PROLOGUE
TWELVE MONTHS AGO
ART
I eye the man across from me, not sure how to play this. One part of me wants to hire him; the other part of me wants to say fuck that shit, strip him off, and take him to the stars.
Joey Manning is all grown up.
But.
But.
“Sorry,” he says, wringing those sexy hands in front of him. What I could do with those hands. He’s leaning forward, elbows on his knees. One chunk of hair has come loose from the short knot at the back of his head and hangs beside his face.
I could do a lot with that hair too.
“I know you’re not technically hiring, but …” The self-deprecating laugh he lets out shows off a flash of white teeth. “I’m desperate.”
“I like my men desperate.”
This time, a real laugh. “I’ve heard the stories. But sorry. Straight. And desperately in need of a job.”
Ah, well, there goes that fantasy. “Like you said, I’m not hiring.”
“I waited ten minutes for service on Saturday night. It wasn’t even that busy in here.”
“Bullshit. It’s always busy.”
“Then you could always use the extra hands.”
Sly little fucker. I like it. I think. Still, that doesn’t mean I’m going to hire any guy who walks in off the street.
“Why are you desperate?” I ask.
“Money. Obviously.”
“I can give you money. Why do you need a job? Here? In a bar?”
Joey’s face twitches. “I’ve got bills like anyone else. And what’s wrong with working in a bar?”
“Clearly nothing since I work in one.”
“You own it though. Big difference.”
I only own it because it’s been in my family since my grandparents bought the brewery. It’s not like I earned it or worked hard to buy it. It was nepotism. Pure and simple. “See, my problem is, if I hire you, I’ve gotta cut someone else’s hours. I have all the staff I need.” I deliberately don’t give him a no. I could easily hire him, and it wouldn’t impact anything. I want him to fight for it though.
The Killer Brew is Kilborough’s go-to for coffee and alcohol. Sure, there are plenty of other places around town where people can get those things, but my business has never wavered. Add to that the rent I’m paid for the market in the spare warehouse attached, and when it comes to money, it’s not something I’ll ever need to worry about.
I wasn’t exaggerating when I said I could give him money. If he asked, I’d write a check right now, even though I barely know him.
I’d rather that than him working at a job he has no interest in. Turnover isn’t something I’m interested in having, and neither is unreliable staff. If he wants to work here, I want to make sure he wants to work here, specifically. My people are tight-knit and rely on each other, and I do my best to keep them close because bar staff are an excellent source of gossip … and information.
Joey’s eyes lock onto mine. “You’re lying.”
Well, hello. “Am I?”
“Yeah. You’re Art de Almeida. Don’t tell me the stories I’ve heard about you aren’t true.”