Page 14 of Runaway Bride for the Boss

Andrea points at the bar wall—essentially a tall wooden shelf where the liquors are displayed. “One thing you’ll obviously need to know is the drinks we offer and our menu. Liquid Elixir is one of the only bars downtown that don’t serve food; we’re not about that shit. If you’re hungry, go to a restaurant.” She grins. “Anyway, know the menu and the drinks we have available, because when we get new patrons, they almost always ask for a recommendation.”

I nod along with her instructions. “Yeah, that makes sense. I’ll also need to know the ingredients in the cocktails; we make cocktails right? I can’t recommend a drink I don’t know everything about. I might even need to do a taste test.”

“Great idea! I have a feeling we’re going to get along just fine, Autumn.” Andrea goes on to tell me about keeping the bar clean and knowing how to keep conversations short.

“People always want to talk to the bartender. There’s like some sort of unwritten rule of the universe that bartenders make great listeners. It makes them feel better. Now, I’m not saying don’t engage them, do talk to them. But just cut it short; otherwise you’ll lag behind and make the other patrons feel neglected.”

She teaches me the correct way to hold drink bottles, how to mix and measure, and how to pour drinks. She also walks me through some of the bartending jargon: dirty means adding olive juice to a martini, neat means straight out of the bottle, no ice, on the rocks means with ice…and so on. After an hour or so she declares I’m ready.

“Now you won’t be making cocktails tonight, but you’ve got everything else down. I know it might become overwhelming when the bar opens; just stay calm and keep your eyes open. You’ll do just fine. When in doubt, just flash that million dollarsmile of yours, and you’ll have this town eating out of the palm of your hand,” she adds with a wink. Then she opens the bar.

CHAPTER 9

ALEXANDER

“Mr. Beaufort, do you understand the gravity of what you’re asking me to do?” the puny man sitting behind the desk asks, sweat dripping down his chubby cheeks. “That building is in the historic district and is, in fact, one of the only protected historic buildings left in town.”

“I am aware of that—” I glance at the nameplate on his desk, Joshua Phillipson. “Josh, can I call you Josh?”

“Of—of course, sir,” he stammers.

“Now, Josh, I’m aware that it’s a historic building. But that lot is where I intend to build the new retirement home. It’s not only a means to create more jobs for the good people of Brattleboro, but it will also stop the older folk from leaving town and bring in even more seniors to live in the facilities. It’s a win-win for the community.”

A win-win for Beaufort Construction too, because this project is estimated to bring in at least a sixty percent return on investment once it kicks off. I’m not going to let an insignificant clause in the law stand in the way of that.

“I—I understand that, sir,” he blubbers, the sweat on his face seeming to double in quantity until the neck of his shirt is soakedthrough. I take out a white handkerchief from my suit jacket and hand it to him, wordlessly.

He hesitates then accepts it with a murmured thanks. When he’s clear of the grotesque perspiration, he continues, the act seeming to have built up his confidence. “The historic building can’t be demolished, sir. If you can work your plans around the existing building, I’ll be able to sign off on the permit.”

“Listen here, bud,” Noah growls, taking a threatening step toward Joshua’s desk. The man pales instantly looking as if he might pass out any second. I raise a hand up to stop Noah.

“Josh, listen to me, I need this permit signed and I needed it signed yesterday. And you’re going to sign off on it right now. It’s bad enough that you brought me all the way down here.” I stretch my palm to Noah, and he places my phone in it.

I type in my password and immediately open a folder, where several incriminating photos are stored. I select one where Joshua Phillipson is caught in a passionate embrace with a woman who is certainly not his wife, then pass the phone to him. He pales even more, his skin turning a shade of gray I never thought was possible. Impressive really.

“Mr. Beaufort, please, this was a one-time mistake that I—”

“Think about your political dreams, Josh. If this gets out, then poof.” I snap my fingers. “It’s gone. And with it, your wife and kids too.”

He stands in such a rush, the leather chair screeches across the floor. He falls to his knees in front of me. “Please, sir, it was a mistake. I will never do that again, I–”

“You’re hurting my feelings here, man.” I grimace as I pick my phone up from his desk and hand it to Noah, who passes me a disinfectant wipe I use to clean my hands. “I don’t want to be the one to destroy a man’s dreams…destroy his family. Don’t make me that man. Noah here has really slippery fingers. He might send it to the press by accident.”

“I’ll sign it! I’ll sign it! Please don’t send it to anyone. I’ll sign the permit,” he cries. Actually cries. Tears and snort rolling down his cheeks as he sobs quietly. Pathetic.

“I’ll expect it on my desk first thing in the morning,” I tell him as I get up from my seat. I stop with my hand on the door handle to glance back at him. “Don’t disappoint me, Josh. If I don’t see that permit on my desk in the morning, that picture and several others will be featured in the Brattleboro Reformer within the week.”

His sobs dramatically go up in pitch, and I shake my head in disgust as I leave his office. After a long day at work, the last thing I wanted was to come all the way to Newfane to get that permit.

“Tell me I have nothing else on my schedule,” I say to Noah, turning my wrist to check the time. Nine PM. It’s the Monday after Thanksgiving, and I’ve had a lot on my plate to deal with after the long weekend. Normally, Joshua wouldn’t be at the office this late, but a call from Noah kept his ass at his desk waiting for me. He knows better than to not be here when I show up.

“Nope, that's all for today.”

“Good. See you tomorrow.” Noah nods, waiting till I’m in my car before going to his own.

“Liquid Elixir,” I tell George when he starts the car. I haven’t seen my sister and herguestsince thanksgiving. I understand that Andrea is avoiding me, I’m not much of a talker, and it frustrates her, but Autumn? I know exactly why she’s avoiding me, and I don’t like it. Not one bit.

When I got home yesterday, she was lounging by the indoor pool. I was enjoying the view, but one glance at me, and she took off like the hounds of hell were after her. Did Andrea say something to her?

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