Marshall—
In the business world, if you aren’t punctual, you can go fuck yourself.
Opening a new bar, in a new-to-me city, was stressful enough, but add in relying on others to show up on time—that made it ten times worse. This chick from the bakery was supposed to be here at ten a.m. Thirty minutes later and still nothing.
“Wells,” I shouted to my bar manager.
“Yeah?” he said, rolling his chair, along with his ginger-topped head and beard, out of the office.
It was purely an accident that I hired a ginger-haired bar manager to work at my bar named Ginger. Accidents worked out well sometimes.
“Any calls?” I asked.
“No,” he said, reclining his husky body against the back of the chair.
“Shit,” I said, pulling the pen from behind my ear and tossing it across the marble bar top. “You better not have set up a meeting for me with someone who is a no-show when I have tons of other shit to do.”
A new bar. A new town. An immense amount of pressure.
Not that I wasn’t used to pressure. A former career as a day trader, the desire to want to make my parents proud, and a second career as a bar manager were all preparation. Now? With both my parents gone, I was ready to make myself proud.
“Just wait until you taste her stuff. Everyone around here knows about Alexis and Tipsy Treats.” He took a sip from the straw of his Frappa-whatever-the-fuck he was drinking. “I’m telling you, the whole thing is genius. The different infusion of cocktails that we’ll be doing, along with small plates of food and Tipsy Treats? The locals are going to love it.”
I was banking on it. This was my bar—well, mine along with my best friend Aaron, who was still back in our hometown Chicago. But it was all on me because I was the one here in California. It was my show, and Aaron was allowing me to run with it.
“Look,” Wells continued. “It’s totally unique to have a bar that only serves small plates, but with a heavy dessert aspect. It’s going to work, though.” He took another large sip from his drink. “Also, I don’t know how it’d be my fault if she’s late.”
“Because I hired you to make sure you were only hiring the best.” I paused, waiting for him to stop slurping up the bottom of his drink. “Plus, you look like a douchebag drinking that thing.”
“A tasty beverage from Black Horse doesn’t give off douche vibes. There’s a reason it’s the best coffee spot in San Luis Obispo. You should try one for yourself, and then you can go fuck yourself, boss,” he said, rolling back into the office.
A relationship based on mutual shit talk, respect, and trust was the best kind to have. It was why I hired him.
I chuckled, walking to the end of the bar to retrieve the pen I’d thrown. I had a lot of nerve getting drippy when most of what I dished out I deserved in whatever bullshit I got back in return. It went back to having the ideal relationship with your right-hand man. We both could dish out and take.
Ginger was a beauty and I’d fight anyone who thought differently. The expansive two-floor space was in the heart of San Luis Obispo, California. With the walls decorated with paintings from local artists and the oak slate hardwood floors, the vibe was on beat with trendy. I didn’t want just trendy, though. I wanted comfortable, a place people wanted to stay, drink, and hang out with friends. So I balanced the swanky with relaxed and inviting furniture like leather-bound high-back chairs that were slightly larger than normal barstools and chestnut-colored U-shaped booths that ran the entire perimeter of the bar. Add in small seating with two outdoor patios, one in front for a street view and one in back for a quieter one, and the whole thing was a dream fucking come true.
The pen slid back behind my ear as the front door slammed against the wall behind it, a hip check from the girl coming through it probably marking up my new paint.
“Oops,” she said, her red hair matching her embarrassed, flushed cheeks. She looked behind the door to see if there was any damage as she balanced a tower of pink boxes in her arms. “Sorry. I think it’s all good.”
I sighed, shaking my head, crossing the room to give her a hand. “Let me guess? Alexis?”
“No,” she said. “I’m Phoebe. She got held up, so I’m here to drop these off so you can take a look, or rather a taste, first.”
I took several boxes, the scent of chocolate and sugar floating from them. “You know, a phone call would’ve been nice to let me know that.”
She followed behind me, mumbling to herself, before saying, “Take it up with her.”
“Huh?” I asked.
The vibe I received already, from both the lateness of Alexis and then the attitude of Phoebe, was not getting better. My threshold for bullshit, especially during a stressful time, was close to zero.
We settled the boxes on top of the bar, and she stepped back, placing her hands on her curvy hips. “I said take it up with her,” she shouted. “Sorry. Sometimes I don’t speak loud enough.”
Clearly my “huh” wasn’t viewed as rhetorical. It was time to lay down expectations.
“Whatever,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I will, but just so you know, I view an owner as only as good as their employee. I’m not sold on either one at the moment. It’s not professional to scream at someone.”
“Sorry if I hurt your delicate ears,” she said with a flippant tone. “But you said ‘huh,’ and that usually indicates that someone isn’t hearing you well.”
“Do you interact with all your customers like this?” I asked.
“Dude. Marshall,” Wells said, rolling his chair back out. “Loosen up. This is no way to make an impression.”
I didn’t give a shit. I didn’t care who thought I was a dick or not. This was my fucking business, and I expected anyone involved with it to take shit seriously. If that happened, I’d be as cool as a frosted beer mug.
Phoebe retrieved her phone from her back pocket and glanced at it. “Alexis will be here in a minute. She got caught up with another delivery.”
“Are these for us?” I asked, poking the top of one of the pink boxes, my finger sliding across the black sticker that had TIPSY TREATS printed in white across the top.
“You don’t listen very well, do you?” she said, placing her hands on her hips. “I said they were for you to have a taste.”
Wells snorted from his seat, and I shot a glare at him. “What the fuck are you laughing at?” I snapped.
“What?” he asked, continuing to chuckle. “Like it’s not funny to see someone, let alone a woman, give you all the shit you dish out right back?”
Yeah. Just like I said. Dish out. Take.
“Thank you, Wells,” Phoebe said. She smiled and then gave him a wink. “I haven’t seen you around in a while.”
His face grew serious. “Were you looking?” he asked with his eyebrows raised.
“Maybe,” she said, winking again.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” I said, flipping the top of a pastry box open. “Will you two stop? I’m not hosting Love Connection.”
“What’s that?” Wells asked.
“You know, Love Connection. The dating show that used to be on,” I said. “Remember ‘two and two’?”
Both Phoebe and Marshall looked at me blankly. They didn’t know. “Fucking children,” I said under my breath about the two twentysomethings.
I focused my attention on the baked goods in the first box I opened instead of the pathetic attempt at flirting that Wells was throwing at Phoebe. On initial look, they were impressive. A large cake-like brownie with shiny frosting on top, a few small, but not too small cupcakes with swirly tops and decorations, and some cookie bar things. It all looked amazing. I was deciding between the brownie or chocolate chip bar when the front door flung open, slamming into the wall behind it.
“What the fu—” I shouted, but stopped when I saw who made the noise.
What the fuck?
What the actual fuck?
The woman, glancing behind the door looking for damage, resembled someone I knew from many years ago. Her blond hair hung longer than I remembered, and without her facing me, I couldn’t discern the rest of her features. I moved closer, and as her body shifted away from the door, I saw everything I needed to see.
“Holy shit,” I whispered in shock. “Lexie Matthews.”
Her head whipped around, and her hand went to her chest.
I couldn’t believe it was her.
She had almost been erased from my memory. She had to be because the anger I had toward her for leaving Aaron and their daughter was enough for me to go homicidal.
And now she was standing right the fuck in front of me.
And all that anger was rising.
Rapidly.
She knew it, too, because her own shock had her frozen until she finally spoke.
“No one has called me that in over six years,” she said.