Page 10 of Kiss and Tell
If ever the epitome of a dive bar existed, this place was it.
The office turned out to be a storage room with a single folding card table. The rest of the area was taken up with extra bar stools, stacks of boxes balanced precariously on top of one another and metal racks with bundles of napkins and coasters.
“Take a seat.” Connor waved a hand at one of the two chairs next to the table.
Gingerly, I lowered myself onto one, half-expecting it to break. Connor took the other and dragged it across the floor, chair legs screeching, to pull himself up next to me.
I wondered if he would start up with the flirting again, but he only stared at me, expecting me to start.
“So I’m only renovating the front part?” I asked.
“We’re leaving the secret bar as is,” he confirmed.
The secret bar was a complication, yes, but the area out front was large. Large enough that I could do some interesting things with it. I’d have a lot of room for creativity, depending on what Connor was looking for.
Connor. Another complication. Was his flirting genuine or could he really not help himself? Either way, it was going to be difficult working with the guy if I had to keep fending off his innuendos and come ons.
He was attractive. Charming. Intriguing. I hadn’t had this much fun bantering with someone since…
My lungs squeezed in my chest. I took a quiet, shallow breath.
“I think I can work around the secret bar,” I told Connor.
Muscles in his face I hadn’t realized were tensed now relaxed.
“What’s the budget?” I asked.
His mouth twitched upward. “A lot.”
“You care to get any more specific than that?”
“If we get an idea for something, we can run with it. Don’t worry about how much it costs.” Connor leaned back into his chair and propped his arm on the table. “This place has got some wealthy regulars. They tip well. Walt’s got the money for whatever reno I want.”
“Is this a secret rich people club?” I asked, alarmed. What kind of business was I tangling myself up in? Sure, I needed this job, but not if it meant supporting something illicit.
“Define rich,” Connor said.
“Like where billionaires bid on virgins or something?”
“No!” Connor jolted forward, nearly knocking the chair over. “Is that what you’re thinking? Fuck.”
“Is this some motorcycle club headquarters where drug deals go down?”
“Again, no.”
“Do you have a bunch of—”
“They’re musicians, all right?” he interrupted. “We’ve got some famous rock band members who like to drink here. There’s no media, no fans. It’s a quiet place for them to let loose. That’s all.”
“Don’t rock stars usually party in private VIP booths at fancy clubs?” I asked. “How did a bunch of them manage to stumble upon a dive bar like this?”
Connor averted his gaze, looking studiously at the pile of boxes.
“I used to be in the industry,” he said. “I told a friend, who told a friend.”
“You’re a musician?” I asked.
“Was,” he corrected me.
