Folk Around and Find Out (Good Folk: Modern Folktales #2)(88)
The live band switched songs and the scuffle of boots followed, a few whoops lifting over the ruckus. No doubt the bodies cluttering the space in front of the stage were arranging themselves for line dancing. The four of us sat removed from the action in the booth farthest from the crowd. It was still too loud.
Crossing my arms, I surveyed the eldest and youngest of the Winston clan. They watched me in return, saying nothing. Given the general commotion of our surroundings, Jethro and Roscoe’s silence wouldn’t have bothered me if it hadn’t felt so heavy, their worry so obvious.
Inhaling slowly, I prepared to question the pair, but Jethro spoke before I could. “How’s Hannah doing in her new role?”
I lifted a single eyebrow. He knew how Hannah was doing, since, as my silent partner in the club, I’d just emailed him the monthly update yesterday. About to remind Jethro to check his inbox if he wanted to know, a thought occurred to me. His question suddenly felt like an opportunity.
“About that.” I leaned my elbows on the table. “I’m glad you mentioned Hannah. I have an idea I want to run by you.”
Jethro popped a pretzel in his mouth. “What’s that?”
I hesitated, an image of Charlotte’s assessing eyes flashing behind mine, narrowed in displeasure. I shoved it to the side. She didn’t want me to sell the club for her, fine. Fair enough. But what if I sold it—or most of it, or gave it away—for me?
“The thing is, Jet”—I lowered my voice so we couldn’t be overheard—“I think Hannah is going to be more than capable of running the club in about a month or so without any help from me.”
“That’s good.” He munched on another pretzel.
“Right. It’s good. But why am I drawing a salary if Hannah is doing everything? I should only draw a salary if I’m working there. Seems like she should be getting my salary in addition to hers.”
Jet’s forehead wrinkled. “That’s awfully generous of you. What are you proposing?”
I held Jet’s gaze, ordering my thoughts carefully.
The few times I’d brought up rehabilitating my reputation through public acts of insincerity, Charlotte had lost her temper. And that frustrated me. Why was I the only person in town who wasn’t allowed to be a hypocrite? But pushing the issue when she had so little time to talk felt wrong.
Still, I needed to figure out how to convince her. I had no problem saying whatever folks wanted me to say and doing whatever folks wanted me to do if it meant polite society wouldn’t tear Charlotte and her kids apart for us being together. The club was low-hanging fruit, now an easy problem to solve, thanks to Hannah.
Clearing my throat, I kept my tone light and conversational. “What if—and I haven’t talked to Hannah about this, so it’s pending her agreement, of course—but what if we let Hannah buy us out? Or at least buy me out?”
Jethro’s hand, holding another pretzel, stalled on its way to his mouth. “You want to sell to Hannah?”
“I do. If she’s interested. I’d fix the place up first, make sure everything is in good working order so she wouldn’t have to worry about repairs or upkeep for a while. And I’d stay on to lend a hand if she needed, until she took full ownership of my shares. But I’d be a silent partner starting as early as next month. As far as everybody is concerned, The Pink Pony would be hers, not mine.”
Roscoe and Jethro shared a quick look, the younger of the two asking, “You don’t want to own The Pink Pony anymore?”
Leaning back, I rested my arm along the back of the booth. “I want my staff taken care of—they’re what matter. I wouldn’t sell to just anyone, which is probably why I haven’t done so before now. I trust Hannah to run things right. It’d be a good salary for her, she’d make a good living from it, enough to save and invest in other ventures like I did. But that place, doing that job”—being that person—“I’m honestly tired of it.”
“You’re finally going to live the life you were born into—a Weller trust fund baby.” Jethro’s small smile told me the words were meant to tease, not to jab.
I smirked, about to clarify that I didn’t need my parents’ money to live well, when Roscoe asked, “But what about your reputation, Hank? How will you piss everyone off if you’re not running the strip club?”
Reaching for one of the coasters on the table between us, I used two fingers to spin it like a top. “Well, Baby Winston, I believe it’s time I—”
“I have an amber draft for Hank,” Beau said, plopping four drinks on the table, “a gin and tonic for Roscoe, a whatever is on special for Jet, and another amber draft for me.”
Beau slid into the booth while we all claimed our cups. “What’d I miss?” His attention seemed to settle meaningfully on Roscoe.
Roscoe shook his head at Beau, his eyes wide, and I glanced between the two of them, suspicion blooming anew.
“You missed me telling Jet that I want to sell my ownership shares in The Pink Pony to Hannah.”
Beau reared back. “What?!”
I ignored his shocked outburst, grateful he hadn’t been drinking beer. If he had, I’d be wearing beer-cologne now.
Pointing between Roscoe and Beau, I said, “Now, why don’t you two tell me what’s going on? Not that I mind seeing y’all, but something is up. Baby Winston is here for a reason. Spill it.”