Starting From the Top (Starting from 5)

“Like what?” I asked, sipping water as I scrolled through spreadsheets on my iPad.

“Cowboy night, flannel night, rock star night…the possibilities are endless.” Garrett eyed the gathering crowd on the dance floor beyond the bar.

He had uncanny vision. Literally and figuratively. And this was exactly why I’d hired him to manage Vibes. I knew this wasn’t his dream job, but I paid him well enough that he didn’t have to worry about the modeling gigs or acting opportunities that didn’t pan out. Maybe they would someday. Garrett was a handsome six-two African American with short-cropped dark hair, brilliant green eyes, high cheekbones, and a lean, toned physique. He’d always been a great bartender…friendly, efficient, and no-nonsense. I’d had a feeling he’d be an even better manager and I’d been correct. I only wished I’d hired him sooner.

“Those are good ideas. Go for it.”

“Really? Just like that.” Garrett squinted and snapped his fingers.

“Yep. I trust you.”

“Thank you,” he preened. “We might want to get a few more Instagrammers in the door too. We’re busy tonight, and I think Jordan Jackson and his posse are to thank for it.”

I followed the tilt of his head and smiled at the crowd of twinks in glittery getups posing nearby. The lanky man in the center was startlingly pretty. Penny would have loved to ask him a million questions about his makeup application, I mused.

“Did you give them free drinks?”

“Not yet, but I will,” Garrett replied. “Oh, and Clay Kanzler’s here. He’s good for business too.”

“What? Where?” I furrowed my brow, casting my gaze over the club.

“I don’t see him now, but he was here earlier. He stopped by to say hello.”

“Are you friends?”

“Well, friends might be too strong, but we’re friendly. His new book is out and day-um, it’s hot. It’s good to see guys like him do well. It gives me hope,” he sighed, then hooked his thumb behind him. “I need to help out till Lyle gets here.”

I frowned, barely suppressing the urge to ask twenty questions, beginning with “What do you mean by ‘guys like Clay’?” But this wasn’t the time to gossip about patrons. I ran a tight ship, and I expected the same of my manager.

I nodded, pulling my cell from my pocket when it vibrated. “You’re in charge. I’ll be in my office for an hour or so.”

“Aye, boss.”

I slipped through the press of scantily-clad hotties crowding the perimeter between the bar and the dance floor. We were doing better for a Tuesday night than I’d first thought. The floor was packed, and the air practically vibrated with a sexy disco beat that beckoned a hint of decadence. The voyeur in me wanted to watch, but I couldn’t miss this call.

“Hey, Darren. Hang on. I’m on my way to my office,” I shouted, weaving through the congested area near the bathrooms.

A few guys glanced up with hesitant smiles but gave me a wide berth as I passed. I’d been told I had that effect on people. I was tall, muscular, and some said a bit intense…like a private detective or an assassin. And I wasn’t the kind of guy who faked smiles or excelled at small talk.

I’d initially bought the club as an investment property and figured I’d hire a talented staff who could deal with schmoozing customers while I handled numbers. The plan was to sell it after I’d renovated and rebuilt the clientele. Then I met Darren and Harry and realized I had more to gain by holding this asset and building my portfolio. Joining forces with them had been one of the best financial moves of my career. And with any luck, we were about to close a deal that would positively impact a lot of people. The idea that it might irk a few others was a serious bonus.

I inclined my head at a familiar-looking regular and turned down a dark, narrow hallway. The music was still thumping, but I could hear myself think now. I unlocked my office door, glancing around the black-and-white, windowless room. I didn’t spend much time here, so the decor was pretty minimal…a desk, two chairs, and a credenza that doubled as a bookshelf. The white-painted brick walls helped mute the club noise and made it possible to hold a conversation.

“Sorry about that. How’d it go?” I asked.

“Very, very well,” Darren purred before yelling, “Harry? Harry, are you on the line? Can you hear?”

“For fuck’s sake, I’m not deaf. Yes, I’m present and listening. Lower your voice.”

I flopped into the black leather chair behind my desk and rolled my eyes. Here we go…another episode of The Harry and Darren Show.

“What did McMillan say?” I prodded patiently.

“Well, Myron was stingy with specifics, but he indicated that Charlie was open to the idea of promoting Sonoma…that’s the name of their beverage, by the way. He asked for a second meeting with the band and instructed Myron to bring samples for them to try.”