9
Tiff
Iwas back in Sam’s office before the end of the night, half expecting another comment about how he was “in the middle of something,” but instead, he motioned to the chair on the other side of his desk, removing his glasses with a (somewhat worryingly) serious look on his face.
“Tiffany, thank you for coming.”Like he’d summoned me.Seriously, what was with this guy?
“Ok, what is going on?You’re acting weirder than normal.”
I watched him blink.Geez, not even a smile?Tough crowd.
“Firstly, I wanted to apologize for not taking your advice about Riley.”
Had I accidentally entered an alternate reality?“Alright, what did you smoke, and do I need to call a hospital?”
His eyes narrowed in exasperation (which was so much more normal that I actually felt relieved), but did I spy a hint of a smile?Granted, it was gone before it really appeared, but damn, that felt like a win in a way I wasn’t expecting.
If I ever made him actually smile, I might pass out with surprise.
“Alright.You might as well get it out of your system now because I have a serious matter to discuss.”
Oh, right.I forgot that Sam didn’t have a sense of humor.
“My apologies,” I said, sarcasm in full force.“Is this an official staff briefing?Should I be taking minutes?First order of business.”I mimed flipping a notebook open.“Regarding the matter of the firing of Miss Riley Williams, the head bartender states, and I quote, I told you so.”
There was that flicker again.Damn, almost got him.
Sure, I could try not to be so antagonizing to him, and I wasn’t about to consider why I even enjoyed doing it in the first place, but I couldn’t help myself.
“Yes, thank you, Tiffany.”
I chuckled at his dry tone, although dammit, no.This wasn’t meant to be fun.He was an ass.
Fixing my face into something more neutral, I said, “Fine.What was it you wanted to talk about?”
“Can I take it that you’re familiar with the bar trade here?”
Did he seriously just ask me that?Without words, I expressed my best form of “what do you think?”and from his nod, I could tell he understood.
He drummed his fingers against the desk.He had nice hands with broad palms and long fingers.They were constantly reaching out, I’d noticed.Raking through his hair, scratching his beard, running along the seam of his lips when he was deep in thought.Considering the very careful distance he maintained between us, he appeared incredibly tactile.What the hell was I doing even noticing, though?
Jesus, I needed my head checked.
“I am man enough to admit that, despite my experience, I’m a little out of the loop when it comes to the local culture and expectations here.If I have any hope of rejuvenating this bar successfully, then I need to understand what will and won’t play in this market, and that will require the expertise of someone familiar with it.”
I had a bad fucking feeling about this.
And yet …
He wasn’t wrong.I didn’t have any experience with what he was used to over in Vegas, but I could imagine what the bars there were like, and nothing would play worse in Chicago than dollar shots and hurricanes.
There was a deep sense of pride where alcohol was concerned and a hell of a lot of egos.
It didn’t surprise me that he’d recognized that, but I was (regretfully) surprised that he’d admitted he needed help.Guilt was not a feeling I enjoyed.
I was aware that he was waiting for me to comment.“That’s probably a good idea.People here are …” how to say this nicely?“a bit picky about these sorts of things.”
“Glad you agree.Now, I know we haven’t exactly gotten off on the best foot, but I think when it comes to what is best for the bar, we’re both capable of acting like adults in order to make this work.”
