Truly, Madly, Whiskey(74)
“I understand. I’m working on figuring out what type of schedule I can commit to. I’m sorry it’s taking me a bit longer than I had anticipated, but some things have come up with my family that I need to work through before I can make a firm commitment.” As much as he enjoyed the time he got with his family at the bar, the hours sucked. Giving up those shifts was a no-brainer. He was slated to work until closing again tonight, which meant another night he’d be sleeping apart from Crystal. Giving up the hours from the shop, on the other hand, took more thought. He was still wrestling with that part.
“What we’re offering,” Maddox said in a voice as thick and slick as crude oil, “is a chance for you to make a name for yourself in the industry. You have a knack for concept designs that are a bit eclectic and graceful, while maintaining power—not at all what the public is used to seeing. We believe we can manufacture and market your designs in such a way that they become highly sought after. We’ll limit production and use only the best materials, but success can only come with dedication. Even if you decide to commit to, say, sixty hours a month, there will be added travel time on top of that to consider, to meet with our engineers and attend design meetings. Some of that will be factored in, but there are always last-minute meetings that come up.”
“I expected as much,” Bear said. “Have you firmed up your timeline for opening this location?”
The two men exchanged a serious glance.
“We’ve decided to hold off on purchasing the building here in Peaceful Harbor. For now,” Jace explained. “But we want to move forward with this collaboration. You’ve got a lot to offer, and conceptualizing can be done primarily off site. But we need a commitment. We’ve got a slot to fill, and we’d like to fill it with you. We’ll need a decision within the next two weeks.”
Bear knew a golden opportunity when he heard it, but he couldn’t make a commitment to them until he made one to himself. And that meant preparing for another battle he might be waging alone.
WHISKEY BRO’S WAS busy for a Thursday night. Bear filled a pitcher with beer and set it on the counter for his mother, who was serving alongside Dixie tonight. She only worked a few hours a month, and Bear enjoyed when their schedules coincided.
“You’re up, Red,” he called out to her.
She hustled over in her black jeans and Whiskey Bro’s shirt and leaned across the bar, lowering her voice. “How long do you think it will take Dix to give that blond guy a piece of her mind?” She glanced in the direction of the tall, blond guy playing darts with two other guys. Bear had been keeping his eye on them, too.
“She likes the tips. When he crosses a line, she’ll shut him down.”
His mother patted his hand. “You’re right. You doing okay, babe?”
Babe. His mother never used their road names and rarely used their real names. Bear was pretty sure it was because, when they were growing up and she had four hellions to care for, she’d had to run through all the names before she hit the right one. His name usually sounded something like, Brandon, Wayne, Whateverthehellyournameis.
“Yeah, I’m good,” he said.
She pushed a hand into her short red hair and smirked. With her affinity for wearing black—shirt, pants, boots, jewelry—she looked an awful lot like a young Sharon Osbourne. “You can’t fool your mother.” She set the pitcher on the tray and said, “Next time you’re down at Mr. B’s, tell Maisy I said hello,” and strutted away.
Damn. Maisy and Ace Braden owned the microbrewery. He’d been so worried about staying out of his father’s sight that he hadn’t thought about how closely knit the community was.
Bear was filling another drink order when Dixie sidled up to the bar, popping bubble gum and watching Bear like he was a halftime show.
“What’s up, Dix?”
“I need two Jack and Cokes and a bottle of Bud.” She glanced at their mother, who was standing with her hand on her hip, giving the blond dart-playing flirt a piece of her mind.
“She’s going to ruin my tips,” Dixie complained as Bear poured the drinks. “Did Dad reach you about the expansion plan?”
“He called, but I was busy.” And by busy, he meant he’d let the call go to voicemail because he wasn’t sure how he wanted to handle that situation yet.
“He asked if you’d spoken to me about it. I told him you had, and I gave him the financials and projected earnings with the expansion. I broke it all down, just as I did with the two-year projections a few months ago. He has all the numbers he could possibly need, whether he decides to move forward or not. But he’s raring to go, so if you really don’t want to do it, you should tell him. Let it fall on Bullet.”
Bear scoffed, “He’s got less time than me and no experience with this kind of thing. Plus, B’s not exactly the most patient guy. Can you imagine him trying to negotiate prices for renovations?” He lowered his voice and narrowed his eyes, mocking Bullet. “What the f*ck do you mean you can’t finish it by tomorrow? You’ll finish the job or I’ll use your head as a hammer and finish it myself.”
She laughed. “Maybe it’s time he learned since he’s so gung-ho about following in Dad’s footsteps. Thanks for the drinks. I need to go save my tips.” She spun on her high heels and sauntered over to the guys playing darts.