The Slot (Rochester Riot #1)(21)
Kylie cleared her throat loudly. “Ahem, they’re coming in,” she said from her position in the doorway.
Cole broke their kiss but let one hand trail down her back to rest on the round globe of her behind. “Later, pretty lady. Hang on to your doughnuts.” He gave her rump a gentle squeeze and stepped away.
People filtered into the room, some looking apprehensive, some angry, others just curious.
“Welcome,” Eloise said, recovering her professional poise, thankful she’d opted to forgo lipstick. Power red. If she’d stuck with her usual routine of an armor of make-up, both she and Cole would be wearing it over their entire faces.
He’d kissed her.
“Thank you for coming, can you sign in please?” She directed the incoming citizens to a table near the entrance and began distributing the handouts as they scribbled their names on a clipboard. Kylie stood nearby, issuing raffle tickets.
Eloise introduced herself and started the discussion, noticing Cole seated in the audience, talking casually to another man she didn’t recognize. He wasn’t one of the players and seemed to be about Cole’s height but less brawny, his jaw covered in a thick ginger beard. Must be his friend Trey, she reasoned, owner of Blues & Brews.
She faced front and addressed the crowd. “Thank you all for coming out this evening and taking part in the kickoff for the Riot for Rochester campaign. On behalf of the Rochester Riot Hockey Club, I want to say we are proud to be part of your community and wish to see it continue to thrive and remain the unique cultural center that it is. I want to assure you that our new owner, Sheehan Murphy, has no desire to take business away from the hard working residents of this neighborhood. Murphy’s Finest Whiskey Pub and Event Center will enhance the viability, diversity, and prosperity of the Arena District by drawing new customers to this part of the city, and in turn, will have the opportunity to explore and experience all the fine establishments, food, and entertainment the area has to offer. Including the successful ones already in existence.”
“What about price controls?” one onlooker said. “Can you guarantee the pub won’t undercut us?”
“I’m not in charge of pricing,” Eloise said, “but customers wanting a vintage, high-end Irish whiskey will expect to pay fair market value. It would be a bad business owner who gave their product away too cheaply, wouldn’t it?”
“What about the noise and traffic?” asked another, his voice heightened in anger and frustration. “You won’t even be able to drive into the neighborhood when the parking tower and pedestrian skyway goes in. How will our customers even get to us? They’ll just find other places to go because no one wants to deal with gridlock.”
“The parking will be open to the public,” Eloise said, keeping her tone neutral and kind, her eyes empathetic. After all, she totally understood where the local business owners were coming from here. “It can be used 24/7 for anyone wishing to explore the area, not just Murphy’s Finest.”
So far, she seemed to be hitting it out of the park. She answered all of their concerns thoughtfully and with aplomb. However, the bar was still a month or more away from opening, and several people complained that the construction itself was proving disruptive to the community.
“I have an idea,” Eloise said, venturing out onto a limb. “As part of the Riot for Rochester movement, prior to the opening of Murphy’s Finest, those of you who own bars and restaurants might consider hosting a local festival of some kind, encouraging residents to come out and sample the great food and entertainment you have to offer. Going forward, when there are hockey games or other events at the arena, you’ll have ready-made customers who can’t wait to visit you again. My office will be committed to assist in promoting any events you wish to organize.”
Rumbles of assent washed through the crowd, the attendees nodding and talking to each other. Kylie was beaming, and when Eloise glanced over at Cole, she found him smiling in approval.
The moment crashed and burned as the fire-breathing presence of Sheehan Murphy suddenly burst into the room. He rounded on Eloise, pointing a finger at her. “What the f*ck is the meaning of this?” he shouted as he marched to the front of the house. “I told you we didn’t need any f*cking backyard pow-wow.”
So much for keeping your friends close and your enemies closer. Sometimes, she wondered how this man stayed at the top of the Forbes list.
Eloise blanched. Murphy looked positively livid, his face red as a goal light and his voice carrying clear to the back of the high-ceilinged space. Shit! With his busy schedule, she honestly didn’t think he’d show up. It would be so much better if she could just report the good news to him in the morning. Her damage-control switch kicked into play. “Mr. Murphy, this is a public meeting,” she said as though happy to see him. “We’re pleased that you could join us, if you wouldn’t mind having a seat?”
His face grew even redder as he glared at her, then cast his bulging eyes over the hundred or so people in the room. “I’ve no intention of joining you,” he said, his voice lowering a notch or two. It wasn’t enough. “If these yokels,” he swept an arm across the room, “had any decent food or entertainment to offer, they wouldn’t need to whine about the King of Irish Whiskey putting them out of business.”
“Fuck you,” came a shout from the back.