The Bar Scene

by Ginny Frost

  “There’s my Terese.” He grinned. “Now explain.”

  She slumped into her chair, exhausted from the drama. “He didn’t tell me his real name, not once. Not in like a week. Then he’s sitting in the interview room, all self-righteous.” Leaning her head back against the chair, she sighed. “I actually thought we had something going.”

  “Huh.” Alan ticked the chair back and forth in short motions. “Did you tell him about the interview? The audit?”

  “No. I just met him. I don’t need to spill my work issues to some guy I’ve only known a few days.”

  “So you can’t talk to him, but sex is fine?”

  Too bad she wasn’t close enough to kick him. “Like you’ve never had a one-night stand.”

  He straightened his tie, his expression smug and prissy. “I don’t make a habit of it.” She almost smiled. “Anyway…” He dropped the jerk attitude. “Andrew interviewed you and said no?”

  “No, we didn’t even get that far. I threw a fit when I saw him. I didn’t know who he really was, and then these horrible thoughts poured over me. I had enough, so I screamed at him and left.”

  Another eyebrow raise from Alan. “Did you end it there?”

  Chewing her lip, she huffed again. The guilt and doubt warred in her gut, and tears threatened again. She didn’t want to cry over Drew, didn’t want to think for another second about what she’d lost that afternoon.

  “No, we talked for a second. It was ugly.”

  “Ugly how?” Damn Alan and his direct questions.

  She squirmed in her seat. “I let him have it. He lied to me, ruined me. Took my one chance and crumpled it into garbage.” Heat bloomed in her gut at the memory of her last conversation with Drew the traitor. She leaned into the desk, her words fiery hot. “He turned me into a whore for a job and then threw my future away. I wanted to kill him.”

  Alan shook his head slowly, a smile forming. She pursed her lips, her anger directed at her soon-to-be former boss. He held up a hand before she spit any more venom.

  “Think now. How much is true?”

  Terese snorted, crossing her arms, unwilling to respond to his question.

  “So you ripped apart an executive from Drake, a place you want to work?”

  “He lied to me!”

  “Yes, he did.” Alan stared at her flatly, then inspected his fingernails. “Decorum does dictate one must swallow emotional garbage when you’re interviewing for your dream job.”

  “But…” Her anger died on her lips, and she fell back into the chair. “He lied,” she whispered, shame pouring over her. “I was so mad…and hurt.” She worried her thumbnail, and Alan sat quietly, merely sat rocking the chair, his fingers tented.

  Silence loomed as Terese’s jumbled thoughts slowly pieced their way into a picture, the big picture. “I shouldn’t have lost my temper,” she mumbled.

  “And?”

  She blew out an exasperated breath, throwing her arms open across the armrests. “And I should’ve asked for another interview with a different person.” Her bottom lip crept up over her top one.

  “And?”

  “Alan.” She glared red-hot daggers at him.

  He dropped his chin, staring at her over his tented fingers. “And?” He poured more authority into his voice with the third repetition.

  “And…I behaved badly in public, blew the situation out of proportion, and put my own nails in my own coffin.” Her chest tightened as she said the statement. Guilt and fear now rioted in her gut. She knocked her head back against the seat, seeing only darkness ahead. Her own childish actions had annihilated her chances with Drake…and Drew. Two birds with one stone, leaving her in the Pit of Despair.

  She’d be stuck serving drinks forever.

  Slowly raising her head, she met Alan’s gaze. His lips pressed into a tight smile as he waited. She knew the answer already but asked him anyway. “You can’t fix it?”

  He shook his head. “Maybe if George, their HR man, wasn’t fresh from the cardiac wing of Iverton General.”

  That caught her attention. She sat up quickly. “Oh my God, is he okay?”

  Alan waived a hand. “He’s fine. A minor infarction, very minor. He returned home in under a day but won’t be around to run any new interviews.” He leaned forward. “I think that’s why the boss’s son stepped in.”

  Pouting, Terese slouched back in the chair. “Yeah, I guess.”

  “So maybe don’t be so hard on the boy.”

  “He still lied.” Her words dropped without any passion or anger. She glanced down at her decimated thumbnail. Manicures were overrated for waitresses anyway.

  Alan stood and walked to her chair. Crouching down in front of her, he took her hands in his. “Now what?”

  Tears burned at the edges of her vision. “I guess I’ll see if the Beacon Street Bar is still hiring.” She sniffed, trying to rub her eyes on her sleeve, but Alan held tight to her hands.

  He tugged on her wrists, snapping her attention back to him. “You and I both know you haven’t spent the last eight years here spinning your wheels. You have amazing skills, tons of contacts, and a good head for running the place. Take some time and think. Really think. Make a business plan. Make me an offer. Don’t quit, my friend. Just don’t quit.”

  “Easy for you to say,” she said, finally getting her hand free to wipe her tears. “You’re like a king in Iverton.”

  Alan threw his head back and burst out in loud laughter. “Easy for me to say? Have you not heard what’s been going on in my world lately?” He pulled her up to her feet, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “See, my best friend and business partner screwed me over for millions, embezzled our assets, and left me holding the bag. I got nothing, Terese. Nothing but the tavern, and that’s teetering on a cliff.”

  Spinning to wrap her arms around him, not something she usually did, she squeezed Alan tight. “I’m sorry I’m such a spoiled, selfish asshole. I know you’re going through some awful shit. I should shut up.”

  Alan broke the hug, holding her out at arm’s length. “We both have some serious stuff on our plate. I’m not going to let Conrad or the IRS hold me back. I may indulge in a few blackout drunk days after the IRS is finished, but I’m not done.” He squeezed her shoulders. “The ball’s in your court now. Plan how you’ll play it, and you can knock it out of the park. I have faith in you, Terese. You should too.”

  Emotions played pinball in her head. Her shoulders fell and her legs wobbled. She wanted to curl up in Alan’s arms and have him tell her it was okay. No, she wanted to curl up with Drew. The confidence he’d shown made sense now. He was his own man, and Terese had thrown him away in a childish tantrum.

  Her heart ached as she pulled away from Alan. He was her boss and her friend, but not a genie who could make it better. She wrapped her arms around her chest, holding herself together. Taking a couple gulping breaths, she finally met his gaze again.

  “Give me time to think and…”

  “Recover?” he asked, a sense of understanding in his voice. She nodded. “Go home. Indulge. And make a plan.” He patted her arm and turned to leave.

  “Alan, how are you going to get through this?”

  His smile seemed almost feral. “I keep an image in my head of what I’m going to do to Conrad once I get my hands on him.” He cracked his knuckles, a very un-Alan gesture. “I have so many ideas…” He swaggered out the door, like a man who hadn’t had the rug pulled out from under him.

  She watched the closed door for few minutes, making up her mind. One weekend. She’d take the weekend and mourn her loss. Come Monday, she’d put her ass-kicking boots back on and get her life back on track.

  ****

  Drew closed the door of his father’s office, his nerves on edge as if he’d touched a live wire. Blowing out a long breath, he steeled himself for the big talk.

  Spencer glanced up from his desk, waving Drew forward, his ear glued to his cell. “Of course, Oliver.” He gestured to a chai
r by his desk. “Things are rolling. Can I get back to you with the latest data? I have an appointment.” He said the necessary goodbyes and clicked the cell off.

  “Hey there, kiddo,” Spencer chimed, hustling around his desk. He caught Drew in a bear hug. “Thanks again for your help with the interviews. George is going to be fine. Though his wife did hint at a retirement package.” Spencer shrugged. “I’d hate to lose him but…” He punched Drew playfully on the arm. “I might have permanent backup for HR right here.” His grin caused Drew’s stomach to flop.

  That was the final straw. Time to move on. The interview, the fight with Terese had shaken him to the core. Not to mention broken his heart. He’d examined his life, his job, his family and come up with a solution. Hopefully, it wouldn’t put his father in the hospital next to George.

  Drew handed the plain white envelope to his dad. “What’s this?” Spencer asked, tearing it open. He read for a few seconds, then raised his eyes. Anger boiled there, jaded with disappointment. “I wasn’t really going to put you in HR,” he said flatly, the laughter and lightness gone from his voice.

  “Let me explain, Dad.” Drew worked to keep his lips from trembling. He’d been at his father’s side at Drake Industries for years. Dad had brought him to work countless times after Mom died. The two had forged the company together, but Drew needed to leave the nest.

  “The whole mess with George—” he began, but his father cut him off.

  “Is entirely my fault, son. I shouldn’t have forced you to cover. I’m sorry.” He said it in one breath, waving his hands in front of him like an umpire saying safe.

  “That’s not it, Dad. There were two things. First…” He slid into one of the leather chairs. “I wasn’t prepared for the situation. I’m not a jack-of-all-trades like you are. I don’t want to be big business. I don’t want to wear all the hats and put out the fires. I don’t want to end up like George.” Emotion filled his last sentence, and he dipped his head, clearing his throat to hide it.

  He didn’t want to be his father either. In fact, if the disaster of Interview Day had taught him anything, he knew he didn’t want to be a mogul of enterprise. He wanted simpler things, like a life outside of work, for instance.

  Spencer leaned on the edge of his desk. “Have I pushed you that hard, Andy?” He shook his head. “Drew? If I have, I’m terribly sorry for it.” His father’s voice colored with frustration and self-reproach. “You’ve been my right-hand man since you were ten. I assumed…” Mouth twitching, Drew pointed a finger at his father. Spencer laughed. “Yes, I know that makes me an ass.”

  The tension lifted from the room. Maybe his father did understand their dreams weren’t the same. He studied his dad who stared at the floor, his brow furrowed. Neither spoke, his father avoiding eye contact. But Spencer’s posture told Drew it might work out in the end.

  After a long silence, Spencer asked, “What’s the other reason?”

  Heat flamed Drew’s cheeks. “Remember the woman I told you about.”

  Spencer perked up. “The sexy waitress from Oakwood?” Surprisingly, he didn’t sound lecherous at all.

  “Manager,” Drew corrected immediately. “She came in for an interview.”

  Spencer moved to the chair beside Drew and sat down. “Excellent. How did it go?”

  Rubbing at his chin, Drew related the story and how the whole mess had gone so badly. Spencer kept eye contact, but his head slowly tilted to the side, like some confused spaniel.

  “You didn’t tell her who you were? What kind of man does that?” he asked. His father wasn’t criticizing, but the words cut Drew deeply.

  “A stupid one. She walked out of the interview, more pissed than I’ve ever seen anyone. She needs the job and I blew it for her.” Drew hung his head in his hands. Guilt marched up and down his spine worse today than usual. Not only had he blown the interview, he lost the girl, and now he was disappointing his dad.

  “You really like this woman.” A statement, not a question. Drew nodded. “Then give her the job and be done with it. If she runs that bar like you say, I’m fine with her being the event planner.” Spencer sat back, crossing his legs, as if the discussion were over.

  Drew dropped his hands in his lap. “That’s not it, Dad. She doesn’t want to work somewhere where she’s the boss’s girlfriend. She wants to earn it herself.”

  Spencer drew a sharp breath in through his nose. “You have to quit to give her a job? I don’t like that one bit.”

  “No, Dad. I don’t have to. I want to. For her. For me. I like working here, but I’m digging myself into an early grave if I keep this pace up. And if you want to renovate that old hotel, I’ll be in for another grueling project immediately. I want to date Terese. I want to hang with people my age. I’m tired of the seventy-hour work weeks.”

  Spencer pointed a finger at Drew. “But it’s more about the girl, isn’t it?”

  “It’s a big part, Dad. She’s about to lose her only income. She’d be perfect. And I really like her. I messed up. Not huge, but enough to make it up to her. And if I don’t work here, she’ll apply again.”

  Tipping his head back, Spencer stared at the ceiling, quiet for a long time. Then quietly he asked, “You’re still resigning?”

  “Yes.” Drew had nothing more to add.

  Spencer sat up, bouncing his hands on the armrests of the chair. “Okay then. Call Ned. Get your girl another interview and let him know your plans, two weeks’ notice and whatnot. I can give you a nice severance package and a glowing recommendation letter, young man, but no more. No freeloading. You can’t move back in with me.” He winked at Drew.

  Drew sagged against the chair, tired with relief. “Thanks, Dad. I have a few ideas of where I want to work. I’ll put some feelers out soon.”

  “Don’t wait too long, Son,” Spencer said. “I don’t think your lady will like you unemployed.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Trying to heed Alan’s advice, Terese woke Saturday morning, hoping for a mature solution to her mess. It only took ten minutes to sour that plan. Anger still boiled inside her with a white, hot passion. Damn Drew and his deceit. As she lay on the bed, thoughts of their first night flashed in her mind. The fire, the passion, the orgasms… Flushing with heat, she cursed her body for reacting to his memory that way. The fraud, the betrayer. Who cared he was a dynamo in bed? He ruined her life. That fucker.

  Grumbling, she dragged herself out of bed and threw on an old pair of sweats and a stained T-shirt. How could she have fallen for his lies? She wandered into the kitchen, woozy with lack of sleep, her acid thoughts on repeat. As she set up the coffee maker, an image of naked Drew leaning on the counter popped into her head. Cursing, she hurled her empty mug to the floor with an animalistic scream, her vision red.

  “Can’t even have coffee without seeing his lying, stinking…” Her words trailed off. It wasn’t worth it. He wasn’t worth it. She’d been blind to the truth and misjudged him. And she was pissed. At herself.

  Stomping back to her room, she grabbed her sneakers and keys. After throwing them on, she stormed out to the street, her body screaming to release all the pent-up rage. Outside, Hank, her landlord, stood by the back of his truck, rummaging in his toolbox. He glanced up at her, his expression blank.

  Terese couldn’t face him. Not now. Not after she’d been so rude during their last conversation. Not after losing her dream job because of Drew. Anger flared inside her again, burning her from the inside out. Turning away from Hank, she hurried up the street, her pace transforming from a light jog to a run.

  Her mind blanked as the houses zipped by. A left on Maple led her out toward the park and to the hiking trails beyond. Before long she found herself puffing and panting before Ballston Falls. All the excess energy from her anger spent, her mind cleared, and she saw what she needed to do. Forget Drew and focus on her future. Her immediate future.

  For a second, she was tempted to mount one of the trails and see if her fear of heights had que
lled any. But one look at the soaring falls a hundred feet up squashed the feeling. She needed to get back and put together a plan. The long walk home gave her time to brainstorm solutions to her finances without the buzz of anger strangling her thoughts.

  Back at her place, her heart rate slowing and her temper under control, she paused seeing Hank still outside working on an AC unit. A sense of purpose awoke inside her. Anger issues be gone. She needed to deal with her mess. Lifting her chin, she approached him.

  “Hey, Hank. How are you?”

  He glanced up at her, frowning slightly. “Terese, nice day, huh?” His voice slightly trepidatious.

  “Look.” She cut to the chase. “I’m sorry I was awful when you asked about the rent. I messed up. But FYI, my job’s in jeopardy and my latest interview flopped.” Bitterness tried to spark inside her, but she tapped it down.

  Hank raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry to hear that.” He didn’t add anything else, so she pressed on.

  “So I need some help making rent. I can give you what I have now and pay as I get more money. I won’t be out of work for long. Trust me.” As the words escaped her lips, a plan formed. It might not only get her out of the mess with the tavern but on the road to a real career. “Can I pay in installments for right now?”

  Hank considered for a minute, turning back to fiddle with the air conditioner. “I guess we could do that. You’ve been a good tenant, but I don’t want to drag it out forever. I’ll give you two months tops.” He frowned, his eyes saying there were no negotiations.

  Swallowing, she nodded. “Agreed.” One problem solved. Now on to Plan B.

  The detailed plan she concocted on her run would give her the career she wanted, dammit. Alan hinted she could buy one of his properties. Not the Tavern, he’d never give her up, but maybe the little watering hole on Jones Street, Cantelli’s Pub. They hadn’t spoken since the dressing down in the office. The situation with the IRS darkened as the national papers and broadcasts discovered his story and blanketed the crash of his company everywhere. She wanted to ask about buying a property, but bugging him with her issues was not a cool move. But if she offered to help, it might solve something for both of them.