Something to Prove Page 6

  She took a napkin and used it to wipe down one of the stools to take a seat.

  “Hey, those are my notes.”

  She looked at the crumpled paper. “You took notes on cocktail napkins?”

  “I used what I had handy.” He snatched it from her.

  After shuffling through the pile, he looked up. “I think this bar has a lot of potential.”

  “As what, a dump?”

  “You said that you wanted to turn this bar into a profitable business.” He looked at her like she was a child playing a game. “I thought you were serious.”

  She hopped off the stool. Serious? Everything in her life was serious. Everything she did was to advance her career. How dare he question her work ethic? “You think because I’m not impressed by your pile of napkins that I’m not serious?”

  Before he could answer, a dull pain shot through her stomach. She clenched her midsection and rubbed it with a flat palm as if she could will the pain away.

  Colin moved closer. “What’s wrong?”

  The pain passed and she straightened. “Nothing. I’m fine. Slight upset stomach.”

  “Maybe you should sit back down.”

  As much as she wanted to argue with him—he had no business telling her what to do—she really wanted to sit down. She eased back on the stool. As quick as the pain arrived, it seemed to disappear. In the back of her mind she feared the ulcers had returned, but she brushed the thought aside. She’d been fine for years, able to live and eat and drink normally. Last night’s alcohol was just taking its toll.

  Colin’s gaze followed her every movement. She didn’t like being scrutinized by him, so she pointed at his mess on the bar. “Go on.”

  He hesitated, but continued, “This bar is in an excellent location. You’re right on Addison.”

  “So?”

  He shook his head. “One quick bus trip and you’re at Wrigley Field.”

  She had no idea where he was going with this.

  “The Cubs? Baseball?” He sighed heavily. “I’m suggesting we make this a sports bar. Chicago has great teams and even better fans. Instead of letting this place flounder as some Irish pub imitation, we make it something new, like you said.”

  His enthusiasm caught her off guard. She knew less about sports than she did about bars, but he was excited. He thought he was really onto something.

  “All of the research I did on bars in the area was on Irish pubs. I didn’t look into sports bars at all.”

  “In Chicago, Irish pubs are a dime a dozen. You have North-Side Irish, South-Side Irish, and plenty of fakes in between.”

  “And sports bars?”

  “Also a dime a dozen.”

  He’d lost it. Worse, so had she to think that bringing him on board was a good idea.

  “Don’t give me that look. Sports bars are everywhere. Chicago is a sports town. What you have here is a neighborhood bar. It’s never going to be more than that. Take a look outside.”

  She glanced through the open door. As she had on her first visit, she noticed the residential neighborhood.

  “We have to give people a reason to come here to drink instead of sitting on their couches. We need to offer something better than what they have at home.”

  He began to make more sense than she’d expected, but she held her hope in check. “How do you suggest we do that?”

  “Bring in big-screen TVs. Get quality satellite in here with all of the sports channels. Offer bus rides and tickets to some of the Cubs games.”

  “Where would I get a bus?”

  He shook his head at her again. “You rent it. You buy a block of tickets and sell them. Like a field trip. They get drunk to and from the game and don’t have to drive. Once the place is cleaned up, people will come to check it out. Neighbors will be nosy. They’ll want to know what we’ve done. Once we get them in, we need to entice them to stay and come back again.”

  She sipped at her coffee, now cooled. Her nerves had calmed and her stomach seemed to settle. She wasn’t sure she liked the idea of a sports bar, but she had nothing else. Colin was right; the location restricted what she could expect. “Okay.”

  With that one simple word, Colin relaxed. He’d thought for sure Elizabeth wouldn’t agree to any of his ideas. She looked completely lost over the concept of a sports bar. He didn’t understand why she wanted to make this thing work instead of selling it when she had no idea what she was doing. He doubted she’d ever even stepped foot in a bar, except for doing research.

  “Awesome.” He scooped up his napkins and balled them up. One by one he shot them into the trash can behind the bar. He only missed twice.

  “Are you done playing now? We have a lot of work to do. I have decorators coming in to look around and offer bids on fixing this mess. I also have vendors coming in. Before we can know what to order, I think we need to determine our drink menu.” She reached into her briefcase and pulled out the legal pad. “Beer will be our biggest seller, don’t you think? But like you said, this is a neighborhood bar, so I’m thinking we stick with mostly domestic and a few popular imports. What else?”

  “Liquor. No girlie drinks.”

  “Well, that ruins my plan for an upscale wine tasting.”

  Colin froze and stared at her. She hadn’t moved, but her cheek twitched. He asked, “Did you just make a joke?”

  “Obviously not a very good one.”

  He smiled. “It wasn’t bad. You caught me off guard. I didn’t know you could joke.”

  Her gaze left her list and met his eyes. “There’s a lot about me you don’t know.”

  Even in the dim light, her hard stare shot into him. He had to remind himself that they were on the same side. Something about her made him feel as if they were opponents. He didn’t know much about her, but he’d like to peel away that guarded layer that made them rivals. Like when she’d sat at his bar, tipsy on wine.

  “I’ll head into the storeroom to do inventory.”

  She nodded. “I’ll be in the office going through the mess there. How long do you think you’ll need? The vendors and decorators will be here around four.”

  He looked at the clock and realized that it was broken, so he shrugged. “That should be fine.”

  He headed to the back, looking for a door to the basement like they had at O’Leary’s. He found it and opened it to a stench worse than death.

  “The inventory is in the storeroom. Next door down,” Elizabeth said from behind him.

  “What the fuck is that smell?” He pulled his shirt collar up over his nose to block the odor.

  “I don’t know. I’ve never been down there. Smells like a job for you.”

  He slammed the door. “You’re not paying me enough to dispose of corpses. Talk to your decorators.”

  “Before I can hire someone to fix it, I need to know what the problem is.”

  He turned to look at her. She stood with her arms crossed, waiting for an argument. “I’ll check it out after I finish with the inventory.”

  She stared at him like she couldn’t believe he’d agreed. Well, neither could he. He opened the next door and flipped a switch for lights. The storeroom was small, about the size of the supply closet at O’Leary’s. Two metal shelving units held beer; a third held hard liquor. On the opposite wall sat an assortment of things that didn’t look well used: paper towel rolls, a case of toilet paper, various bottles of cleaners. The wall to his right had a long, beat-up counter running the length of the space. On it was a tabletop pizza oven, a microwave, and a coffeemaker.

  It dawned on him that the place had no kitchen. It was almost unheard of for a bar not to have a kitchen. They should see if they could get something going here. Check the plumbing lines and gas lines to see if they could turn this into a kitchen and move the inventory to the basement.

  He was getting ahead of himself. Elizabeth wanted to make changes to turn a profit. Neither of them was in this for the long haul. Building a kitchen would be too much. But if he could sell her on
his ideas, the bar would be what he wanted when he bought it. Using her budget figures, he had an idea of what she’d be looking for when she was ready to sell. With the twenty-five percent promised in their contract, he could do this.

  His grin spread as excitement rose. He’d be able to get his own bar and it wouldn’t cost him anywhere near the money or sweat equity because Elizabeth would bear the brunt of making the changes. All he had to do was bide his time and make sure the bar was profitable enough for her to want to sell.

  Grabbing a clipboard that Elizabeth had left on the counter, he began counting cases of beer and bottles of alcohol. Tucked away in the corner between shelving units, he found a box of stale pretzels. He dragged it out the back door and tossed it in the Dumpster.

  An identical metal door stood eight feet to the left of him. It was for the adjoining business. Faded lettering on the door couldn’t be read. He scanned his memory for what used to be there and came up empty. He walked around the other side of the building. This side had a few more windows than The Irish had, but they were all soaped and boarded up. The other half of the building was bigger than the bar and it had a parking lot attached.

  He wondered if Elizabeth had looked into who owned it. Did her father own the entire building and The Irish just happened to come with it?

  There were a lot of questions crowding his brain. He shouldn’t care. He had a deal. Make a profit and get her out. He circled back to the door he’d exited, leaving it open behind him for a cross breeze.

  From the back hall, he heard Elizabeth’s voice. They weren’t expecting anyone for a few hours yet. A voice rose, but it wasn’t hers. Colin headed into the bar to see what was going on.

  Elizabeth stood near the door. The sunlight was blocked by the behemoth of a man she was talking to.

  “We’re closed. Not just now, but indefinitely.”

  “Mitch always lets me come in early.” He stepped toward Elizabeth, and Colin moved in.

  Before he had a chance to say anything, Elizabeth put her hands on her hips. “Take another step into my bar and I’ll call the police.”

  Not a smart move. Colin could see the guy was already half in the bag. Calling the cops would just piss him off.

  “Fuck you.” He looked over Elizabeth’s head and called, “Mitch. Get this bitch out of my way before I move her.”

  “Mitch is gone. Fired. He won’t be back.”

  Colin stood beside Elizabeth. “Excuse me, I’m Colin, Mitch’s replacement. Can I help with something?”

  Elizabeth glared at him and pressed her lips together tightly.

  “I just want a drink. And she”—he stuck his thumb at Elizabeth—“won’t let me in.”

  “We’re not open for business right now. She’s a stickler for the rules. You know how some people are.” The man cracked a smile, and Colin knew he had him. “I don’t think one small drink could hurt. You are alone, right?”

  The man furrowed his eyebrows.

  “I don’t want to tell you to come in for a drink and have you bring fifty of your closest friends.”

  “Just me.”

  “Come on in, then. But only one and then you have to leave. We’re trying to fix the place up.”

  The hulk of a man brushed past Elizabeth, and she stormed off into the back. “Feisty one, ain’t she?”

  Colin didn’t respond. He knew he was already going to pay for letting this guy have a drink. The man plopped onto a stool while Colin moved around the bar. “What’s your poison?”

  “Shot of whiskey and a beer.”

  Colin quickly poured both. “I’ll be right back.”

  The man grunted and swallowed the shot. Colin went to the office.

  As soon as she saw him, Elizabeth opened her mouth. “You have—”

  He cut her off. “You can yell at me later. Call the non-emergency line for the police and let them know we have a guy who plans to leave here and drive drunk. He won’t get far.”

  He left the room with her mouth still hanging open. Back at the bar, the man was nearly finished with the beer. “You’re gonna need a new place to hang out for a while. We really are closed for remodeling.”

  “No shit?”

  “No shit. The boss back there wants to turn this place around.”

  The man stood and looked across the room. “What’s wrong with it?”

  Colin shrugged. This was one conversation he didn’t need to have.

  The man slapped a five on the bar. “Keep the change. Thanks for the drink.”

  He stumbled out the door. Colin moved to the corner of the bar to see what car the man was in. He threw his leg over a motorcycle. As the drunk fished for his keys, a squad car came down the street. Colin returned his attention to the rows of alcohol behind the bar.

  As soon as he’d poured the shot, he knew the whiskey had been watered. He started with that bottle and went to the sink. The liquid splashed and glugged down the drain. He turned to the next bottle and poured a bit into a semi-clean glass. The cheap tequila had been watered too.

  He worked his way down the line, taking a taste and pouring everything out. If the manager was watering drinks, the bar should have been showing more of a profit. It was a good thing Elizabeth had fired Mitch. Her manager had probably been lining his own pockets. He sipped from the next bottle.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  Anger burned in her stomach. Colin had only been here a few short hours and he was turning her life upside down. She didn’t need this kind of stress.

  He stared at her while holding a shot glass. “I’m doing inventory like you asked.”

  “Somehow, drinking the inventory is how you decide what we need to buy?”

  “I’m tasting it to see if it’s good. It’s not.” He poured the contents of the bottle into the sink.

  “Pouring alcohol down the drain isn’t going to make this place profitable.”

  He raised an eyebrow at her. “The alcohol has all been watered down. If that’s the way you plan to do business, let me know now and we can terminate our contract. I’m not in the habit of cheating people.”

  Her face flushed. He’d done it again. At every turn he was embarrassing her. “I have no intention of cheating anyone. I didn’t know the alcohol had been diluted.”

  He shook his head and turned back to the row of bottles. “It would just kill you, wouldn’t it?”

  “What?”

  “To trust me. We’re supposed to be on the same side. You know, a team, but you walk around like you’re expecting me to screw you over.” He shifted again to face her.

  “I don’t know you. I’m not looking to be on a team. We have a partnership, a limited one at that. I need to make sure this works. I can’t afford to waste time or energy.” He didn’t need to know how close he was to guessing the truth. Her brother had taught her early on not to count on anything or anyone.

  “Fine. I’m going to dump all this liquor. Do you have a problem with that?”

  Of course she had a problem with losing hundreds of dollars’ worth of alcohol. But he was right. Again. “Go ahead and dump it, but I did tell you that I expected all decisions to go through me.”

  “Excuse me for showing initiative. It won’t happen again.”

  She turned and went back to the office, closing herself in the silence. This would never work. She couldn’t even have a conversation with Colin without it turning into a power struggle. She should’ve known better than to partner with a man like him. He wanted to be the boss just like every other man.

  She opened the bottle of antacids she’d brought with her and chewed on one. Her stomach was still upset. She wasn’t just hungover; she knew that feeling. Maybe her stomach was upset because she’d skipped breakfast. It was past lunchtime and she hadn’t even eaten a doughnut.

  Her thoughts ran back to Colin. Strange that while on the topic of pain she had thought of him. She shouldn’t have snapped at him. She felt crappy because she hadn’t gotten enough sleep an
d she was hungry.

  Maybe she’d invite Colin to lunch. She had to be able to work with him. He hadn’t done anything to make her think he wasn’t trustworthy. He’d done nothing wrong. In fact, he’d come up with some good ideas.

  She grabbed her purse and headed back into the bar. He stiffened at the sight of her. Oh, yeah, this was going well. “We missed lunch. I thought maybe you might want to grab something to eat before we have to meet with people.”

  His shoulders relaxed and his mouth quirked. “Is that an invitation?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry I snapped at you.”

  “That’s all?”

  What else did he want? She raised her brows, waiting for an explanation.

  “No ‘thank you’?”

  “Why should I thank you for doing your job?”

  He walked around the bar and stood much too close for her comfort. “I think you owe me a thank-you for rescuing you from the biker.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You did not rescue me. I handled myself fine.”

  His smile broadened. “From where I stood, he was about to handle you.”

  “I didn’t ask for your help.”

  “What would you have done if I wasn’t here?”

  She debated telling him that the door wouldn’t have been open. The clientele of this establishment made her uneasy, but she wasn’t about to give him that fuel. “I would’ve called the police.”

  “Wrong choice. You need me more than you thought, Legs.” He walked past her toward the door.

  “What did you call me?”

  “Legs.” He tilted his head and his gaze ran down the length of her. “As in you’re all leg.”

  “My name is Elizabeth.”

  He smiled, and her heart jumped. A smile should not have that effect.

  He continued, oblivious to her condition. “Anyway, if you’d made that call to the cops, he would’ve gone into a rage. You have to be able to read people.”

  “That’s why I hired you. So we’re back to you just doing your job and no thanks are necessary.” She turned to the door with her car keys in hand. His laugh echoed in the empty bar behind her and she couldn’t hold her smile back.