylon didn’t seem to care about her paperwork or the fact that she’d omitted her prior address. A partner might be more diligent.

  “My partner is also my sister and she’s actually more of an investor. She comes in every now and then, but leaves the day-to-day stuff to me.”

  Lee nodded and leaned back, the ancient chair groaning under her weight. “A silent partner.”

  “I wish that were the case,” he said laughing. “She’s quite vocal. Especially about the finances.”

  “You had a healthy crowd for a Tuesday. I’d guess your sister is happy when she looks at the books.”

  He frowned. “Ah, the books. I spent my weekend dealing with those and don’t feel like revisiting that nightmare. I’d prefer to talk about Lee …”

  “Taylor.”

  “Right. Lee Taylor,” he nodded. “You came here for the job that I never advertised, which is a curious thing.”

  “I came for the apartment you did advertise. I need a place to … an inexpensive place for as long as six months.”

  “And then?”

  “And then I have no idea.” She saw no point in lying. But she hoped that he didn’t press her for specifics. The truth was far too complicated to share, and she didn’t think she could come up with a convincing lie. “Just say that within six months I expect things to change significantly—hopefully for the better.”

  “So you need an apartment. That I can help you with. But are you interested in the job that Abbie recruited you for? ”

  “I hadn’t really thought about working here before tonight. I’ve never been a waitress.”

  “You caught on quickly. It’s hard work, but not all that complicated.”

  “But what about the apartment?” Lee looked down at her suitcase and then back to Dylon. “I need a place to stay. Preferably starting tonight.”

  He looked at her and let out a breath. “Here’s the thing … it would be nice to rent the apartment. It’s been empty since I bought the building and I could use the money. But the truth is, I need a waitress more,” he said. “Since you need a place to live, maybe we could negotiate.”

  “So you are holding the apartment ransom.”

  “That’s not fair,” he said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “I’m using it to sweeten the deal. A bargaining chip.”

  She’d seen that look before. It was the look of a man who thought he had the upper hand. Little did he know Lee was an expert negotiator.

  “If I take the job, will the rent be less?”

  His lips twitched subtly, and she wasn’t sure if it was in surprise or amusement. “If you take the job the rent would have to be less than I was asking,” he said with a shake of his head. “You couldn’t afford it on tips alone. But seeing as no one else wants it—”

  And that was her in. She had enough leverage to negotiate with. “Seeing as this is a short-term thing, relatively speaking, we might be able to help each other out,” she said. “I could live with half off the rent.”

  “Half off?”

  “You said it yourself, no one else wants to rent the place. Abbie told me that the weeknight shifts are the hardest to fill since the tips aren’t nearly as good as on the weekends.”

  “That’s all true, but …”

  “And I’m flexible. If I live here, I can be a backup person for when someone calls in sick.” She might have been pushing a little too hard, but she didn’t have much to lose. Go big or go home. “You’re the one who has the most to gain in the arrangement.”

  Dylon burst into laughter. “Wow. I thought my sister drove a hard bargain, but she has nothing on you. Half off the rent, and you’re on call.”

  “Would you be open to making a deal based on a handshake?”

  “I suppose I can work with that.” Everything seemed to be working out, when he suddenly asked, “You’re not on the run or something?”

  “It’s complicated,” she said. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

  “As long as you aren’t running from the law.”

  “Will you take my word that I’m not?”

  She watched him consider it. “If you’re in trouble—”

  “I promise, I’m not running from the law. I’m just getting out of a bad relationship, and I don’t want my ex to know where I live.”

  Dylon’s frown deepened “I see. You don’t have to say anything else.”

  “It said the apartment was partially furnished. Is it furnished enough for me to live in? I don’t really have anything but this suitcase.”

  “Well, let’s say that there is furniture in it.”

  She cringed, imagining milk crates and chipboard furniture. “Then I have another favor to ask. Can you help me get a few basics, secondhand stuff, cheap?”

  “That’ll be easy.” She watched the wheels turn in his head. “I’ve got a friend that recently got engaged. They might have some furniture you can have.”

  She stood up. “Then you’ve got a deal. As long as it’s habitable, I can make it work.”

  He stood up and scowled. “If you keep adding on absurd conditions like that, we might have a problem. Expecting to find a habitable apartm
ent in Brooklyn, for Chrissake,” he muttered, but the mischievous glint in his eyes gave the lie to the joke.

  “Sorry, a girl has to have standards,” she joked back.

  “I think you’re going to get on well here,” he said. “Let’s go check out the apartment.”

  Dylon knew she was right; he was getting the better end of their deal. The apartment was in serious need of a facelift, but at least it was clean. The biggest obstacle to renting it had been its location. It was on the third floor, just above the party room Bernadette's used for live music and events.

  “What about noise?” she asked.

  “Traffic noise is about what you’d expect in the city. If you mean from the party room, well, it does get loud. I’m planning on soundproofing, but haven’t gotten around to it.”

  She laughed. “I’ll just have to work on the nights there are concerts. I think it’s perfect.”

  Dylon glanced around the mostly empty apartment. He couldn’t imagine that this place came anywhere near her definition of perfect. She looked like the kind of woman who lived in apartments with doormen and homeowner’s associations. This unit, by contrast, was basic and rather stark. The walls were painted a flat white that glowed under the bare bulbs in the ceiling fixtures. The small, old-fashioned crank windows looked out over a rather unremarkable intersection below and let in very little natural light.

  On the plus side, it had solid hardwood floors. And unlike a lot of small apartments in the city, it had a full kitchen and an extra-large bathroom that boasted a huge clawfoot tub—a rarity in New York apartments.

  The furniture, on the other hand, did leave a lot to be desired. There was an old Formica kitchen table with two plastic chairs; a broken-down couch that would be more at home in a landfill; and a new, if unexceptional, bed. It looked like your basic dorm room starter kit. Maybe, with a lot of love and some new furniture, it wouldn’t look so depressing.