Turnaround

TURNAROUND

by

Cassandra Carr

COPYRIGHT
2014 by Cassandra Carr

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Published
by C-Squared Publishing

Cover
by
 
Cassandra Carr

Contact
information:

[email protected]

This
e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical
events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are
either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and
any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments,
events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Turnaround
(Red Hot Valentine #6)

James hung another bunch of black balloons where
they wouldn’t be constantly in his way while he mixed drinks at The Ale House’s
annual “We Hate Valentine’s Day” party. The irony of having to work this particular
gig when he actually loved this holiday made him shake his head, but work was
work.

Nice to have a day where it’s actually
encouraged to tell your loved ones you care. Not enough of that in today’s
world.

He knew he sounded like a stodgy old codger, but
simply because he was thirty-three and still single didn’t mean he thought love
sucked. It was more a matter of finding the right girl. James didn’t want to
marry just anybody. His parents had been a great example to him and his sister
and James refused to settle, even if that meant he stayed single. Doing the
whole flowers-and-chocolate thing was often derided by other men, but he loved
doing all that stuff. His friends sometimes made fun of him for it but, hey,
most of them were still single too, so he ignored them.

“Hey, James,” the bar manager, Mick, said. “You
got a copy of the drink specials?”

James held up the black sheet of paper with the
annoying white script font. His graphic designer sensibilities wanted to beg
those around him to stop using that particular eye-bleeding combination, but
this wasn’t his primary job, where people might care what he thought of a
design, and he needed this second job–for now–so he kept his mouth shut.
Why
can’t everyone else see how hard it is to read? Ugh.

“Yep. All set.” The specials, in keeping with
the theme, were called things like Broken Heart and Love Hurts. Since they were
expecting a crowd predominantly made up of women, most of the ingredients were
geared toward them too–a lot of fruit juices and frozen drinks.

Mick called out, “Opening doors,” and
immediately a stream of people burst into the cavernous space. Here in Austin,
Texas, the temperature was in the 70s during the day and a little cooler at
night so waiting outside wasn’t a big deal, but people sure seemed excited to
get started on their own bitter version of “celebrating.”

They kept James hopping for the first half-hour
or so. He was turning back toward the bar after using the blender when he
spotted
her
. The slippery glass nearly fell from his hand and strawberry
daiquiri dripped down the side and slithered over his fingers. She watched it
and licked her lips.

Oh mercy.

He handed the drink, still thankfully mostly
full, to the woman who’d ordered it and then grabbed a towel. Focusing his attention
on the lovely vision before him, James asked, “What can I get for you?”
Brilliant
opening salvo, dude.
Sure, it was his job, but he could’ve thought of
something more witty than that if his brains hadn’t been scrambled by her
sudden appearance.

She was clad all in black, so likely an
enthusiastic attendee of this party, but there was something in her eyes that
said maybe she wasn’t a lost cause. Bright red hair tumbled to her shoulders
and was set off by her black, satiny top. Her skin was pale; her face dotted
with freckles. His gut told him, despite her apparent distaste for Valentine’s
Day, he needed to know this woman better.

She tilted her head at the drink specials menu
on the bar in front of her. “I’m not much for these fancy drinks. How about a
Stoli and cranberry?”

“A girl after my own heart.”
Shit, I wonder
if she won’t like me saying that?
But a small smile appeared and he set
about making her drink. “I’m James. You know, in case you need anything else.”

“Becca.”

“Well, Becca, I hope to see you again.”

Dropping a ten on the bar, she smiled. “When I
get thirsty, I’m sure you will.” She turned away. James was unsure if his
no-doubt lame attempt at flirting had annoyed her, considering the reason she’d
come to The Ale House. He didn’t have time to reflect on that though, as the
bar got busier, as more Valentine’s haters turned up.

Becca approached the bar once more and James
nearly ran over one of the other guys to get to her. The man smirked.
Whatever,
dude. You’re too clueless to even recognize a good woman when you see her.

“Parched?”

She laughed. “Something like that.”

“Stoli and cranberry?”

“Wow. Considering how many people are in this
place tonight, I’m impressed.”

“I pay attention.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Clearly you’re good at your
job.”

“This is actually a second job. I do graphics
for a marketing company during the day.”

For some reason he had a compulsion to let her
know he was more than a guy slinging drinks at a hole-in-the-wall bar. There
was nothing wrong with that–it was an honest living–but Becca looked like a
career woman and he wanted her to realize he was on the same path.

“Really? Which one? I’m in PR for Computer
Technology Consultants.”

“McBain Group,” he answered, naming one of the
area’s largest agencies.

“Huh. Great company. I’m surprised we’ve never
met. Austin is a surprisingly small town.”

He wanted to stay to talk to her more, but Mick
was giving him the evil eye. On a whim he pulled a business card out of his
wallet and handed it to her.

“I have to get back to the masses, but I’d love
to hear more about you. Call me.” Considering tonight’s event, asking her out
could well be a waste of time, but he hoped not. “As friends. No pressure.”

She nodded slowly. “What do I owe you?”

“It’s on me. I hope you have a good night.”

“It’s looking up.”

Mick cleared his throat behind him and he rolled
his eyes in response. Becca smirked before moving back into the throngs of
people.

James tried to track her through the rest of the
night, but it was difficult since the bar was packed.
Who knew this many
people hated Valentine’s Day?
He’d only been working at The Ale House for
about six months, ever since his mom’s auto accident had forced him to seek
additional income. She had Medicaid, but her injuries had been extensive, requiring
daily home care and physical therapy, much of which wasn’t covered by her
insurance.

At first James had tried to pay for it out of
his savings, but the funds had quickly dwindled. His mom felt terrible about
him working two jobs but he loved her. What was he going to do? Deny her the
help she needed? His dad had died two years earlier of a sudden heart attack
and his sister Michele lived in Houston with her husband and four kids. She
sent money and visited when she could, but the onus was on James.

His phone buzzed and he smiled.
Probably Mom.
Her ears must be burning
. It would be a couple of minutes before he could
check the phone, but it was more than likely her. She checked in three or four
times a day now so he wouldn’t worry, usually over text so she didn’t disturb
him.

When he was able to steal into the break room,
he found he was right.

Going to bed. Happy Valentine’s Day, hon. Don’t
work too hard.

James quickly thumbed back:
I’m not. Sleep
well.
Pocketing the phone, he went back out front.

When he searched her out, James found Becca
staring off into space, frowning. He hated seeing her unhappy; he hated seeing
all these women so bitter. They all appeared ready to give up on love. Not for
the first time James wished people paid more attention to their relationships.
Several of his friends were already on their second or even third marriages.
James had no interest in that. When he proposed, it would be forever. That
probably explained his single status, but he’d rather be single and looking for
a woman to love than married and miserable.

She turned toward him and he nodded, not sure if
he should do or say anything more. This whole not knowing how to talk to women
thing was new to James, and he blamed it entirely on this stupid party.
Normally he didn’t have this much trouble relating to women. Becca smiled and
held up her still half-full glass.
Damn.
Of course, if she drank faster
he might have to suggest a cab. He hated doing that. Few people were happy to
have their keys taken away.

James sighed. Batting a black streamer out of
his way, he scooted back behind the bar and took up his position, ready to
lubricate the masses.

*****

Becca watched James work out of the corner of
her eye. Even though he was mainly filling orders and making change, it was
infinitely more interesting than suffering through yet another reenactment of
her friend Annie's divorce. She loved this whole anti-Valentine’s Day thing The
Ale House had going on, but if she had to hear how Annie’s now-ex-husband Chad
had tried to take her Monet print with him when he left her one more time, it
was going to be eighteen times too many.

There is not enough vodka on the planet for
this.

She’d discovered The Ale House four years ago when
another friend, ironically now blissfully married, had invited her to the
first-ever “We Hate Valentine’s Day” party. Since The Ale House was situated in
Austin’s crowded Sixth Street area and she wasn’t a big partier, Becca didn’t
often get down this way, but every year on Valentine’s Day she dressed in all
black and came to commiserate with the other unlucky-in-loves.

James’ card was tucked into the pocket of her
slacks, and she fingered it now, as Annie continued to rave. In some ways Becca
was oddly jealous of her friend. At least she had a relationship to stir up
some emotion, even if it was mostly steeped in rage. Becca was nearly
thirty-five and had, sadly, had only one boyfriend in her life, a guy she’d
dated briefly in college. She wasn’t ugly–she knew that much—but after watching
her friends either get treated like shit or falling madly in love only to get
divorced a few years later, she’d become picky.

“Hey!”

Becca whirled around. James stood there, a
bottle of water in his hand.

She smiled.
Saved by the water.
“I’ve
still got a drink, but thanks.”

James leaned in and shouted in her ear, “It’s
not for you. I’m on break. Wanna get some air?” He jerked his head toward the
front door.

There were plenty of people out on the streets
at this time of night so, after introducing him to Annie, handing over her
drink for safekeeping and telling her friend where they were going, she stepped
outside with him. As soon as the door closed the noise level decreased by about
a thousand percent and Becca exhaled.

“So is this a good night for you or are people
in too shitty of a mood to tip well?”
Nice going, why don’t you ask him
about his annual salary at McBain? None of your business how much money he’s
making.

James shrugged. “It’s a decent night. More than
a regular Thursday but we also bust our asses, so it evens out.”

Standing this close to James, Becca could see
that even without heels she had a couple of inches on him. That wasn’t
surprising, since she was five-ten.

“You know, for a long time I wouldn’t date
someone who was shorter than me.” Becca clapped her hand over her mouth. “I
didn’t mean, I don’t think this is a date or anything. And I don’t feel that
way now. And you’re not short.”

James grinned. “Good to know.” He took a sip of
his water. “I was curious about where you were going with that.”

“Yeah, well.” Her face heated.
Yeah, you’re
definitely impressing him with your sparkling conversation.

“No biggie. I can’t do anything about my
height.”

“I wish I could be that Zen about mine.”

“But you’re beautiful. So what if you’re taller
than some guys? If they don’t have the ego to handle something like that they
don’t deserve you.” James’ ears and cheeks pinkened, and Becca found herself
charmed by the prospect they were both tripping over their words.

Becca laughed. “With lines like that I’m
surprised you’re still single. Wait, you
are
single, right?”

“I am.” A small smile crept up from the corners
of his mouth, and it was hard not to stare at his full lips. James was clad in
a black t-shirt, with the name of the bar on the front, and blue jeans. His
hair was dark brown and, from what she could see in the light in front of the
place, his eyes were too.
Short, dark and handsome. I’m okay with that.

“So how long is your break?”
Yep, witty
conversation you’ve got going here, Bec.

“About fifteen minutes. Barely long enough to
get out of the nuthouse for a bit.”

“Is it usually this crowded? You said this was
busier than a normal Thursday night, but what about weekend? I don’t come in
except for the Valentine’s Day thing.”

“You should. Usually the vibe is mellower. I
only work on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights, though. Not that you can’t
or shouldn’t come here if I’m not around.”

I’m so glad I’m not the only one babbling like
an idiot.