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“Because you love her.”
I what?
“Of course, I do. What’s not to love? Paisley is intelligent and attractive. She runs her own business. She’s independent.” I rattle off the few surface facts she opened up to me about while we shared my favorite rum. It’s from a small batch distiller on the Outer Banks and hard to come by. Minus a periodic threesome, I’m not particularly the sharing type, so I throw in that we polished off the bottle for good measure.
“You are so full of shit. I’m going to enjoy bringing you to your knees on this one, man.” Trig challenges me, adding. “Paisley, not so much. She owns Kimber’s favorite store.”
I relax the way I had in Paisley’s company at Sweet Caroline’s. Kimber’s influence on Trig makes him hard-pressed to hurt Paisley in the process. I’m not sure why that matters to me all of a sudden, but it does.
Trig finishes giving me grief and goes home to his wife. It’s sinking in pretending Paisley and I are together, and persuading my friends the novelty of our connection isn’t tenuous at best, will be a lot harder than I gave it credit for.
Over the past few years, my friends—the kind of men, by anyone’s standards, who should have remained confirmed bachelors—have succumbed to the fairer sex. Aside from Carver and Trig, the others are also married or plan to be soon. It’s the reason why I avoid their social engagements; baby showers, birthday parties, etc…
Unfortunately, I couldn’t pass on Holly’s nuptials. Although, it wasn’t as if I’d be okay without witnessing Holly step into the life she was destined for. Having decided as I walked off the dance floor at her wedding that she’ll remain the single mill girl that I’ll keep for myself, I’m glad Holly is the one I helped. I wish I could have been the man for her and I’m sorry for the shit I unknowingly put her through while working to get her where she and her son needed to be.
I’ve felt the stinging loss of the potential of more than a friendship with Holly for longer than I care to admit. In my weakest moments, I grabbed my bottle of rum and drunkenly poured my heart out to her about my personal failings. I’m all too aware of the murmurs behind my back that I have a tendency to fall for women I have no chance with. My friends aren’t wrong. There’s an inevitable demise to any relationship I’ve engaged in. So when I see the inescapable coming, letting the curtain fall before the final act beats getting the hook.
Maintaining a distance from Holly kept her respectable. I doubt I’ll be seeing much of Mrs. Holly Cass as much anymore. It was the desired outcome all along, wasn’t it? She’s a woman I couldn’t have when I could have her. Someone safe to open up to about my personal demons while she poured from my bottle of rum and listened to my sob story. Holly knows me best. Better than even Trig or Carver, the men included in the shadier side of my business. The more I’ve learned about Holly, giving up on anything romantic between us before it had a chance to bloom made perfect sense.
However, there’s no way that I can show up once or twice with a runaway bride on my arm, say we’re in a committed relationship, and fool anyone. I know next to nothing about Paisley. I’m also in a jam because the details I gave Trig about our coupling include that my girlfriend and I aren’t tied at the hip, needing to text our every move, and gushing over our next secret rendezvous. We don’t have an affair to keep hidden anymore. There’s no trail of evidence unless I get off my ass and make one up. That seems awfully time-consuming for a woman I met less than a day ago.
So, I work with what I can: After making a monumental decision to ditch Dr. Douche on her wedding night, Paisley is highly emotional and confused. She asked for space. I agreed because I care about her. Since she’s independent, me hovering isn’t the right approach. Hell, since I’m an aloof asshole, hovering will look bad.
I have to accept her faults and there’s no way my friends will believe we are together if she doesn’t accept mine.
If you think that line is genius, lemme tell you something. The “Jake the snake” murmurings aren’t for nothing. I’ve stayed hidden in the depths with my beady black eyes focused on my prey and my tongue darting out of my mouth, scenting their weaknesses. The same lovey-dovey scenario played out for Trig and Kimber all the way through Holly and her boy toy, Cary Cass. Apparently, once you find your soulmate, you’ll let all sorts of annoying crap slide.
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5
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“You’d think once I had enough of it in the bank, I’d get over the smell of cash.” Carver holds the stack of bills I’ve kept in the wall safe for him, running his thumb over the tips. They make the sound of cards being shuffled.
The scent of bills is stale to me, but I understand the nostalgia it holds for Carver. While we kept out from underfoot here at the club, he used to watch my dad tally receipts and pass out whatever their share of the tips was to the female bartenders. I think the lasting impression of my father’s generosity is why mill girls are so well kept living across the street. Most of the cash Carver and I exchange covers the mill’s monthly expenses.
Carver places the stack in an otherwise empty case. Flipping the lid shut, he rolls his cuffs and hikes the legs of his pants before relaxing onto the couch. “Did Skye transfer your cut?”
My cousin, Skye, is a numbers guy. It’s like someone implanted an algorithm in his brain or he has a direct connection to the future to know what investment will pay out a sizable profit. Carver gives him money and Skye turns it into more money. The problem becomes figuring out inventive ways to spend all that cash without the tax man questioning where it came from.
I launder a chunk of Carver’s earnings through the club for a decent cut of the action. Oh, and to keep my mouth shut, despite being the one to hook Carver up with Skye. Nobody ever got anywhere by being fucking altruistic. Everyone’s got to eat and you have to take your slice of the proverbial pie or risk not getting any.
I have limits to the illegal shit I’ll do—some of which are more my friends keeping my nose clean than me having an actual conscience. For instance, North Carolina is a hot spot for illegal firearms exchange, but I’ll be damned if I run guns. On the opposite side, Carver’s been up in my shit since before he got married that he won’t use the basement of the factory he owns as a growhouse. To me, that’s short-sighted. Pot is going to get legalized. Wouldn’t it be better if you had the product ready for market? And make some green beforehand to leverage your position? Carver’s objection isn’t even that marijuana is a gateway drug: an excuse I could accept considering his upbringing. For a thief, he may have more morals than I ever will.
“What Skye filtered into my account was a nice chunk. Thank you for getting rich. Your addiction to money makes my life easier. Plus, I have a woman to support now. Paisley likes nice things.”
“Then why is she with you?” My oldest friend busts my balls.
I sneer. My brow arches the way it does when I have to listen to the stories of marital bliss. Aside from my comment to Carver, I haven’t thought about Paisley in days. I’ve had too many other things to deal with.
A year ago, I wouldn’t have set foot in this building before midnight if I stopped in at all. Ignoring my responsibilities at the club was freeing. Now that two of my favorite long-term employees have hit the road, I’m reined in. It’s the middle of the afternoon. Once the club opens, I’ll be lucky if I get out of here before it closes.
The mild contempt I had when I came back to Brighton to take over my parents’ business is no longer. I’ve grown resentful and my apathy is harder to hide without anyone here that I trust to run the club.
This place meant the world to my mother, and after resuscitating the club, I’d like Caroline to have one thing to be proud of me about.
Plenty of entrepreneurs find creative ways to skim off the top, but heaven knows I’ve done more than my fair share of things that would make Mom ashamed of me.
