Page 17 of Worship
I don’t want to tell her that what she said validates my original thought. This place does feel like Luca.
“Ready?” she asks and I nod, taking one last look at myself, before I follow her out.
“GEORGE, JUST DROP ME HERE. I’ll text you when I’m ready.”
He pulls to the side of a parked car in front of the building.
“No need for a text; I’ll be here in the front waiting,” he answers, looking out the side mirror at the stalled traffic.
I jump out of the car and walk to the doors of the bar, buttoning my suit jacket. I opted for a gray suit with a white shirt, no tie, because that’s what a place like Charlie’s on First calls for. It’s a throwback to a different time. I fucking love it. It speaks to me on a base level.
Charlie meets me outside, looking nervous but trying like hell to fake his way through a confidence he doesn’t have. I can’t blame him. I know how intimidating I am. That’s why I asked to meet him on his grounds…it’s scarier when your opposition comes strong on your home turf.
“Charlie,” I greet, extending a hand as I fasten the last button on my jacket.
“Luca.” I raise my eyebrows as he says my name, gripping just a bit stronger as I shake his hand. “I’m sorry, I mean Mr. King. It’s nice to meet face-to-face.”
I nod and look to the crowd behind him and back to his face. He jumps into action.
“Oh, yeah…let’s not just stand here.” He laughs nervously and runs a hand through his hair. “Sorry. Let me show you around.”
“That’d be great, Charlie.”
I follow him in and half listen to him as I take in the space. I’ve already done my research. I already know what I’m buying. I’m just here to make sure he accepts the terms. He’s in the middle of a sentence as I interrupt him, stopping at the bar.
“Tell me something, Charlie. Why this place? Why not something that has less overhead? Why not build slowly, take baby steps?”
I need to gauge just how attached he is to this bar.
Charlie seems to search for the right answer.
“Go big or go home, right?” His accompanying laughter dies with the expression on my face.
“Maybe—depends on whether you prefer to live in a box in the alley. You’re bleeding money, Charlie,” I remark, gazing around the room to catalog the changes we’ll make.
Charlie speaks up defensively.
“It’s not just another bullshit bar. This place is an experience. It’s special.” He’s right, which is why we’ll own it by the end of the month.
I regard him coolly, deciding how to explain our buyout.
Until now Charlie has hoped for us to simply invest, but our interest has shifted. I lift my finger to the bartender, but Charlie waves him off. He ducks under the cutout in the bar top and stands like he knows what he’s doing.
“I got it. Mr. King, what can I make you?”
“You bartend? I’ll take a scotch. Neat.”
“I learned every job, from bartending to cleaning. If this place is mine, then I should know it, don’t you think?”
He’s young, all of twenty-five, but I like him. He’s smart, just over his head and underfunded.Maybe I’ll be more than decent to him.
Charlie gets to making my drink. My gaze drifts to the singer, and something about her throaty voice is peaceful. She’s a crooner. There are a handful of people swaying on the dance floor to the music, and as the song stops and the people part, I see her.
Motherfucker.
Gretchen looks drop-dead gorgeous. But it’s the big mitt on her fucking back, gently stroking up and down, that makes my teeth grit. I know my reaction is a number of things, including inappropriate and unwarranted, but I don’t care. Every piece of me wants to break the hand on her damn back.
Charlie hands me my drink, and I take it back in one gulp.
