This is such a bad idea. Leave now before she sees you.
But it was too late. Josie glanced toward the door, and their eyes locked. Eve walked toward her, stopping at an open space at the bar, hands resting on its smooth surface.
“I didn’t expect to see you tonight,” Josie said, her expression unreadable.
“I didn’t expect to be here,” Eve countered, fighting the unsettled feeling in her gut that said she’d made a horrible mistake. “I just thought maybe we should talk a little more about my vision for the bar.”
“Hmm.” Josie stared at her, lips twisted, fingers drumming against the bar. “I told you I’d think about it, and I’ve been thinking.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
“Can I ask you a question, though?” Josie leaned closer, the overhead lights bringing out the green tones in her hazel eyes. “Since we’re already breaking the rules. What’s the new name? You know, for the bar?”
Eve resisted the urge to lean back, to restore an appropriate amount of space between them. “Dragonfly.”
Josie’s eyes widened, her mouth forming a tiny O of surprise.
“Like your tattoo, and for similar reasons. It can symbolize a transformation for Swanson’s as well, a new start and a new image while we position you to a new clientele.” She sucked in a breath. “I hope you don’t hate it.” Renaming a client’s business without consulting them could be a tricky business, and it wasn’t something she did lightly…or often.
“I don’t hate it,” Josie said quietly, her voice almost lost to the din of the bar.
“Those aren’t your customers, Josie.” Eve inclined her head toward a rowdy group of men, barely old enough to drink. “They drink beer, which earns you a smaller profit than liquor. They make a lot of noise and take up a lot of space.Thoseare your customers.” She indicated a pair of women at one of the tables along the far wall, sipping martinis and leaning in close. “Dragonfly will have a more upscale vibe than Swanson’s, soft lighting, smooth music, a custom cocktail list.”
“Oh.” Josie turned her head, looking around the bar as if trying to see the picture Eve was painting for her.
“We’ll open the rooftop on weekends during the summer. Imagine strings of white lights twinkling against the backdrop of the city, high-topped tables where couples or groups of friends can gather with their favorite cocktails. In fact, my homework for you is to come up with at least one signature drink for your new menu, something served only here.”
Josie closed her eyes, breathing deeply, lashes—still heavy with the makeup Eve’s team had applied earlier—fluttering against her cheeks. When she opened them again, her expression was distant. “It’s like an entirely different bar, Eve.”
“That’s kind of the point, isn’t it?”
“Maybe.” Josie looked at two middle-aged men in jeans and T-shirts a few stools down. “What about my regulars? Dougie and Sal have been coming here every night after work for as long as I can remember. They’d never step foot in a gay bar.”
“And how many regulars like them do you have?”
“I don’t know.” Josie looked down at her hands. “A handful.”
“You can’t keep Swanson’s open for a handful of people. Sometimes, you have to be willing to lose a few regulars to gain a new crowd.”
Josie blinked, her eyes glossy. “That’s really sad, and also…scary.”
“I know, but don’t let your fear hold you back from success.”
Josie sighed, shaking her head.
The men at the end of the bar had gotten louder, good-natured banter giving way to an argument. Eve glanced at them, discomfort twisting inside her. This was exactly the problem with bars…too much noise, too much alcohol, drunk men heading out into the night, ramped up on alcohol and testosterone. At least here in the city, they were unlikely to get behind the wheel after they left.
Josie was watching them too, brow pinched in concern. As Eve’s gaze swept the bar, she realized Josie was the only one behind it. “Where’s Jason?” He usually tended bar with her on Friday and Saturday nights.
“On his dinner break,” Josie replied. As they watched, one man shoved another, and a barstool went flying. “Dammit. I’ll be back.”
“Be careful,” Eve warned as Josie headed toward them, intensely uncomfortable with the idea of Josie breaking up a fight between six large, drunk men on her own. The other customers in Swanson’s had all turned to stare, some of them looking annoyed, others fearful. Eve pulled out her cell phone, placing it beneath her palm, ready to dial the police if the need arose.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” the man who’d been shoved roared, fists balling for a fight.
“No?” the man who’d shoved him responded.
“You guys need to settle down or take this outside,” Josie said calmly, stepping between them, hands outstretched to keep them apart.
