“OK.” Errol shrugs. “Wait. Why? What do you have going on here?”
“Busy couple of days, actually. Because as soon as I have the offer letter in hand —which I should by around lunchtime on Monday —I’m going to try my damndest to finish what you and AJ started. I know my finance guy has a bulldog of a tax lawyer on retainer. If I can get ahold of him Monday morning, he should be able to intercede — buy us a little more time. Especially with what you and AJ pulled in today. If I can borrow the shortfall, I’ll make payments on it until I get the cash from selling the business and just pay off the rest all at once.”
Errol’s eyes get wider and wider as my words sink in. “You’d bail out Finn’s?” he asks, his voice incredulous. “You don’t —you shouldn’t have to do that.”
“I know I don’thaveto. Iwantto.”
Errol frowns. “But taking a job is a big commitment! And working for this Houlihan guy —is it work you’d evenlikedoing?”
I shrug. “I have no idea. But I’m sure I can stick it out for six months or a year, at the very least. I figure even if I hate it, I’ll walk awayverywell-connected to the people I’ll want to know if I ever plan to launch a new venture in the future.”
I flip my glasses onto the top of my head and pinch the bridge of my nose. “But listen, Babydoll — I don’t mind putting some money into this place because I know how much it means to you, but it’sgotto be better-managed. I like AJ and all, but I don’t think he’s got what it takes to run this bar.”
“Yeah, I know,” Errol nods in agreement. “More importantly, I thinkheknows that now, too.”
“Why does he want to own Finn’s?” I ask. “Does he evenlikeowning a bar?”
Errol gives me his usual half-shrug. “I think it’s the idea ofhavingthe place, of making a kind of second home for people. And, honestly? I think what hereallylikes is cooking.”
“What?” I didnotsee that coming.
“Yeah, I’d say that’s definitely his favorite part. He’s been dragging his feet on hiring a new cook. I finally figured out it’s because he likes being in the kitchen himself.”
“Is the food any good?” I’m realizing that I’ve never actually eaten at Finn’s.
“Depends on who’s cooking,” Errol says with a rueful smile. “Which is part of the problem. You can’t expect a customer to be happy with some awesome thing AJ randomly whipped up one day, and then come back two days later when it’s the other cook, whose idea of menu variety is regularandcrinkle-cut fries.”
I laugh to be polite, but the humor is lost on me because my mind is already spinning. And for once, it’s not bouncing in a million different directions. A plan is coming together, and as soon as it coalesces in my head, it feels inevitable, as if it already exists outside of my imagination.
“I have an idea.”
54
AARYN
Iwas worried AJ would take offense at a proposition to buy out the bar and keep him on as head cook, but Errol said he’d talk to him. So I let him handle that while I threw myself into the money part of this rescue plan.
I spent most of Monday and Tuesday on the phone with lawyers and loan officers, on hold with the tax department, thenbackon the phone with lawyers, then onto AJ’s accountant buddy —who I’m pretty sure isn’t actually an accountant at all. But between Errol and I, we did it — yanked the bar from the jaws of tax-bureaucracy death. We had grand plans to split a bottle of champagne and fuck to celebrate, but the past few days were so draining, we both just fell asleep on the sofa like a couple of old men.
I know Errol could’ve gotten a job somewhere else, but Finn’s ishisplace, and its regulars are his people. As for myself, I might have technically bought my way into the fold, but paying off those back taxes and buying it out made me a regular all the same. Got my own seat, even. It’s close enough to the power outlets that I can plug in my laptop, and the angle gives meplenty of opportunity to surreptitiously ogle Errol’s ass while he’s working.
One day last week, I walked in just as someone was about to sit down there, only to be shooed away by Mikey. I overheard him telling the person he couldn’t sit there because that was where the owner’s boyfriend always sat. I smiled to myself and gave him a little two-fingered wave of thanks as I sat down.
The bar is officially in Errol’s name for a bunch of boring tax and business-loan reasons, but I’m glad it worked out this way. Because every time I hear someone introduce him as the owner of Finnegan’s Wake, his eyes glow and he stands a little taller.
Errol’s read on AJ was a hundred percent right. The big Viking is happy as a clam in the kitchen, cranking out dishes that manage to straddle the line between rib-sticking comfort food and elegant, deftly crafted flavors and textures. I told him last week if he’s not careful, he’s going to turn this place into a proper restaurant. We’ve invested in the building a bit, too, turning a weirdly-configured back dining room that nobody ever used into a proper office.
In the few months since he became the owner, Errol has been busting his ass. Things have been just as hectic for me; I’ve had to go out to California a bunch of times both for my new job and to tie up a few more loose ends on the business sale. But we still manage to carve out time for each other as often as we can.
Like tonight, for instance. After everyone’s gone, I switch off the main lights and lock up for Errol while he changes. He wanted to christen the new office with a sexy boss-and-assistant role-play.
“Miss Francis!” I bark as I swivel around in the desk chair. “Why didn’t you tell me my top client called three times? I should fire you for this!”
I can’t lie. I thought the scenario sounded a little silly when Errol suggested it; I just didn’t have the heart to turn him downonce I saw the sparkle in his eyes. But when he hustles into the doorway, wearing a blouse that flashes way more than a peek of his lacy black bra and a hiked-up black miniskirt showing off lace-topped thigh-highs, my dick doesn’t care about my brain’s opinion.
“That attire is highly inappropriate, Miss Francis,” I tell him sternly.
“But, sir,” Errol purrs, “None of my other bosses ever complained.” When he bats those big brown eyes at me, the only thought in my head is how I can’t wait to make his eyeliner run down his cheeks. My cock presses against the zipper of the black dress pants I’m wearing. I put on a tie, too — which I plan to put to good use later.
