Page 65 of Maverick Mogul

“All of the above.” Charlie grins, as we head to what looks like a construction site, with plastic sheeting still draped over the front façade. Charlie gallantly holds it aside for me, and I duck through the doorway and into the main space, where Flynn is waiting, scrolling on his phone, looking rugged as ever in a plaid shirt and work boots.

“You’re late,” he says, not looking up.

“Yeah, yeah,” Charlie replies. “That’s a fine way to thank us for bringing you breakfast.”

“Us?” Flynn looks up, and almost manages to cover his surprise, landing on a cautious smile. “Grace. Hi.”

“Hey,” I reply, feeling awkward. I offer him a burrito. “Good to see you again. Did you make it back from the campsite OK?”

“Just about.” Flynn grumbles. “Dash and his date had a disagreement during the drive back, we almost wound up on the side of the New Jersey turnpike.”

“Disagreement about what?” I ask.

“She had some, uh, strong opinions about Marvel movies. Namely, that they suck.”

“Oh man,” Charlie makes a hissing noise, looking amused. “I can imagine Dash had a few things to say about that.”

“Indeed he did. At length.” Flynn rolls his eyes. “It’s a good thing Austin can smooth anything over, or we’d have been hitchhiking home. Sinceyoudisappeared awfully fast,” he adds, giving us a knowing look.

“Anyway,” Charlie says, cutting him off with a warning look. “Grace is the perfect focus group of one, so I thought we might show off the new venue a little.”

Flynn eyes him. “I get it. Business first. Follow me.”

He leads us deeper into the space, flipping on the lights to reveal a gorgeous, old-school bar. If Mavericks was all cool, industrial chic, then this place is classicMad MenNew York. The bar has an amber glow—low lighting and wood panels stained to dark honey. The walls are a deep red, and glass sphere light fixtures hang like perfect bubbles over the bar and tables, which each feature stylish wooden chairs. The banquettes are upholstered in a luxe leather, retro and chic. Immediately, I feel I should be wearing 60s stilettos, my hair in gentle waves.

“It’s beautiful,” I say, turning back to Flynn. “Charlie said you were the construction expert?”

“Construction, craftsman, architect,” he nods. “I wear many hard hats.”

“Not that your thick skull needs protecting,” Charlie jokes, in that casual guy banter I can tell is second nature to them. “So what do you think?” he turns back to me. “Perfect, right?”

“Nothing’s perfect,” Flynn interrupts. “If you have any notes or suggestions, feel free.”

I raise an eyebrow. Because in my experience, when someone says they want constructive criticism… Well, it’s not always true. “You sure about that?”

“Of course.” Charlie says confidently. “But we’ve been over every inch of this place. It’s perfect.”

I bite my lip, looking around. “Perfect for aguy,” I can’t help saying.

He frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Well…” I pause, but Flynn is looking genuinely interested. “For starters, the bar is gorgeous, but there’s no place to hang purses or jackets. Some hooks on the underside would be much appreciated.”

Flynn gives nod. “I can drill in the name of hospitality.”

“I’m sure you can,” I quip, and he chuckles. I keep touring the bar, looking past the surface to the functionality of the space. I can just picture myself curled up on one of the big club chairs by the fire, or catching up with friends in a corner booth. But… “It’s so cozy in here, have you thought about your non-alcoholic menu?” I ask.

“What do you mean?” Charlie replies. “It’s a bar.”

I clock his frown, and hope that I haven’t put my foot in my mouth, but Flynn is nodding and scribbling notes on the back of a scrap envelope, so I continue.

“Sure, but not everyone is going to be drinking,” I reply. “If you have some craft sodas on the menu, good coffee and tea, you could get an afternoon crowd. Plus people who stop at one drink, but still want something fancy to sip for the rest of the night. All the women I know have a two-drink maximum on first dates,” I add. “After that, we’re usually stuck with a glass of tonic water looking awkward.”

Charlie pauses. “You know, that’s a good idea,” he says slowly, looking surprised. Flynn nudges him.

“Hasn’t Seb been on about those fancy non-alcoholic drinks?”

He nods, and pulls out his phone to start taking notes, too.

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