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Yeah. I’m so fucking done for.
My cell phone blasts to life, making us both jump. I glance at the caller ID impatiently, knowing I can’t ignore it.
I look at Poppy. “Don’t go anywhere,” I say, snapping the phone to my ear. “Jackson, what’s up?” I snap at my bartender.
“Sorry to interrupt, boss, but we’re almost out of beer,” Jackson says.
I turn, running an agitated hand through my hair. “We can’t be. I ordered twenty crates the day before yesterday.”
Jackson sighs down the line. “Well, it’s not in the storeroom, and we’ve checked everywhere else.”
“Shit!” I grunt, turning back to see that Poppy has disappeared. “Hang on,” I instruct Jackson.
I hurry along the corridor that leads to the exit, but there’s no sign of her. Bursting through the doors onto the sidewalk outside, I scan the Saturday night crowds, but it’s as if she’s vanished into thin air.
“Fuck!” I curse, unable to believe she’s gotten away from me a second time.
“Boss? Boss!” Jackson’s voice reaches me from the phone in my hand.
I lift it to my ear. “I’m on my way.”
I return to the bar and check the cold storage where we keep our stock. The shelves where the beer would normally be stored are empty. I glance at my watch. It’s a little after 11 PM. There’s no way the supplier will be open now.
“Fucking great,” I mutter, shaking my head in frustration.
Making a quick decision, I tell Jackson to put a ten percent discount on all spirits and push them instead of the beer. That should leave us enough for tonight. Then I make my way to my office and check through the emails until I find the one I’m looking for. My stomach drops as I see the email attached to it that I missed two days ago, telling me that the payment card had been declined and the order canceled.
“Fuck!”
We need beer for the weekend, or we won’t have any customers. There’s nothing else for it. I dig my wallet out of my pocket, pulling out my personal credit card. I quickly put an online order through with the brewery, paying extra for rush delivery so it will arrive first thing in the morning.
Next, I call the company credit card number, connecting to the automated service, which confirms my suspicions—we’re two thousand dollars over the limit. I need to get this shit figured out, and fast.
“Time to stop burying your head in the sand, Jensen,” I mutter to myself.
But the truth is, it’s not just my head that’s buried—my heart is too—under the strain of a steaming pile of debt. My grandfather would be clawing his way out of his grave now if he knew the mess his son had left behind for me to put right.
I’ll have to sell the Bentley. I was selfish to hold onto it until now, but my grandfather left it to me in his will, and I didn’t want to part with it. Now I have no choice, but it won’t be enough to plug this hole and stop the financial hemorrhaging.
I do an internet search, trying to source cheaper suppliers, maybe even corporations interested in buying out parts of the business, even though the idea makes me feel nauseous.
I briefly consider asking Callum for a loan before dismissing it. Callum and I grew up together, along with Jared and Dexter. Callum moved to San Antonio to set up his IT business, and he’s made a huge success of himself. He deserves it—he’s a fucking IT genius, and he’s worked damned hard to get where he is. I know he’d lend me money in a heartbeat, but there’s a stubborn part of me that wants to try to deal with this myself, without running to my friend with a begging cup.
Half an hour later, I’m interrupted once more by a knock at the door, and I look up to find Steven, one of my waiting staff, hovering in the doorway.
Now what?
“Sorry, boss, but there’s a rowdy table out front demanding to speak to the owner. Something about the service not being up to its usual standard.”
I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to stem the mother of a headache that’s threatening.
Rising from my chair, I reluctantly follow Steven through to the bar, where he points to the offending table. Jared is sitting there with Dexter, both of them wearing shit-eating grins as they raise their drinks and beckon me over.
“They wouldn’t take no for an answer, boss. And you look like you could do with a drink,” Steven says with a wink before moving off to take an order from another table.
“About fucking time,” Jared says as I reach their table.
“I’ve got work to do, asshole. I can’t just drop everything because you snap your fingers,” I reply, glowering at my friend.
