Forever My Angel (8 page)

I took today off from the bar hoping to spend it in bed with Angel, but if my girl wants trash bags then I guess I’m going to go get trash bags. Even if I do think she might have lost her ever-loving mind.

—-♥—-

B
y the time I get back, trash bags in hand, I think I understand better. When I took over the bar from my old man, one of the first things I did was remodel, add the second bar, and start booking more entertainment, making it a more relevant spot for the younger college crowd. I was desperate to prove that I was competent and capable in my own right, that I wasn’t simply my father’s son. Angel wants to be my wife, but she wants to be respected for her own talents too, not just the family we’re both expecting her to marry into.

“You know,” I say as I sit the box of trash bags on the counter, looking around. She’s already made a big dent in the mess while I’ve been gone. “Enrollment for the spring semester at the university opens this week. We could register you for classes. If you want to, that is.”

She stares at me silently, her hand frozen midair, still clutching a book she was about to put back on a nearby shelf.

“...Or not,” I offer meekly. “It’s whatever you want, Angel.”

She lowers her arm to her side, still holding the book as she sucks her lip in between her teeth. “Do you think they’d even accept me after I dropped out of ASU?”

I know I’m treading on dangerous ground here, but I don’t want to give her anything other than complete honesty. “Most likely. And my checkbook tends to open doors that are otherwise closed.”

When she frowns, I’m not surprised. “That’s exactly what I want to avoid. I want to stand on my own merits.”

“But?” I prompt.

The left half of her mouth curves into a tentative smile. “I do like the idea of finishing my degree.”

“I think you can do most of the application online, but I’ll pick you up some brochures when I head over to the bar tomorrow afternoon.”

I cross the room to pull her against me, relishing in the feel of her breathing warmly against my chest. There are times when I just have to touch her, to remind myself physically that she’s here, and alive. She wasn’t the only one who was damaged by Nick attacking her. That day...my heart was ripped right out of my chest and smashed into the ground. Some days I can’t close my eyes, unable to get the images of her at his mercy out of my head. I press a kiss to the top of her head, determined not to let today be one of those days.

The therapist she sees said something at one of our joint sessions that's stuck with me. He said that ‘okay’ will mean a different thing to each individual person. Angel says her definition of okay is that she can recognize her urge to look over her shoulder for what it is, a remnant of her past, rather than part of her present. She says that accepting her fears as part of her makes her feel like she's in control of them, rather than them controlling her. That's her okay. My okay? It's doing everything in my power to keep her safe and happy. It's replacing the memory of her at his mercy with as many as we can make of her giving herself to me completely. As long as she's mine, she'll never be his again. He can't have a single moment of her future, because I claim it all.

Her arms find their way around my waist. I wonder what sort of chance I have of convincing her to abandon the cleaning and go back to bed? That reminds again me of what she said yesterday, coming back from the farm. “For the record, while I will always support you in your dreams, no matter what they are, I kind of like the idea of you waiting at home for me, barefoot and pregnant, your waist swelling with our child.”

I hear the sharp intake of her breath. “Not anytime soon.” She shoves playfully against my chest.

“No,” I concede. “Probably not anytime soon.”

She lifts ornery eyes up to mine. “
Definitely
not anytime soon.”

I just smile, skimming my hands up her waist, rubbing the little spot at the small of her back that she likes.

Angel licks her lips. “I suppose it might not hurt to practice now.”

Hells yeah. Back to bed it is.

—-♥—-

D
espite the blissful way I spent last night, I can’t shake my shitty mood today. While Angel was in the shower, I put in a call to my realtor, planning to set an appointment for later in the week to tour the two warehouses still in consideration for our new location.

Norman Fitzsimmons and my father go way back, and they’ve always had a good business relationship. Though I couldn’t remember meeting him personally before we started this project, he remembered me as a child. He wasted the first thirty minutes of our initial meeting reminiscing, during which I learned two things: Fitz, as he asked me to call him, is envious of the way my father is able to step back from business a bit and let me handle things, and he also has a daughter he dotes on.

Which is probably what gave him the bright idea to have his daughter take over showing me properties. That, or maybe he realizes this is pretty much a done deal, and all he’s really waiting on is for me to make a choice between the two warehouses.

Unfortunately, the daughter insisted we meet today, either from eagerness, impatience, or both. I wasn’t going to agree until she told me she’s heard rumors of others being almost ready to put in an offer on one of my two prospects. She casually suggested it might even be the same developer who's recently opened a new night-life bar that seems to be aimed at competing with Tuck’s Tap.

So now, instead of spending the morning relaxing before tonight’s annual Tuck's Tap holiday kick-off party, I left Angel at home with a mumbled excuse for leaving early and a promise to pick up brochures for her.

I am
not
looking forward to trying to make large, business-plan-altering decisions with an untested, inexperienced little girl who’s there just to humor her father. Because of the lack of notice, my father isn’t going to be able to accompany me to make the selection, not that I truly mind. I wanted his approval, but I also appreciate his confidence in me. In the end, this club is
my
project, and he’s just there as an adviser if I need him.

Not that I'm going alone. Kevin is meeting me at the first location so he can give me his opinion on how difficult it would be to set up adequate–no, scratch that, state of the art—security.

Dougie’s meeting us there too, and that’s a conversation I’m not looking forward to having.

I try to evaluate the neighborhood with critical eyes as I near the property. The street is relatively clean, the buildings nearby don’t look rundown, and there are no shady characters loitering about. I try to put myself in the same shoes as the fathers of the college club crowd: would they let their daughters come here? I think the answer is yes. We aren’t in a trendy part of town with a lot of foot traffic, like at Tuck’s Tap, but I think I could draw a crowd to this place. There’s a spacious parking lot, rather than street parking, although it needs better lighting to be safe. I’m not sure what the two buildings across the street hold; they aren’t marked.

I briefly considered scouting for a location that already draws a lot of the club crowd, like Old Town, but I don’t want to be just another club. I want to repeat what my father did when he built Tuck’s Tap and bring something different and needed to an area. Hopefully that will pay off in the end, even if it makes it harder to get up and running in the beginning.

It isn’t hard to spot Eva Fitzsimmons as soon as I pull into a parking spot. For one thing, other than us, the parking lot is empty. But even if it had been overflowing with other cars, I don’t think she would have escaped my notice. If I'd somehow missed her long, slender legs as she climbed nimbly off her motorcycle, her vibrant red hair whipping in the wind like a flag would have at least caught my eye.  I can’t help laughing at myself for making assumptions. Her voice might have been candy-coated and sweet on the phone, but in person I instantly get the impression she’s a firecracker.

Her handshake is firm yet lingering when she greets me.

“Ms. Fitzsimmons.” I tip my head with a smile.

Her nose crinkles like she’s caught a whiff of something foul. “Eva. Please.”

“Eva,” I concede, unable to stop myself from sizing her up. She’s tall, a bit taller than Angel. And though her eyes don’t sparkle in that irresistible way Angel’s do, they are keen, leading me to decide she’s smarter than I gave her credit for.

The wind is fierce, trying to steal our words as soon as they leave our lips.  Eva steps closer to me to be heard above the whipping air. “Shall we head inside and get started?”

“I’m actually waiting on two of my associates. I’d like their opinions as well.”

“Oh, of course!” She flashes me an apologetic smile. “I just got the impression on the phone that you were going to be busy today, and I didn't want to waste any of your time. But whatever you want is what we'll do.”

She’s right, of course. I do have a shit-ton of things to get done today, and Dougie and Kevin will know where to find us when they see my truck sitting here. Eva shivers, and I feel guilty for making a girl stand out in the cold. “Let’s go inside.”

“Great!” Her demeanor instantly brightens as we head to the door with a large keypad lock around the handle. She punches in a code and removes a key. “Also, if we have time today, there’s a third property I’d like to show you.”

I feel like I’ve already combed every inch of the city looking for the right property, and I doubt there’s anything I’ve missed. Her father had tried hard to steer me to a few that he thought were better, but the two warehouses we’re scheduled to revisit this morning were the only two worthy of my short-list. “Your father didn’t mention anything about that.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m taking over your project, because I think you’ll love the spot.” Eva lightly touches my arm, guiding me inside the open door.

I tune her out, looking around the expansive, mostly empty space. It’s exactly as I remember it. The warehouse is a great blank canvas; I could do pretty much anything I want with it. There’s ample space for a central bar, a DJ platform, seating, a small stage—anything I decide to do. The problem is that anything I picture is just more of the same. It’s just going to be another club, like all the rest, unless I can figure out how to set it apart.

I glance up as Dougie comes through the door, looking exhausted. Motherfucker. I was hoping Kevin would make it here first, so I could occupy myself with going over security plans rather than talking with Dougie. “Sorry I’m late,” he mumbles.

“All good, man.” Except it isn’t. He’s taken his breakup with Chelsea extremely hard, and it’s obvious he’s deteriorating. And now I’ve got to make it worse. “Eva, could you give us a minute?”

“Sure. I’ll just step away and call the agent for the third location and let them know we’ll be by. Sound good?”

She’s a sneaky thing. If she thinks we're going to play by her rules rather than mine, she's going to have to find a new game. "No."

My rejection barely causes her to miss a beat. She walks away with a bright smile, though she pouts a little when she thinks I can't see.

“So what is this place?” Dougie looks around skeptically.

How to word this so it seems like a positive? “We’ve been friends a long time, right?”

He nods.

“That’s why I know I can trust you with this. I’ve been working on a plan to open another venture, and I’ve decided to move ahead, just as soon as I pick a location.”

“Another bar?”

“I was thinking more like a club, but I don’t want it to be just another run-of-the-mill club. I need to find a way to make it special.”

“Sounds like a lot of work.” Dougie has always been the kind of guy to just go along with what life hands him. I think that's part of what drew him to Chelsea; they both had the same mentality. Some would call it a lack of ambition, but I don't think it's that. He's just genuinely content with life. Or he was, until my sister dumped him.

“It is. It will be. And with me about to propose to Angel—”

He actually smiles at this, the first sign of genuine interest I’ve seen since he walked through the door. He's liked Angel from day one.

“–About damn time.”

I nod. “But with that, and planning a wedding, and Tuck’s Tap, I can’t do it all on my own.”

“You know I’ll help out at Tuck’s with anything you need.”

And I know that he would. I've always been able to count on him. Which is what makes this situation so shitty.

“Actually, about that. I was wondering if you’d be willing to be my project manager for the new location. I’m going to want eyes I trust leading things on-site from day one. Overseeing construction, hiring, everything.” I know he doesn't believe it, but everything I just said is true.

He doesn’t smile now. In fact, his eyes grow darker than I think I’ve ever seen them. There's no sign of the laid-back guy now, and I briefly wonder if he’s still in there.

“Why don’t you just say it like it is, Axel? You don’t want me around Chelsea, because I’m making her uncomfortable. Well, I’m sorry if I can’t just get over her and move on like she has. I love her, man, like you love Tess.”

I have to bite my tongue. The way he’s been acting lately, making things worse for Chelsea, I don’t think he feels one tenth of what I feel for Angel, but saying so won’t help the situation. “I’m offering you a good opportunity here, Doug, because we’ve been friends for a long time. But I won’t make this offer twice. I want you to look at this as a promotion, because it truly is. Even though the situation that prompted it sucks, something good can come of it.”

“Whatever you say, boss-man.” In all the years we've been friends, I don't think he's ever spoken to me in such a biting tone.

I inwardly sigh, but let it go. “So what do you think of this as a potential location?”

He glances around. “I don’t see much draw to it, but I guess it could work.”

I’d be frustrated with his lack of enthusiasm, except I feel it too. The dark walls, bare floors, and general shabbiness don’t make this place much to look at. It’s in the running purely due to the neighborhood. Kevin shows up a few minutes later, a man I don’t recognize with him. The stranger hangs back, listening but not speaking, as Kevin and I walk the property, discussing security concerns and potential solutions. He doesn’t seem enthusiastic, but he also doesn’t seem to rule the location out.