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Chapter Four
Liam
Tracey:So, now is probably the time I should tell you I have a daughter. I will understand if that makes you lose interest. Not everybody is built for children. I love them, though. Started working as a social worker years ago, so I get to spend my days trying to help children as best I can.
Liam:That’s awesome. Sometimes I wish I’d gone to school to be a teacher. How old is your daughter?
Tracey:Sixteen. Best thing that’s ever happened to me. Even if she’s a brat sometimes.
Liam:That makes you a good mother, I’ve heard. Children aren’t easy.
That makes you a good mother?I shake my head, wondering how to recover from what is easily my most awkward exchange ever over text. I wouldn’t blame her if she doesn’t even reply.
I tuck my phone into my pocket and shake my head. It has been years since I tried flirting with a woman. My skills are rusty at best, not that they were good to begin with. One part of me wants to see what she says, but another part fears the response. Instead of sitting around and waiting for it, I have the urge to work. After running a hand through my hair and smoothing out the wrinkles in my shirt, I leave my office and head to the bar.
Even paperwork will be a welcome distraction at this point.
“How’s it going tonight, boss?” Piper asks as I step behind the bar.
“Pretty good now that I’m away from all that paperwork,” I say, grinning as I toss a rag over one shoulder before turning to the people at the bar.
“Anything exciting happening these days?” Piper pulls a nozzle and pours beer into a pitcher.
“Maybe. I’ve started talking to a lady. She seems nice and smart so far.”
Piper squeals, shoving the pitcher of beer across the bar to a waitress before turning to me. “What’s her name? What’s she like?”
“Tracey. My age. She has a daughter. African American. She’s a social worker. Spends a lot of time helping kids.”
Piper snorts. “Your mother’s going to love her…not.”
“Ask me if I give a flying fuck,” I say, making an espresso martini for a woman in a pink dress that’s barely covering her body. “My mother only likes Chloe because Chloe bends to her whims. She’s never seen what a spoiled brat Chloe is. If she knew about all of the hissy fits and demands for money, I doubt my mother would like her as much.” Smiling at the woman in the pink dress, I place the martini in front of her. I then then turn to Piper, continuing our conversation. “Chloe’s only interested in me for what I can give her.”
“Hmph. You’re putting it lightly,” Piper says before hurrying to the other end of the bar where a group of twenty-somethings are ready to place their orders.
Friday nights are always busy, rivaled only by Saturday. Though I own several bars in the city, I always spend Fridays at Poison Apple. It’s the newest with the most inexperienced team. The other bars all have an established staff who can take care of business without me hovering over them. I check on them weekly, but there isn’t a need for me to micromanage.
The tension leaves my body as I pour shots and cocktails, collecting tips as I toss bottles high in the air before catching them. People come and go with no problems until I see my security team start charging through the dance floor.
“Piper, hold down the fort,” I say, leaping over the bar top and heading to the dance floor. My security team wouldn’t storm over to the dance floor if there wasn’t something serious going on.
Two men are trading punches, a woman on one of their backs while another man pours beer over them. I grab one man by the back of his shirt, hauling him to the side and straight into the arms of one of the guys on the security team. The other man is still trying to shake the woman off his back, shouting and cussing out anyone that comes near. The woman is holding on, clawing at his chest and wrapping her legs tighter around his waist. He shouts and reaches for her, but each time he does so, she swipes her fake nails down the side of his face.
“Get out!” I grab him by the collar and drag him toward the door, the woman still on his back. The bouncer opens the door, a chilly wind racing inside as we toss the men and the woman out on their asses.
There’s cheering and clapping as the door slams behind them, one of the waitresses appearing with a bucket and mop for the beer on the floor. I wipe my hands on my pants, put a smile on my face, and head toward the man who’d been pouring beer over them.
He looks as if he thinks he’ll get to stay after fucking up my bar. The cocky smile on his face fades as I stop in front of him and cross my arms.
“You too.” I point my finger to the door. “Out!”
The man sputters an angry protest, but it’s in vain as he’s escorted out before he can put up much of a fight. A wave of mild disappointment washes over me. Another fight might just be a good way to ease some of the tension that keeps building within me.
Just when I think we’re going to settle into an easy night, my mother comes parading through the door with her nose turned up. If that isn’t bad enough, my ex-fiancée Chloe is hot on her heels. Both look out of place with pearls around their necks and clothing that cost more than I want to think about.
Chloe looks around the bar, spotting me before I can escape, and whispers in my mother’s ear. She points a long finger in my direction. I can’t help but wish I could sneak to the bathroom and squeeze out of the window—not that I would have been able to fit through it, anyway. I’m a big guy at six-feet-five and about two hundred and fifteen pounds.
With a jerk of my head toward the employees-only door, I take off toward my office. I can imagine the disgust my two uninvited guests are probably feeling as they weave their way through the crowd. I bet my mother is gasping in horror at the god-awful music—her words, not mine—blaring from the jukebox. I wait in the hallway for them with the door open.
