Page 35 of Daddy's Naughty Bartender
Because if there is one thing I’ve learned over the last few years, it’s that love is worth fighting for.
CHAPTER 9
The call comes at six AM on a Tuesday, three days after the town council meeting. I'm wrapped in Jason's arms, safe in that drowsy space between sleep and waking, when his phone shatters the peace.
"Schaeffer." His voice goes from sleepy to sharp in seconds. "What do you mean the contract's void?"
I feel him tense, his arm tightening around me as he listens. My stomach drops.
"That's breach of contract, Marcus. We had a signed—" He pauses, jaw clenching. "Political pressure? From whom?" Another pause. "I see. No, I understand perfectly. You're a coward who's caving to small-town gossip. I'll expect the kill fee by end of business."
He hangs up and tosses the phone aside, pulling me closer.
"What happened?"
"Dale's investors pulled out. Apparently, being associated with someone in a 'controversial relationship' is bad for their image." His voice is bitter. "The winery project is dead. Henderson didn’t like being made a laughingstock at the meeting. They made some calls."
"Oh God. Jason, I'm so sorry?—"
"Don't." He cups my face. "Don't you dare apologize for other people's prejudice."
"But your work?—"
"Will survive. I've been consulting for fifteen years. One canceled contract won't break me." He studies my face in the dawn light. "But I can see those wheels turning. You're already blaming yourself."
"If we weren't together…"
"If we weren't together, I'd be in Chicago, successful and empty." His thumb strokes my cheek. "I'd rather be here, fighting for us, than anywhere else pretending to be satisfied with half a life."
"This is my fault. The gossip, the judgment…"
"Is their shame, not ours." He rolls us so I'm beneath him, caged by his arms but safe, always safe. "Listen to me, Karen Mitchell. I knew what I was choosing when I chose you. A small town. Traditional values. People who might not understand what we have. I chose it anyway. Choose it still."
"Why?" The question comes out broken. "Why stay when it's costing you professionally?"
"Because you're worth it." Simple. Certain. "Because what we have is worth a hundred contracts. Because I meant it when I said you're mine."
"What about your business?"
"It can be run from anywhere. I have a laptop and a phone. That's all I need." He kisses my forehead. "Well, that and you. Preferably in that red dress, but I'm flexible."
Despite everything, I laugh. "You're impossible."
"I'm yours." He grows serious again. "Question is, are you mine? Even when it's hard? Even when people judge? Even when it costs us both?"
"Yes." No hesitation. "Always yes."
"Then we'll figure out the rest."
But the hits keep coming. Two more consulting gigs disappear with vague excuses. The business loan I've applied for to expand the bar is suddenly denied despite perfect credit. Even Josh's part-time job at the hardware store becomes "unavailable" after five months of employment.
"This is Betty Henderson's doing," Linda confirms over coffee that Thursday. "She's calling in favors, making sure you feel the pressure. Hoping you'll break."
"Or that Jason will leave," I say quietly.
"Will he?"
I think about that morning, how I found him in my kitchen making breakfast, whistling off-key. How he's adapted his entire work schedule around my bar hours. How he held Josh while he raged about losing his job, promising to make some calls.
