“Like her already. You have my approval.”
“She’s a friend, Elena’s sister. Someone you haven’t met.”
“Huh. Her date was a jerk, but I kind of liked her.”
“Not for me.” I like my women only mildly interesting, someone I can forget. Giselle is not in that category.
Selena sighs. “One lousy girl broke your heart once, and now you’re a cynic. Someday I’d like a niece or nephew to cuddle. Wherever Hannah is, I hope she’s miserable without you.”
Not this again.
“All right, let that go. What’s going on?” I ask and tap my hands against my legs, antsy.
She twists her lips. “Besides the fact that another server didn’t show up tonight and the air is on the fritz, everything is peachy. I’m working on getting new bartenders, and the air guy says he’ll be here first thing in the morning.”
“Sounds like it’s under control.” I tend to not dabble with the internal workings of the club. I bought this place as an investment. Football is my one and only. “What else?” I want to focus on what she’s saying, but my head jumps between hoping Giselle’s feet aren’t being fried by the hot concrete on the street and wondering if she’s found Topher yet—and why my dad keeps calling me. I should have just answered his call earlier, but I didn’t want to take my eyes off Aiden. Jack said to keep him away from her. That was the only reason I butted in like I did.
“After Randy quit, you said I could hire someone for the new GM position. No one I’ve interviewed works. We need someone before this place becomes a shit show.” She’s holding a tray and cocks it on her hip as she stares at me expectantly.
It takes me three seconds to decide. “You’re the new GM. Should have made that call when he resigned. Hire a new bar manager to take your place. Solved.”
Her eyes flare, tinged with excitement. “No way. I can’t manage the whole club. I don’t even have a business degree!”
“You’re smart, hardworking, and everyone respects you. You’re it. Now get back to work.”
I’m about to turn back and see if I can catch Giselle in the parking lot, but Selena jumps at me for a tight hug. Her tray goes flying, hitting the floor, and the shoes poke me in the chest. I chuckle and pat her back. “Aw, you love me.”
“Fucking A, man, I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t given me a job, and now you’re promoting me? Feels like I won the lottery.” She gives me a kiss on the cheek. “What’s my salary, boss man?”
Giselle has to be gone by now. I sigh. “What do you think you deserve?”
“What Randy was getting plus ten percent.”
“Two. Randy had experience. He managed three other places before this one.”
She bites her lip. “Five, and I’ll hire some new servers by the end of the night and find the best bar manager in Nashville by the end of the week. You know I can do it.”
I grin. She does work her ass off. “Three percent raise. Now go.”
She laughs, does a little pirouette, and takes off for the bar.
My cell buzzes again, and I hold the shoes under my arm as I pull the phone out of my jeans.
I press the green button, expecting to hear my father’s voice, only it isn’t him.
“Once you go in there, phones are gonna be out. People love drama, especially celebrities. Everything you do, man, under a microscope,” Lawrence says as we get out of my car.
“I know,” I say dryly. I’ve been in the limelight since college, but Lawrence likes to jabber.
He grumbles. “You didn’t need to drive Sex to this part of town. People notice. People like to steal shit.”
I flick my eyes down at the red Maserati. She’s my pride and joy, and driving her reminds me of how far I’ve come from a poor kid in California. “Her name is Red.”
“Sex is better.”
I smirk. “Your Tom Ford five-thousand-dollar suit sticks out like a sore thumb. ‘Over here; come take my wallet.’”
He strokes his tie. “Can’t believe me and you and Jack used to party in places like this in college. All that energy and zero hangovers? Dude. I’m old now with an ex-wife and alimony. Damn, I miss those party days; don’t you?”
“Nah.” I don’t miss college. Sure, we won a national championship our senior year, and that’s what I try to remember, but there’s heartache from Hannah in some of those memories.
He blows out a breath as we both come to a stop in front of Ricky’s Bar on Wilbur Street, several blocks from where I live near the stadium.
I slip a roomy sweatshirt over my head, flip up the hood, and slide on a pair of shades.
He squints at me. “Last chance. I can get him, and you can stay in the car. Nobody has to know he’s your family.”