“Twenty-five percent of a bar that doesn’t exist yet.”
“Technically, it exists. He signed a lease. The space is real.”
Her eyes widened. “Does he have a business plan?”
“He has . . . ideas.”
“Does he have permits? Licenses? Staff? Suppliers?”
“He has money. Two hundred thousand dollars. He wants me to handle those other things.”
Priya’s eyebrows shot up so high I thought shemight damage her forehead.
“Okay, that is something.” She went quiet again, and I could practically see her brain working through every possible variable. “And your role would be . . . ?”
“Everything Mark’s bad at. Day-to-day operations, hiring, training, menu development, making the business functional.”
“So everything.”
“Pretty much.”
Another long silence. I was dying here.
“Finn.” She looked at me seriously. “This is a huge risk. Most new restaurants fail in the first year. Bars are not much better.”
“I know.”
“You would be giving up a steady paycheck and seniority. Granted, it is a shitty paycheck, but it is steady. You would give this up for something . . . uncertain.”
“I know.”
“And Mark is . . .” She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “Mark is enthusiastic. He is generous and has a good heart, but he also has the attention span of a caffeinated squirrel and the planning skills of a drunken toddler.”
“They let toddlers drink in India?”
“Finnigan! Focus.”
“Yes, doctor.” I lowered my head as though chastised by the village healer.
“You want to do this, yes?”
I thought a moment, making sure before quietly saying, “Yeah, I really do.”
Priya studied me for another moment, then something in her expression shifted.
“Okay.” She reached down, plucked the chip from the bag and shoved it into her mouth.
I blinked. “Okay?”
“Okay, you should do it.”
“Really?”
“Really.” She swallowed, then grabbed the bag and set it in her lap before shoveling more chips into her mouth. “Here is my thinking. Yes, it is risky. And yes, Mark is a disaster at execution—but you are not. You are organized, detail-oriented, and have been managing bars for seven years even if you did not have the title. And more importantly—” She poked me in the chest with a cheesy finger. “You have been miserable at Riley’s for so long I was starting to worry you had forgotten what happiness looked like. When you were talking about the bar just now? That is the most animated I have seen you in months.”
“It could fail.”
“It could, but you know what definitely fails? Staying at a job that is sucking the life out of yoursoul because you are too scared to try something else.” She gave me a pointed look. “You are twenty-nine, Finn. You have no husband, no children, no mortgage, and no major financial obligations. If you’re ever going to take a risk, now is the time. Worst-case scenario, it does not work and you get another bartending job. You are good at what you do, and there are bars on every corner in Tampa. You will land on your feet.”
