Page 14 of End Game

His words reverberated through my body, and I was instantly sweating. “Uh, sure!” I kept my tone casual as I looked at the digital clock on the microwave. It was currently one o’clock. Larkspur opened at four, which meant Robert wanted to meet two hours before we opened—well before any other staff would be in the building—which meant this would be a private conversation.

Whatever he wanted to tell me, it must be . . . big.

“I’ll be there at two,” I confirmed with a tone so breezy it rivaled the Santa Ana winds.

“Thank you, Mara!” he sing-songed. “See you soon—ciao!” I could hear the rumble of another man’s laughter in the background as the phone disconnected, and I sucked in a deep breath.

Could it be?

Two years ago, after I’d long-proven my success and dedication to Larkspur, I sat Robert down in a spurt of bravery and told him I wanted to buy in. That I wanted to own a piece of the business I’d worked so hard to help build. Though he was—at best—amused during the conversation, he was sincere in his response: he gave himself five more years before he’d be ready to retire. Five years, and I could buy the whole thing if I wanted to.

Since that day, I’d been stashing as much money as I could in preparation. I didn’t know how much I’d need, but I knew it would be a lot. Larkspur pulled in huge revenue and business was only continuing to grow. I was fully prepared to apply for loans if I had to, but wanted to have a decent amount of savings at the ready. Worst case scenario—if I didn’t have enough—I would find someone to partner with. But if I could swing it, I wanted it all to myself.

According to Robert’s timeline I still had three years left, but my chest heaved at the thought that Robert might be trying to push that deadline up. He and Alessandro had spent almost the entire year traveling, and I was practically running Larkspur by myself. What would happen if he laid the opportunity at my feet now? Could I be ready?

I sighed. There was no use getting wound up about it until I knew for sure, but I hated feeling unprepared. As I hurried to my closet to pick out my most professional outfit—something that said I’m a savvy businesswoman who could totally buy this bar—I shoved aside my worry and put my game face on.

Chapter Six

I walked into Larkspur with ten minutes to spare, praying I didn’t look as nervous as I felt. Or as sweaty—the temperature outside had taken a bizarre turn with some out-of-season warmth, and walking a mile through the city in business slacks wasn’t exactly without effort. Still, I made it, and whatever this conversation was about—whether good or bad news—at least I was close to knowing.

The backdoor had been unlocked, which meant Robert was already here. As I walked through the dark stockroom, careful to avoid tripping over the stacked cases of liquor from the most recent delivery, I called out for him. “Robert?” My gaze jumped to the left, where the office door was still shut tight.

“Out here, Mara!” he bellowed from the front. I shifted my attention forward and pushed through the black-painted batwing doors that led to the front-of-house, opening to the left of Larkspur’s wooden bar top. Only half the house lights had been turned on, and they cast a dim glow throughout the space. It was always a little eerie to be inside the club during the day when it was empty like this. Almost like its soul was missing.

Robert was sitting at the bar in a loud blue button-down shirt, left open at the top to display a smattering of sun-bleached chest hair. He was obnoxiously tan, the gold chain around his neck shining brightly against dark, weathered skin. A tan line from his glasses shined brightly on his face and I had to bite back a laugh. This . . . this was what a rich white man looked like on the cusp of retirement. I couldn’t have imagined it any better if I tried.

“Hi, Robert,” I greeted as I rounded the corner of the bar. I noticed an expensive bottle of whiskey sitting in front of him, flanked by two lowball glasses. The bottle looked like it had been pulled from Robert’s personal collection out back—it was way too swanky to be served here at Larkspur.

One of the glasses was already filled with two fingers of whiskey while the other sat empty in front of the stool next to him. My nerves swelled with anticipation as I approached, sliding into the stool with as much poise and grace as I could. “It’s so great to see you.” I gave him my best thousand-watt smile. “How was Italy?”

Robert’s dark brown eyes examined me before a grin curled on his face, and I felt a fraction of relief in the casualness of it. “It was incredible—so good that it was nearly impossible to drag Alessandro back to the States. We had a lovely time, Mara, thank you for asking. How have things been here?” His eyes swept around the empty club, and I hoped he was pleased with what he saw. I hoped he could feel the vibrance of success that pulsated in this room.

I’d given everything I had to Larkspur. Every ounce of my energy went into making sure this nightclub ran as smoothly as possible. Sure, we had the occasional hiccup: a drunken brawl in the middle of the dance floor; people getting a little too frisky with others, willing or unwilling; a couple of terribly incorrect liquor shipments that had to be quickly fixed so as not to run out of our more popular drinks. But overall, things had run like a well-oiled machine, and I realized I desperately wanted Robert’s approval. It had been over three months since he was last here, and I kept it all up without fail.

I faced him with an open chest, showing full-engagement with my response. “Everything’s gone really well. We have a handful of new staff on board, and we’re seeing an increase in revenue each week . . . I’ve been sending you those reports?—”

Robert nodded. “Yes, thank you. The numbers have been looking great.”

I smiled, knowing there was a compliment there. “This place is flourishing, Robert. Truly. And I’m so happy to have your trust in running it while you’re away.”

Robert gave me a small smile as his eyes softened. And I felt it—the static hum of something coming. A coiling inside of my chest. “I appreciate that, Mara. Your dedication here has certainly not gone unnoticed. Because of you, I’ve been able to hold off on my retirement while still having the opportunity to make Alessandro happy with his insatiable need for adventure. But . . .” He hesitated, his posture going a bit rigid as he sat up straighter. “We aren’t getting any younger. And Alessandro wants my full attention. He wants to see the world, and I love him. I want to give that to him. So, the time has come for me to fully step away.”

I took a moment to let the words sink in, bracing myself for what he’d say next. Except he stayed quiet, and the silence was sharp as it fell around us. When he still hadn’t spoken after a full minute, I forced the question burning on my tongue. “You’re going to sell?” It came out softer than I’d meant, almost a whisper.

And then I saw the smallest grimace. It was so subtle that it would have been easy to miss if I wasn’t hanging on his every move, desperate to know where this was going.

“Wait,” I said, feeling panic slide through my limbs like ice. “Robert, don’t tell me you already sold.”

He let out a heavy sigh as his eyes moved somewhere past me. After another excruciating moment of silence, his gaze met mine. “I’ve sold the business, Mara.” His words hit me like a sharp slap in the face.

My shoulders slumped as my eyes moved to the floor. I willed the tears to stay at bay with every ounce of control that I had. I wouldn’t cry here—not in front of Robert. Not until I was alone, where I’d undoubtedly fall into ruin on the floor.

How could he do this? How could he sell Larkspur without even saying anything about it? This was my dream, and I’d worked so hard for it.

Somewhere in the distance of the loud clamoring of my mind, Robert continued to speak. “I ensured a few contingencies as part of the sale. The first of which is that you will remain the club’s most senior manager. The buyer doesn’t seem to have any interest in making major organizational changes, and he knows the impact you’ve had here—I made sure of it. I’m certain he will not get in your way as you and Larkspur both continue to thrive.”

I let out an errant snort. He. Of course he sold the club to a man. “You sold the bar to someone else, Robert. That sounds pretty ‘in the way’ to me.” The bite in my tone was unmistakable, and I almost apologized. Almost. I’d never spoken to Robert like that before . . . but my insides were screaming, boiling with rage at him, at this stupid buyer, at the goddamn patriarchy of it all.

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