Chapter Seventeen
Terese failed to meet Alan’s gaze. Anger and shame battled in her gut, sending out waves of nausea. Her gaze flew around the bar, searching for something else to focus on, rather than meet her boss’s eye. Confrontations were so messy and annoying, but sharing the interview story was the right thing to do.
“Tell me what happened.” His elbow rested on the bar, his hand cupping a Guinness.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she snipped, scuffing her knock-off Jimmy Choo’s on the floor. Like some toddler. Biting her lip, she cut the self-reprimand off at the root. She felt bad enough without self-flagellation.
“When you didn’t call me, singing songs of thanks, I figured the interview didn’t go well. Was it my recommendation? Did I taint your name somehow?” Alan’s brow furrowed, and another pang of guilt ripped through her. Dammit, he blamed himself.
Straightening her shoulders, she met his gaze. Quickly, she glanced at the office door, to Eric, who needed to know nothing about her mess, then back at her boss. Understanding, Alan nodded, grabbed his drink, and headed for the office. Terese caught Eric’s eye before following Alan.
“You know, you can talk to me too,” Eric said, bowing his head. He polished a beer mug. “I’m a pro at listening.” A weak smile graced his lips, and the guilt twisted harder in her stomach.
She sighed, hating she dismissed him so easily. “Maybe later. I need to figure out my job situation first.” Eric nodded. He’d known about the interview and her lack of happy reaction after it. He hadn’t said a word, though she knew he was dying to hear about it.
She reached over and touched his arm. “We’ll talk later.” His brow furrowed, but he nodded. He was a good guy, but he’d never understand the baggage that came with her meltdown yesterday.
Alan held open the office door as she trudged in. He didn’t speak, letting her choose her seat. One glance at her chair behind the desk sent her stomach rolling again. She plunked down in the reserve chair instead. Alan raised an eyebrow at her choice but remained stonily silent as he sat in the desk chair.
“No interview?” he asked, starting the ball rolling again.
“No.” To her surprise, tears popped in her eyes. “I left before it started. I…” She swallowed hard, pressing her lips in a grimace.
“Why, Terese?” Typical Alan, cutting right to the chase without tons of extra words. He didn’t go on about what a great opportunity she’d missed. Or chastise her for dropping the ball he carefully placed in her hands.
She gulped back a sob. “Because the guy interviewing me…”
“George?” Alan asked, surprised.
“No, it was a guy I met here. We hooked up, and then there he was in the interview room, in a suit, all slick like some real businessman. And so smug and stupid and he didn’t tell me who he was. He lied to me, used me, and then ruined everything.” The words poured out of her like one of Drew’s stupid waterfalls. The waterfall image morphed into a tiny ball of pain in her chest.
“Whoa, wait.” Alan held up a hand, stopping her tirade of words. “What guy?” A sliver of steel crept into his voice. She never discussed her boyfriends with him, but when she did, he tended to play the over-protective big brother.
“A guy came in last week, young, sexy. I took him home.”
His eyebrow raised again, his mouth a flat line.
“I’m not some kid anymore. I can have a one-night once in a while.” She sniffed, rubbing at her eyes. The ball in her chest grew in diameter, thinking about the first night with Drew. It’d been picture perfect. Shaking her head to dismiss the memory and the emotions it evoked, she hunched, folding her arms across her chest.
“Sounds like more than that.” He twisted the chair back and forth. “Who is he?”
She dropped her head, sniffling, heat roasting her cheeks. “Andrew Drake.”
Alan, the bastard, laughed out loud, a genuine hoot of mirth. She glowered at him. “Wait, wait,” he said, holding up a hand. “You had an affair with Andrew Drake. So why did I set up your interview?” He chuckled in his hand, ignoring her black look.
“I didn’t know it was him. I swear. Blond hair, no glasses, no beard. Nothing like the picture on the website. How was I supposed to know?” She huffed, crossing her legs and pulling her arms tighter across her chest. The ball of pain opened into a pit. Explaining it made her feel like an ignorant ass. A clueless, bubbleheaded waitress. She ground her teeth at the thought.
“So you slept with him multiple times but didn’t get his name?” His eyebrow lifted almost to his hairline. For the first time in her life, she wanted to smack him. Alan never treated her like some sorority bunny. They interacted almost like partners before the audit. What was his problem? The pit in her chest filled with fire, and she stood, shoving the chair back.
“He told me his name was Drew. I’m not some bimbo, Alan. I don’t screw around,” she roared at him, giving him the full brunt of her pain.
“There’s my Terese.” He grinned. “Now explain.”
She slumped into her chair, exhausted from the drama. “He didn’t tell me his real name, not once. Not in like a week. Then he’s sitting in the interview room, all self-righteous.” Leaning her head back against the chair, she sighed. “I actually thought we had something going.”
“Huh.” Alan ticked the chair back and forth in short motions. “Did you tell him about the interview? The audit?”
“No. I just met him. I don’t need to spill my work issues to some guy I’ve only known a few days.”
“So you can’t talk to him, but sex is fine?”
Too bad she wasn’t close enough to kick him. “Like you’ve never had a one-night stand.”
He straightened his tie, his expression smug and prissy. “I don’t make a habit of it.” She almost smiled. “Anyway…” He dropped the jerk attitude. “Andrew interviewed you and said no?”
“No, we didn’t even get that far. I threw a fit when I saw him. I didn’t know who he really was, and then these horrible thoughts poured over me. I had enough, so I screamed at him and left.”
Another eyebrow raise from Alan. “Did you end it there?”
Chewing her lip, she huffed again. The guilt and doubt warred in her gut, and tears threatened again. She didn’t want to cry over Drew, didn’t want to think for another second about what she’d lost that afternoon.
“No, we talked for a second. It was ugly.”
“Ugly how?” Damn Alan and his direct questions.
She squirmed in her seat. “I let him have it. He lied to me, ruined me. Took my one chance and crumpled it into garbage.” Heat bloomed in her gut at the memory of her last conversation with Drew the traitor. She leaned into the desk, her words fiery hot. “He turned me into a whore for a job and then threw my future away. I wanted to kill him.”
Alan shook his head slowly, a smile forming. She pursed her lips, her anger directed at her soon-to-be former boss. He held up a hand before she spit any more venom.
“Think now. How much is true?”
Terese snorted, crossing her arms, unwilling to respond to his question.
“So you ripped apart an executive from Drake, a place you want to work?”
“He lied to me!”
“Yes, he did.” Alan stared at her flatly, then inspected his fingernails. “Decorum does dictate one must swallow emotional garbage when you’re interviewing for your dream job.”
“But…” Her anger died on her lips, and she fell back into the chair. “He lied,” she whispered, shame pouring over her. “I was so mad…and hurt.” She worried her thumbnail, and Alan sat quietly, merely sat rocking the chair, his fingers tented.
Silence loomed as Terese’s jumbled thoughts slowly pieced their way into a picture, the big picture. “I shouldn’t have lost my temper,” she mumbled.
“And?”
She blew out an exasperated breath, throwing her arms open across the armrests. “And I should’ve asked for another interview with a different person.” Her bottom lip crept up over her top one.
“And?”
“Alan.” She glared red-hot daggers at him.
He dropped his chin, staring at her over his tented fingers. “And?” He poured more authority into his voice with the third repetition.
“And…I behaved badly in public, blew the situation out of proportion, and put my own nails in my own coffin.” Her chest tightened as she said the statement. Guilt and fear now rioted in her gut. She knocked her head back against the seat, seeing only darkness ahead. Her own childish actions had annihilated her chances with Drake…and Drew. Two birds with one stone, leaving her in the Pit of Despair.
She’d be stuck serving drinks forever.
Slowly raising her head, she met Alan’s gaze. His lips pressed into a tight smile as he waited. She knew the answer already but asked him anyway. “You can’t fix it?”
He shook his head. “Maybe if George, their HR man, wasn’t fresh from the cardiac wing of Iverton General.”
That caught her attention. She sat up quickly. “Oh my God, is he okay?”
Alan waived a hand. “He’s fine. A minor infarction, very minor. He returned home in under a day but won’t be around to run any new interviews.” He leaned forward. “I think that’s why the boss’s son stepped in.”
Pouting, Terese slouched back in the chair. “Yeah, I guess.”
“So maybe don’t be so hard on the boy.”
“He still lied.” Her words dropped without any passion or anger. She glanced down at her decimated thumbnail. Manicures were overrated for waitresses anyway.
Alan stood and walked to her chair. Crouching down in front of her, he took her hands in his. “Now what?”
Tears burned at the edges of her vision. “I guess I’ll see if the Beacon Street Bar is still hiring.” She sniffed, trying to rub her eyes on her sleeve, but Alan held tight to her hands.
He tugged on her wrists, snapping her attention back to him. “You and I both know you haven’t spent the last eight years here spinning your wheels. You have amazing skills, tons of contacts, and a good head for running the place. Take some time and think. Really think. Make a business plan. Make me an offer. Don’t quit, my friend. Just don’t quit.”
“Easy for you to say,” she said, finally getting her hand free to wipe her tears. “You’re like a king in Iverton.”
Alan threw his head back and burst out in loud laughter. “Easy for me to say? Have you not heard what’s been going on in my world lately?” He pulled her up to her feet, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “See, my best friend and business partner screwed me over for millions, embezzled our assets, and left me holding the bag. I got nothing, Terese. Nothing but the tavern, and that’s teetering on a cliff.”
Spinning to wrap her arms around him, not something she usually did, she squeezed Alan tight. “I’m sorry I’m such a spoiled, selfish asshole. I know you’re going through some awful shit. I should shut up.”
Alan broke the hug, holding her out at arm’s length. “We both have some serious stuff on our plate. I’m not going to let Conrad or the IRS hold me back. I may indulge in a few blackout drunk days after the IRS is finished, but I’m not done.” He squeezed her shoulders. “The ball’s in your court now. Plan how you’ll play it, and you can knock it out of the park. I have faith in you, Terese. You should too.”
Emotions played pinball in her head. Her shoulders fell and her legs wobbled. She wanted to curl up in Alan’s arms and have him tell her it was okay. No, she wanted to curl up with Drew. The confidence he’d shown made sense now. He was his own man, and Terese had thrown him away in a childish tantrum.
Her heart ached as she pulled away from Alan. He was her boss and her friend, but not a genie who could make it better. She wrapped her arms around her chest, holding herself together. Taking a couple gulping breaths, she finally met his gaze again.
“Give me time to think and…”
“Recover?” he asked, a sense of understanding in his voice. She nodded. “Go home. Indulge. And make a plan.” He patted her arm and turned to leave.
“Alan, how are you going to get through this?”
His smile seemed almost feral. “I keep an image in my head of what I’m going to do to Conrad once I get my hands on him.” He cracked his knuckles, a very un-Alan gesture. “I have so many ideas…” He swaggered out the door, like a man who hadn’t had the rug pulled out from under him.
She watched the closed door for few minutes, making up her mind. One weekend. She’d take the weekend and mourn her loss. Come Monday, she’d put her ass-kicking boots back on and get her life back on track.
****
Drew closed the door of his father’s office, his nerves on edge as if he’d touched a live wire. Blowing out a long breath, he steeled himself for the big talk.
Spencer glanced up from his desk, waving Drew forward, his ear glued to his cell. “Of course, Oliver.” He gestured to a chair by his desk. “Things are rolling. Can I get back to you with the latest data? I have an appointment.” He said the necessary goodbyes and clicked the cell off.
“Hey there, kiddo,” Spencer chimed, hustling around his desk. He caught Drew in a bear hug. “Thanks again for your help with the interviews. George is going to be fine. Though his wife did hint at a retirement package.” Spencer shrugged. “I’d hate to lose him but…” He punched Drew playfully on the arm. “I might have permanent backup for HR right here.” His grin caused Drew’s stomach to flop.
That was the final straw. Time to move on. The interview, the fight with Terese had shaken him to the core. Not to mention broken his heart. He’d examined his life, his job, his family and come up with a solution. Hopefully, it wouldn’t put his father in the hospital next to George.
Drew handed the plain white envelope to his dad. “What’s this?” Spencer asked, tearing it open. He read for a few seconds, then raised his eyes. Anger boiled there, jaded with disappointment. “I wasn’t really going to put you in HR,” he said flatly, the laughter and lightness gone from his voice.
“Let me explain, Dad.” Drew worked to keep his lips from trembling. He’d been at his father’s side at Drake Industries for years. Dad had brought him to work countless times after Mom died. The two had forged the company together, but Drew needed to leave the nest.
“The whole mess with George—” he began, but his father cut him off.
“Is entirely my fault, son. I shouldn’t have forced you to cover. I’m sorry.” He said it in one breath, waving his hands in front of him like an umpire saying safe.
“That’s not it, Dad. There were two things. First…” He slid into one of the leather chairs. “I wasn’t prepared for the situation. I’m not a jack-of-all-trades like you are. I don’t want to be big business. I don’t want to wear all the hats and put out the fires. I don’t want to end up like George.” Emotion filled his last sentence, and he dipped his head, clearing his throat to hide it.
He didn’t want to be his father either. In fact, if the disaster of Interview Day had taught him anything, he knew he didn’t want to be a mogul of enterprise. He wanted simpler things, like a life outside of work, for instance.
Spencer leaned on the edge of his desk. “Have I pushed you that hard, Andy?” He shook his head. “Drew? If I have, I’m terribly sorry for it.” His father’s voice colored with frustration and self-reproach. “You’ve been my right-hand man since you were ten. I assumed…” Mouth twitching, Drew pointed a finger at his father. Spencer laughed. “Yes, I know that makes me an ass.”
The tension lifted from the room. Maybe his father did understand their dreams weren’t the same. He studied his dad who stared at the floor, his brow furrowed. Neither spoke, his father avoiding eye contact. But Spencer’s posture told Drew it might work out in the end.
After a long silence, Spencer asked, “What’s the other reason?”
Heat flamed Drew’s cheeks. “Remember the woman I told you about.”
Spencer perked up. “The sexy waitress from Oakwood?” Surprisingly, he didn’t sound lecherous at all.
“Manager,” Drew corrected immediately. “She came in for an interview.”
Spencer moved to the chair beside Drew and sat down. “Excellent. How did it go?”
Rubbing at his chin, Drew related the story and how the whole mess had gone so badly. Spencer kept eye contact, but his head slowly tilted to the side, like some confused spaniel.
“You didn’t tell her who you were? What kind of man does that?” he asked. His father wasn’t criticizing, but the words cut Drew deeply.
“A stupid one. She walked out of the interview, more pissed than I’ve ever seen anyone. She needs the job and I blew it for her.” Drew hung his head in his hands. Guilt marched up and down his spine worse today than usual. Not only had he blown the interview, he lost the girl, and now he was disappointing his dad.
“You really like this woman.” A statement, not a question. Drew nodded. “Then give her the job and be done with it. If she runs that bar like you say, I’m fine with her being the event planner.” Spencer sat back, crossing his legs, as if the discussion were over.
Drew dropped his hands in his lap. “That’s not it, Dad. She doesn’t want to work somewhere where she’s the boss’s girlfriend. She wants to earn it herself.”
Spencer drew a sharp breath in through his nose. “You have to quit to give her a job? I don’t like that one bit.”
“No, Dad. I don’t have to. I want to. For her. For me. I like working here, but I’m digging myself into an early grave if I keep this pace up. And if you want to renovate that old hotel, I’ll be in for another grueling project immediately. I want to date Terese. I want to hang with people my age. I’m tired of the seventy-hour work weeks.”
Spencer pointed a finger at Drew. “But it’s more about the girl, isn’t it?”
“It’s a big part, Dad. She’s about to lose her only income. She’d be perfect. And I really like her. I messed up. Not huge, but enough to make it up to her. And if I don’t work here, she’ll apply again.”
Tipping his head back, Spencer stared at the ceiling, quiet for a long time. Then quietly he asked, “You’re still resigning?”
“Yes.” Drew had nothing more to add.
Spencer sat up, bouncing his hands on the armrests of the chair. “Okay then. Call Ned. Get your girl another interview and let him know your plans, two weeks’ notice and whatnot. I can give you a nice severance package and a glowing recommendation letter, young man, but no more. No freeloading. You can’t move back in with me.” He winked at Drew.
Drew sagged against the chair, tired with relief. “Thanks, Dad. I have a few ideas of where I want to work. I’ll put some feelers out soon.”
“Don’t wait too long, Son,” Spencer said. “I don’t think your lady will like you unemployed.”