Page 54 of Carry Me Home
“She can’t keep burning herself out at both ends,” I insisted.
Brax threw up a hand. “What do you want me to do about it? She’s never said a word about wanting different shifts.”
“Take her off the closing shifts. She can work Monday through Friday and be home by six. Give her the manager position.”
Brax rolled his eyes. “There isn’t a manager position.I’mthe manager.”
“You’re barely there,” I argued. “Who makes the schedule for the other employees? Who does the inventory so you know what to order?”
“Janie,” Brax admitted. He sighed. “All right. The bar is doing fine. We can afford it. I’ll talk to her about it tomorrow.”
“Good.” I nudged Captain with my heels and we moved forward.
Brax scratched his jaw. “It’s a good idea, actually. I hate all that paperwork shit. Did Janie come up with it? She could have asked me herself. She’s never been afraid to speak her mind to me before.”
“I don’t think it occurred to her, and I figured I’d see if it was even a possibility before I got her hopes up. If she doesn’t want the manager position, she’ll tell you.”
“Huh.” Brax eyed me speculatively. “So you figured you’d get yourself involved in something that isn’t your business.”
“The bar is my business.”
And so is Janie. But since that was more a feeling than a fact a reasonable person would agree with, I kept it to myself.
20
JANIE
Mom
Don’t you think your little tantrum has gone on long enough?
Janie
That’s a funny way to say “I’m sorry.”
Mom
I’ve done nothing to apologize for.
Janie
Neither have I.
Mom
You seem to forget who approves the distributions.
“This isthe first time I’ve left the house in two weeks and I haven’t had a drink in eleven months,” Chloe announced as she bellied up to the bar. “Stand back world. Tonight I’m pumping and dumping.”
I laughed and lined up four glasses of water—one for each of my friends, who had all shown up to celebrate my last time closing the bar. “What can I make you?”
“Can I have a margarita on the rocks? I’ve been dreaming of it for months.” Her pale green eyes were wide and hopeful.
“Of course. One margarita coming right up.” I pivoted to the agave-lime juice mix—we didn’t do things fancy at the Painted Cat—and grabbed a tumbler. “Salt?”
“Yes, please.”
“You should have brought Grayson with you,” I said as I stirred all the ingredients over ice. “I miss the baby phase.”
