Fire Me Up (11 page)

“Brennan, I really appreciate all you've done over the past few days, and I'm grateful for your understanding over the paychecks. I promise to have it figured out really soon.”

“No big deal on the hours. And your father beat you to it on the paycheck thing.”

Teagan's head whipped up. “He . . . what?”

Brennan nodded and wiped down the bar, easygoing as ever. “He dropped a check by my place before I came in today. Said the bank made an error or something. He didn't tell you?”

“No,” she said, and everything about this felt dead wrong. She'd seen her father this morning when she'd dropped off more test strips for his glucose meter. Why wouldn't he have said anything? “I must've missed that.”

“Yeah, he said you were up to your eye teeth with the other stuff, so he was going to handle paychecks and all that from home to help you out.” Brennan paused to shift his weight again, probably just as dead on his feet as she was. “I hope I'm not out of line for saying so, but he seemed kind of worried about you.”

Teagan released a nerve-jangled breath. “My favorite two-way street.”

Okay, so maybe all this kitchen work was getting to her. Accounting errors were uncommon, sure, but not unheard of, and it must've been something simple if her father had gotten it taken care of so quickly. Plus, if he was worried about her handling everything else, he probably wouldn't have wanted to bother her with the details. She wasn't prone to overreacting, but with everything that had gone down in the last few days, it was possible she'd just gotten caught up in a force field of all this think-the-worst crap.

She relaxed a notch at the thought, leaning back against the dark wood paneling opposite the bar. “I'm sure it'll all be fine once we get things settled. Thanks for being flexible until we figure it out.”

“No problem. I don't mind helping with the management stuff.” He tossed a nod to the door leading to the kitchen, serving up a crooked smile. “How's it going in the kitchen with Gigantor?”

Teagan laughed, the first burst of true goodness she'd felt in days. “Okay, I guess. He knows what he's doing, and it's keeping us afloat for now.”

She busied herself with restocking the cocktail napkins on the bar, even though the holders were already full to brimming. Brennan was too perceptive for his own damned good, and the last thing she needed was for him to make a big deal out of things that weren't there.

Namely the totally weird sense of security she felt confiding her deepest, darkest secrets to her deeper, darker kitchen savior.

“Just let me know if that changes,” Brennan said, the intention in his nearly black eyes clear as he finished wiping down the bar in front of him.

“Sure. Why don't you get out of here and catch up on your sleep? I can cover the bar for the rest of the night.”

“Your father would be pissed purple if he knew I let you close by yourself. I'll stick around, just in case. It's not even two hours.”

Teagan cranked up her smile to maximum wattage and looked Brennan dead in the eye. “There won't be more than five people here by the time we close, most of whom I've probably known since birth and all of whom would be thrilled to walk me to my car,
if
I needed that sort of chaperone. Which I don't. Now get out of this bar and get some decent sleep. I'm not asking.”

For a second, Brennan looked like he was thinking about arguing, and she geared up to match him. But then he shot a glance down at his legs as if he'd wanted to get off them hours ago, and he relented. “Only if you text me when you leave, then again when you get home.”

“Seriously?” Jeez. One XX chromosome, and the male population thought you couldn't take care of yourself. Or anyone else.

But on this, Brennan didn't budge. “Take it or leave it, O'Malley.”

“Fine. Whatever rocks your cradle,” she said, tucking her smile between her lips as she scanned the sparse crowd in the softly lit bar. “But fifty bucks says it'll be the quietest night we've had in ages.”

Adrian's arm throbbed with the kind of pain that made ibuprofen cackle 'til it ran out of breath, but he popped two anyway, just for grins. Those other painkillers turned him into a walking whack job, and he had to get home somehow. Spending another night on the office couch wasn't part of his game plan, no matter how weirdly comfortable the damned thing had been a few days ago.

Or how enticing the view when he woke up. Christ, he was straddling the line between stupid and extremely stupid by going all touchy-feely on Teagan, telling her about his
nonna
like that. But the only way he could get past the
don't touch
was to dare her, and that meant spilling his own stuff first. He hadn't meant to manipulate her, only to help ease the tension any idiot could see was swallowing her whole in the kitchen.

He hadn't been expecting to have it unthread some of his own tension, too.

Thankfully, the dull
thunk
of the door dividing the kitchen from the bar interrupted Adrian's thoughts, and he swung toward it to find Brennan limping slightly toward the stairs to the office.

The guy took a stutter step when he caught sight of Adrian, his surprise obvious. “You're still here?”

Adrian acknowledged that with raised brows. “Looks that way. Rough night on your feet?” He popped his chin at Brennan, letting his eyes flick toward the bartender's lower body.

Brennan paused, then gave a shrug, loose and easy. “No more than usual, but it's getting pretty dead out there.” His dark-eyed gaze took a tour around the now-quiet kitchen space. “Where's Jesse?”

“I sent him and the new guy home. Kitchen's broken down.” Adrian waited. While the guy's voice matched his normally laid-back nature, something small and unspoken lurked beneath the surface of his demeanor.

He measured Adrian with a more serious glance, and bingo, out came the question. “Are you sticking around?”

Huh. He hadn't really taken the guy for that territorial. Then again, Brennan seemed more concerned than pissed. Adrian decided to proceed with caution regardless. “I've got some inventory to check.”

Brennan took a turn at raising his brows. “That doesn't really answer the question.”

Damn, this guy wasn't half-bad. Adrian allowed a crooked smile to eke out. “I might stick around for a few. You got a problem at the bar?” Not that he'd be much help if Brennan did. Christ, this broken arm was a monumental pain in the ass.

“Teagan just kicked me out so she could close. I already broke down what I could while we're still open, but . . .”

“She shouldn't be here by herself at two
A.M.
” Seriously, this woman took survival of the fittest as a personal freaking challenge. Was it really so bad to ask for a little help?

Brennan leaned back against the stainless steel counter, his expression one of agreement. “Try telling her that. She's stubborn as hell.”

“Yeah, I got the memo. I'll make sure she gets out of here safely.”

Okay, yeah. Maybe there was a kernel of caveman instinct propelling him to keep his weary ass on the premises so Teagan wouldn't be alone in the bar with the night's earnings in the register. But the buddy system wasn't just for swimming, as far as Adrian was concerned.

“Thanks, man.” Brennan pushed back to straighten up. “I guess I'll see you tomorrow.”

“Sure. Go home and get some sleep.”

Adrian watched the guy head up to the office to clock out, palming the clipboard with his uninjured hand. There was no shortage of things to keep him busy, although he knew Teagan wouldn't buy that as his reason for staying until closing time. It was only another hour and a half, anyway.

He slipped through the door leading to the bar, giving his eyes a minute to adjust to the dusky lighting. The booths and tables in the dining room proper all stood clean and empty, and only a small handful of people lingered at the bar. Teagan was at the opposite end of the service area, popping the cap off a Rolling Rock with a laugh as she chatted up its recipient. Her movements were simple and fluid, not at all like the simmering tension she carried around in the kitchen, and Adrian took them in for a minute before heading to the other side of the polished wood. The cushioned black leather of the bar stool felt way better than it should under his frame, and he sank into it with relief, getting situated at the end of the bar.

Teagan appeared in front of him barely a minute later, confusion in her expression. “Kitchen's way past closed. Don't you want to head home and rest?”

“And miss out on this inventory?” Adrian tapped the clipboard in front of him, lifting one corner of his mouth in an approximation of a smile. “No way.”

She crossed her arms under her breasts, and he cursed the very nature of low-cut T-shirts. “You're off the clock,” she said.

Hold on, here we go.
“To be fair, I was never on the clock.”

Other than knowing the Double Shot was being run cleanly, being off the books was the only thing Adrian had cared about when he and Teagan had hashed out the finer details of his helping in the kitchen. He had enough money stuffed away to get by, and on the off chance that Big Ed sniffed out the paperwork, Adrian would be screwed with unapproved work release. Plus, he wasn't so much working for her as he was just standing in the kitchen and offering his opinion. It didn't really count. Not in terms of getting paid, anyway.

Teagan cocked her head, her ponytail glinting auburn in the muted light spilling down from over the bar. “Okay. But liquor orders don't go in until Monday, meat and produce on Tuesday. So that can wait.”

“What can I say? I like to be prepared.” He turned his eyes toward the numbers on the clipboard, not about to let on that his left hand was about as useful as a tree stump. He didn't need both hands in order to get a handle on the numbers, and anyway, he wasn't leaving her here alone.

“Fine,” she said, shocking the hell out of him even further by pouring a glass of iced tea and putting it on the bar next to the inventory. “Just do me a favor and stay hydrated, would you? It's hotter than hell's waiting room in that kitchen, and you've still got a long way to go healing up that arm.”

Adrian laughed, unable to help it. “Fair enough, Red.”

“Are you going to call me that just to try to annoy me?”

Good Christ, she was pretty when she was trying to hide being irritated. “That depends. Is it working?”

“No.” The answer came too fast, and she covered up the rushed cadence with a smooth smile that made his blood spark through his veins. “Now drink up.”

Adrian took a long draw from his glass, grateful for the cold jolt to bring him back to the land of the mentally stable. Flirting with Teagan was far too easy, and he knew there were a variety of reasons he shouldn't.

Trouble was, it felt far too good not to dare her into it every time she so much as shot him a warm-whiskey glance.

The soundtrack on the overhead speakers looped around for the nth time, the volume comfortably leveled off to match the quiet chatter of the few customers left. Adrian settled into his spot, checking the inventory numbers and making crude tick marks in the margins to delineate ordering patterns. While some people found numbers and inventory to be the most dreaded part of the job, he never really minded it. Food was food, and he loved it from concept to execution.

Adrian lost himself in the rhythm of the work, crosschecking the tally of menu items with the record of what they'd ordered in the past month and what was still left in the kitchen. He compiled a detailed list in his head, although what hit the paper was a lot rougher with the chicken scratch factor. Maybe he could come up with some kind of form like they used at La Dolce Vita, something online that would track inventory automatically. It never hurt to look at your trends and see where you could manage costs. In the long run, it might—

“Are you happy now?”

Teagan's throaty tone caught him completely off guard, and he blinked up at her, caught smack between what-the-hell and helllloooo-sexy-woman.

“Am I . . . what?”

“Whatever plan you and Brennan cooked up worked. We are officially the last two people in the restaurant.” She sauntered around to the customer side of the bar, swinging the bar stools up to the mahogany with what looked like a well-practiced flip. When the hell had it gotten so late?

“Oh, right. Well, inventory should be a slam dunk. Your father actually keeps pretty detailed records, even though they're mostly by hand. I can go over it with you, if you want.”

Teagan laughed, putting up the bar stool next to his. “The only thing I want to go over right now is my bed.”

Adrian's mind zeroed in on the memory of her face, caught up in passionate release, and heat tore through his veins. “Really?”

Her eyes rounded, landing on his with a mixture of embarrassment and something he couldn't quite nail down. “Oh shit. I mean to sleep. In my bed, all alone. You know, just . . . God, sleep deprivation is not my friend.”

Oh hell, he had to let her off the hook. “I get it. I was just giving you a hard time.”

A small groan escaped her ample mouth, and Christ, he wanted to spend a week just tasting her. “Your unintentional innuendo is just as bad as mine.”

He rewound his words, giving a chuckle as he pushed off from his bar stool and lifted it for her to flip. “Sorry,” he said, although it was mostly untrue.

Teagan paused, fingers still laced through the wood back of the stool now resting on the bar. “Adrian, listen, maybe we should—”

“Well, well, well! Lookie what we have here!” The interrupting voice coming from the kitchen entrance needled Adrian's ears and nerves all at the same time, and he swung to instinctively put himself between Teagan and the stranger moving toward them. The guy was dressed like every other regular in the Blue Ridge, although the hard-edged menace he wore along with his Levi's and flannel shirt sent Adrian's heartbeat into fifth gear and his hackles into overdrive.

“The restaurant's closed. And since you're not an employee, you can get out from behind my bar.” Teagan brushed a hard squeeze over Adrian's unhurt forearm as she moved past, and damn it, every last one of his deep-seated inclinations screamed to get her back behind him.

The man laughed, a raspy, gravel-laden smoker's hack, before taking a long look over the place that made Adrian want to wipe down everything the guy had laid eyes on. “No need to get uppity now, darlin'. And if you don't want nobody behind your bar after hours, you might think about lockin' that side door'a yours.”

Fuck. He
knew
that damned door was an open invite for trouble. This was going straight from bad to hell in a handbasket. “I'm pretty sure the lady told you to get out from behind her bar.” Adrian shifted forward, cursing both his sling and his situation with renewed vigor. How could he have thought to avoid this kind of thing in a goddamned
bar?

The man's beady eyes screeched to a halt on Adrian, giving him a quick once-over. He moved coolly from his spot in the doorframe to the pass-through between the bar and the restaurant, keeping just enough distance between himself and Adrian to be out of arm's reach.

“Well, your daddy ain't stupid, is he, sugar britches? I shoulda known he wouldn't leave you be in this place all by your lonesome. But that's okay. See, me and Trigger just came here for a little look-see, now that we're business partners and all.”

“Excuse me?” Teagan's words took on the tone of a different two-word directive, but her movement forward was cut short by the appearance of an absolute mountain of a man in the doorframe.

“Oh shit,” Teagan whispered, echoing the sentiment slingshotting through Adrian's brain. The guy ducked past the threshold, the seams on his black muscle shirt threatening to surrender as he crossed his heavily tattooed arms over his chest.

This time, when Adrian stepped up next to her, she actually let him.

“Now you see how my brother got his nickname.” Asshole Number One grinned, showcasing a mouth full of crooked teeth. “A trigger causes somethin' to happen. In our case, it's usually somebody crappin' their pants.” The grin got bigger and more lascivious, and the guy strolled past her to run a hand down the rounded edge of the bar. “But you don't have to be scared, darlin'. Trigger ain't gonna bite 'cha. Not unless I tell him to.”

“What do you want?” Teagan asked, crisp frost on every word in spite of the six-foot-seven pro wrestler knockoff eyeballing her from the doorframe. Adrian stood, firm but quiet at her side, hating every inch of where this conversation was headed.

The mouthy guy turned on one cowboy-booted heel, assessing the dining room as his eyes returned to Teagan's spot. “My apologies. I do believe we got off on the wrong foot. Name's Lonnie Armstrong. Your daddy and I do business together on the side.”

“Bullshit,” Teagan countered, chin up, and Christ, she was going to make getting out of this difficult. “My father does all his business here.”

“Does he now?” Lonnie's eyes glinted, cold and steely, matching the snakelike smile pulling at his thin lips. “Well, that's gonna make two of us, then. See, your daddy came to me 'bout a month ago, lookin' for a little money to tide him over. Bank done turned him down for a loan, and he was real desperate. Awful hard to run a quality establishment like this
and
pay for doctor's bills.”

“You know about my father's medical bills?” Despite her rigid stance, Teagan's voice pitched upward, and Adrian's pulse went for broke in his veins.