Page 3 of Beneath the Secrets
I dip my head in thanks before lifting the shot and downing the significant serving in one hit. A fire of warmth slides down my throat and settles in my gut, but even knowing they charge in excess of $35 a nip for Cragganmore, my taste buds can’t tell the difference between its high price tag and a standard old bottle of scotch.
“If I were to charge an entry fee, what would the impact to the clientele be?” he asks.
My shoulders lift into a shrug. “I'd say maybe sixty-five percent would continue to come here even if a cover was charged. But you will easily gain back the lost clientele within months. At the moment, the ratio of females to males is sitting at around 40/60. If you get rid of the cheap drunk males, the female ratio will increase, which in turn will bring back the more reputable male clientele. Girls expect guys to buy their drinks, not spill their drinks on them or puke on their shoes.”
Mr. Trust Fund’s smirk forms into a full smile. “Business major?” he queries.
I chuckle. “Nope,” I say with a shake of my head. “I just frequented these types of places a bit during my college days.”And now.But I keep that snippet of information to myself.
Nodding his head, Mr. Trust Fund stands from his chair and produces a leather wallet from the back pocket of his trousers. After removing two business cards, he hands one to the pretty blonde waitress, completely oblivious to the fact she is making kissy gaga faces at him.
“Have the owner contact me. I want to purchase this club,” he instructs her, his tone firm and direct.
The bartender’s teeth munch on her bottom lip as she nods her head. Ignoring the sex kitten who wants to purr at his feet, Mr. Trust Fund turns his eyes to me. While tucking a business card into the pocket of the long-sleeve dress shirt I rummaged from the back of my closest this morning, he says, “Call me tomorrow morning. I want you to join my empire.”
With that, he pivots on his heels and stalks out of the building without a backward glance. Removing his card from my pocket, I discover his name is Isaac Holt, entrepreneur and founder of Holt Enterprises. It is only when I notice his business address is for a bum hick town over two hundred miles away does it suddenly dawn on me that I’m stranded in the middle of the city with no ride back to my truck.
Fuck!
Mumbling incoherently under my breath, I make my way outside while logging into my internet banking, silently praying I’ll have enough in my account to pay for a taxi ride back to my truck. My brows furrow when I step onto the sidewalk and notice my truck parked at the curb. Seeing my shocked expression, a gentleman with a thick silver moustache pushes off the back-quarter panel of my truck and ambles towards me. Even though his pistol is hidden, I can tell he is carrying a weapon just from the way he walks. He has the recognizable swagger of a police officer.
“Hugo,” he greets me.
I nod my head, masking my surprise that he knows who I am.
“Mr. Holt requested for me to give you this.” He smiles while handing me a sealed white envelope. I don’t need to open it to know what is inside. My nose can sniff out freshly printed Benjamin Franklins from a mile away.
“I look forward to working with you,” states the unnamed gentleman before he enters the passenger seat of a black town car idled at the side.
The black Lexus pulls into traffic just as slowly as the back passenger side window glides into place, concealing the curious gaze of Mr. Isaac Holt, A.K.A. Mr. Trust Fund.
In that instant, I knew my life was about to change. I just had no idea it was going to be so fucking mammoth.
Two
Hugo
Six weeks later….
“Are you sure you don’t just want to go and purchase a new one?” I ask.
My sister Jorgie's cornflower blue eyes shift from gazing outside to me. Her top lip forms into a snarl, bearing her teeth before she turns her gaze back to the storm forming outside. For a majority of the day, the scattering of dark clouds in the sky pummeled the dry land with much-needed moisture.
Although the wind that intensified during the day has dispersed the clouds to the horizon, the threat of rain is still paramount. The pouring rain has turned the humid air in our hometown crisp with a cooling freshness I’m relishing after spending months living in the unbearable conditions of a hot dessert.
Jorgie is a year younger than me, and the youngest member of my family, which earns her the coveted title ofBaby Girl. Her real name is Marjorie, but just like every member of our family, she hates her christened name, so we call her Jorgie. Although she is tall for a girl, standing a little over six feet tall, she is a little stick of dynamite, feisty and full of life. Her hair is as dark as the clouds in the sky, which makes her blue eyes stand out even more on her beige skin.
For years, she rebelled against everything and everyone who tried to get in the way of her plans to escape the clutches of Rochdale and living her life how she envisioned. She didn't want a nine-to-five job or a little house with a white picket fence. She wanted freedom; she craved adventure; she wanted to live.
All her big plans came to a halt the instant I introduced her to Hawke, my roommate from college. We were both members of the Kappa Sigma Phi fraternity. Even with our difference in age, we became blood brothers from the moment we met. Girls, partying, and hitting the club scene were how we spent the first two years of our newly founded kinship.
Watching the sparks fly between Jorgie and Hawke was like watching fireworks in a pitch-black sky. It was explosive. But I wasn't having it. For one, Hawke was two years older than Jorgie. He played the field nearly as much as I did, and he also had every intention of leaving Rochdale in the wake of his dust. And as much as Jorgie wanted to escape the stranglehold of her dreary existence in Rochdale, Rochdale is her home; she was born and raised here. Although our parents were strict and never let us get out of line when we were younger, they are the glue that ensures we remain a close-knit family.
Jorgie just rebelled more as she not only had mom and dad’s stringent set of rules to adhere to, she also had Chase’s. Chase is five years older than me and is the eldest sibling of my family. If you thought my aversion to Jorgie and Hawke dating was harsh, you should have seen some of the elaborate ruses Chase pulled.
Not many men can make Hawke nervous, but one wry look from Chase, and Hawke quivered in his boots like the earth was shaking beneath his feet. But Jorgie is as stubborn as a mule, and when she wants something, she never gives up. She fought tooth and nail for Hawke, and in the end, she won.
Now, I can't comprehend what my original objection was about. Jorgie is glowing and the happiest I've ever seen her. She lives in a cute little house on a street nearly smack bang in the middle of Rochdale. She has a steady job as a bank teller, and she and Hawke are getting married in three weeks’ time. He balanced out her rebellion by instilling the discipline she fought so hard against in her teens. My mom has always predicted that one day the right man would swoop in and calm the raging storm of Jorgie. Hawke was that man. He is her serene.
