Secrets and High Spirits: Secrets, Book 4

Their love is an explosive cocktail—stirred, shaken, and served with a twist.

Secrets
, Book 4

Teag and Bruce dream of opening their own bars, but that’s where the similarities end.

Teag, a popular bartender at West Hollywood’s hottest club, is willful, opinionated, and likes to take charge. He envisions his future bar as a boozy oasis for craft cocktails. Unfortunately, while he’s big on ideas, he’s short on funds.

Bruce, on the other hand, is a tower of pirate-tattooed muscle with a laid-back attitude. While he’s good with people, he’s a walking paradox—a wannabe boss with a weakness for bossy men.

Their partnership is a natural fit, but every time they meet, sparks fly as they rub each other the wrong way. Or is it the right way? In the heat of the moment, it’s hard to tell.

Between renovation pitfalls, meddling friends, and miles of police tape, Teag and Bruce struggle to keep their venture—and their budding relationship—from going up in flames. And not the good kind. More like the one on the top of a B52 shot.

Warning: Contains a whipcord-lean and whip-smart bartender who knows what he wants—and how hard he wants it—and a go-with-the-flow bar manager who secretly likes to be told how hard to give it.

Secrets and High Spirits

Lou Harper

Dedication

“I think a man ought to get drunk at least twice a year just on principle, so he won’t let himself get snotty about it.”—Raymond Chandler

Chapter One

“No
fucking way!” The words sprang from Teag’s lips in shock before he could restrain them.

His agitation didn’t stem from the former juice bar’s sorry state, but Leo taking the comment as such was understandable. Leo Henderson, Teag’s sort-of friend and self-appointed real estate agent, had called out of the blue and insisted they look at this particular commercial property immediately. The list price was unbelievably low, and Teag understood why, barely three steps in.

The front entrance being boarded up, they entered through the back only to stumble into the remains of a long-ago aborted remodeling effort. Someone at some point had ripped open a couple of inner walls, exposing their innards of pipes and ducts. Chunks of drywall piled in, on and around a lone toilet, and a thick layer of dirt covered everything. To round off the effect, an aroma of neglect and dead mice filled the air. If the alien skeleton with its exploded rib cage from the beginning of the first
Alien
movie was a commercial property in Hollywood, it would’ve been this one.

“It’s all cosmetic. The building has good bones.” Leo rushed to the carcass’s defense, but Teag’s attention was elsewhere—on the tower of muscle standing in the middle of the chaos farther in, lit by a lone electric lantern.

Teag couldn’t even recall the man’s name—they’d met only once before, after all—but recognized the brute immediately from his shaved head, the way his dark T-shirt strained to contain him, and the colorful ink on his arms.
Meathead
was Teag’s verdict.

“I don’t like this place. Let’s go,” Teag whispered, turning to Leo.

Unfortunately, Leo protested, imploring Teag to give the place a chance, etcetera. To make things worse, he was blocking the only route of escape.

Predictably, the hubbub drew Meathead’s attention. Recognition manifested in his expression at once. “You again,” he uttered in a rumbling baritone that seemed to fill the space. Teag groaned, and Leo let out an
ugh
sound as he finally caught up, but it was too late to make a break for it. Meathead was bulldozing his way in their direction. “I don’t think we were formally introduced last time. Bruce Morton,” he said when he stopped.

Teag wished he was the kind of man who could disregard a proffered hand, but good manners were too deeply ingrained in him. The best he could do was keep the handshake brief. Though it was still long enough to realize the man’s palm was as firmly padded as the rest of him. “Teag Connell,” he replied grudgingly.

Leo recovered from his initial surprise faster than a speeding bullet. “Leo Henderson, Keystone Properties. Nice to meet you again,” he burbled cheerily. If it wasn’t for Teag’s look of murder, Leo would’ve probably handed over his business card.

Meathead, though, scarcely spared a glance to Leo, while skewering Teag with unnervingly intent dark eyes. “Still shopping for a bar?”

Teag jerked his shoulder. The left one. Despite his best attempt at civility, everything about the guy made him bristle. “You too, I take it.”

“Considering it. Since my boss is selling the place out from under me. After I’ve been running it for him for years.” There was unmistakable bitterness to Bruce’s comment.

They’d met originally when Leo dragged Teag along to look at a West Hollywood bar for sale. Bruce had been behind the bar and took offense at learning the facts from them. Unpleasantries had been exchanged. The mere recollection made Teag’s pulse thicken and fists clench. Evidently, Bruce the Meathead was holding a grudge too.
Well, fuck it.

“It’s all yours. We were just leaving,” Teag announced and pivoted for the door without a formal farewell.

“Wait!” Meathead placed a meaty paw on Teag’s bicep. “We’re getting off on the wrong foot again. Let’s start over.”

Not fucking likely
. Teag kept his thoughts to himself but glared pointedly at the fingers circling his arm, then raised his eyes level with Bruce’s. More or less level—Meathead had a few inches on him. Bruce got the hint and released him. “No need. My feet are perfectly fine as they are. I’ll leave you to sort yours out at your leisure.” And to Leo, “C’mon, let’s go.” Teag underscored his words with a sharp glance at his companion and marched outside.

Leo dutifully followed, and a minute later, they were sitting on the soft leather seats of his BMW. “I had no idea someone else was showing the property as well,” he apologized.

Teag shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I don’t have the budget for the kind of renovation this place needs.” He should’ve known the asking price was too good to be true and saved them both a wasted trip.

“Good location,” Leo persisted.

“Yeah,” Teag agreed. Roughly halfway between Hollywood and Sunset Boulevards, the place could’ve attracted a diverse clientele. Alas. “There’s no point in owning the building if I can’t actually turn it into a bar.”

“Have you considered leasing a space instead of buying?”

“And be at the mercy of some asshole landlord? No, thanks.”

Leo sighed. “Your budget limits your choices, you know.”

“I know, and thanks for trying, but you didn’t have to. I’ve told you, I’m not ready yet.” He’d been saving his money, and at his current rate, he’d have enough by the time he became eligible for his AARP card. Considering he was still in his twenties, it was not a sunny prospect.

“I know what, let’s stop at Starbucks and talk over our options over a couple of lattes.”

Teag’s hackles sprang to attention at the sound of
our
, but he slapped the lid on his pique and made a show of looking at the dashboard clock. “Sorry, can’t. Martin’s expecting me in early. Just drop me off at my sister’s.”

“I could drop you at work,” Leo suggested with a glint of puppy lust in his eyes. “And pick you up after your shift.”

“Not tonight,” Teag replied curtly. Fending off Leo’s advances was trying his already short patience. He didn’t dislike the guy, but Leo didn’t inspire in him any sort of passion either. Poor Leo was as exciting as a bowl of oatmeal.

Leo had a nettlesome tendency not to take soft rejections to heart. It no doubt served him well in his chosen profession. “Rain check?” he asked with unflagging cheer.

“Sure,” Teag agreed, mostly out of guilt. He didn’t have the heart to be outright rude with the guy. Unlike that tattooed moron, Leo was a nice person, attractive, and probably considerate in the sack. “So…sold anything interesting lately?” Teag asked by way of a topic changer. For the rest of the drive to Eagle Rock, they talked real estate. Well, mostly Leo talked. Teag made encouraging noises and wished he’d had the good sense to have ridden his Vespa to the viewing instead of accepting the ride from Leo.

Be
ck in Hollywood, Ella emerged from the ramshackle kitchen, holding a flashlight. “Who was that?” The beam of light landed on Bruce’s face.

“Hey, don’t need to blind me,” he grumbled, shading his eyes. The light slid to his midsection. “His name’s Teag. We ran into each other once before.”

“I figured as much. He’s laced tighter than a tavern wench’s girdle.” Ella was not only his real estate agent and friend, but also a fellow Ren Faire devotee. She did a helluva saucy wench herself.

“I’d love to unlace him,” he quipped. Only the words came out sounding wistful.

Ella noticed the tone too, because she screwed her eyes up in surprise. “Ain’t the lad a wee bit young for you?”

Bruce had a bone-deep weakness for bossy men—not something people expected from someone like him. “He has a certain presence.” He was mindful of keeping his voice matter-of-fact this time. He didn’t want Ella to know how much the encounter got his engines revving. Teag wasn’t his type at all—too slight, too young, too…smooth. Physically, at least, if not in manners.

“I have to admit, for a stripling, he put you in your place like a pro,” she joked, but her attention was already back to matters of real estate. She wheeled the beam of her flashlight around. “I suggest we go outside to talk business before the feral dust bunnies mount an attack.”

“Dust grizzlies, more like,” Bruce muttered, but he turned off the lantern before following her.

“Th
e place looks far worse than it really is,” said Ella twenty minutes later, playing with her venti chai latte. Starbucks was doing a brisk business even in mid-afternoon, when most people were supposed to be working, but they’d found a couple of seats in the corner.

“Looked pretty damn bad to me,” Bruce countered. “Even if there are no structural issues, you’d have to do a full renovation. The drywall has to come down for sure—God only knows what’s behind it. And what if there’s asbestos?”

She nodded. “I’m not disagreeing with you, but it’s still a good deal, especially if you do some of the work yourself—you know, demolition and stuff. Put those muscles to some use. I know they are not for display only.”

“Mmm…” Bruce frowned, busy juggling numbers in his head. “How long did you say the place stood empty?”

“Seven years. From what I’ve heard, no business lasted here for more than a year or two. The last one, the juice bar, had a burst pipe and minor flooding, though that wasn’t the main problem. The owners sued the renter, who countersued. Then one of the owners died, and his heirs sued the co-owner.”

“Sounds like the place had a lot of bad luck.”

“Don’t tell me you’re superstitious. Or does it come with being a pirate?” she joked, alluding to the role Bruce took up on weekends for a month every summer. She niggled on. “Irrational fears of the seafaring folks?” Her good-natured teasing went a long way to ease his apprehensions.

“As long as there are no albatrosses or white whales involved, I’m good.”

“That’s the spirit. You know I wouldn’t tell you this was a good deal if I didn’t think so. The current owner wants to dump this place as fast as possible, and this is your big chance.”

Bruce trusted her completely, but the downsides were significant. “The kitchen will have to be gutted.”

“But there’s a kitchen, like you wanted. And the main floor is just the right size for a bar.”

“Which I’d have to build from scratch.”

“What about that huge space upstairs? You could make it into one big apartment or two small ones and rent them out. Or rent one out and move into the other yourself.”

“Who the hell would want to live above a bar?”

“Barflies? I don’t know. I’m sure somebody would. You could also move the office upstairs, freeing up more space downstairs for storage or whatnot.”

The more she spoke, the more he started to see the place as it could be. He absently scratched a mermaid’s tail on his left bicep. “I wonder why so many businesses failed there,” he voiced his unease. It couldn’t have been the location.

“A third of new businesses fail within the first two years.”

“Thank you. That makes me feel much better,” he replied sourly.

She had no sympathy for self-pity. “Do you want your own bar or not? Because I was under the impression you did, but right now, you’re just making up excuses.”

“Hm.” He’d probably need to find an investor or a silent partner. A tiny notion that had been dawdling in the back of his mind pushed forward, bringing the bright light of assurance. He could do this. “Okay. Make an offer.”

Te
ag arrived home to an empty condo—Helen must’ve left for work already. He used to live in Hollywood, sharing an apartment with a couple of other guys, but when they moved out to live with their respective boyfriends instead, he gave the place up and moved in with his sister. It had been supposed to be a temporary arrangement, but he’d been here for almost six months now.

Helen worked as an ER nurse at the Hollywood Presbyterian Medical Center, but their schedules were out of synch. At least they didn’t get on each other’s nerves. To be fair, she was a remarkably good sport about him taking up her guest bedroom, especially since she’d also used it as a walk-in closet. He really needed to find his own place, though.

Teag dug out a Tupperware of leftover beef stew from the depth of the fridge, ate, then strapped on his helmet, jumped on his Vespa and headed to work.

Pa
rking in West Hollywood could be a pain in the ass, especially around the most popular section of Sunset Boulevard where Purlieux stood. Fortunately, Teag had special permission to park his wheels in a sheltered spot behind their building, next to Martin’s Mercedes. He knew perfectly well he’d won his much-coveted job because of his youthful good looks and not his skills at mixing drink, but he earned the parking space with his professionalism. Martin managed the place with an iron fist and a fair mind.

As soon as Teag stepped into the employees’ locker room on the second floor, a flurry of a young man launched at him to hang from his neck. He petted his best friend and former roommate on the behind. “It’s nice to see you too, Dylan. How’s it going?”

Dylan released his hold. “Super-duper, except I haven’t seen you in, like, two weeks. Where have you been hiding yourself?”

“Same place as always. You’re the one who transferred to day shift,” Teag mockingly chided. Dylan had been a reckless pain in the ass at times. Most of the time. Yet Teag had always had a brotherly fondness for him. Even now that he was somebody else’s pain in the ass.

“Here you come, blinding me with logic, as usual. Did you miss me?”

Teag did, so of course, he said, “Like I miss a root canal.” He opened his locker and tossed his riding helmet inside.

“Liar! I bet you miss having someone to boss around. I’m surprised you and Helen haven’t killed each other yet.” Dylan and Helen had met only a few times, but at every occasion, they’d mixed like oil and water. Dylan could never resist making a jab at her expense. “By the way, what are you doing here so early?”

Teag made an evasive gesture, because where was he to start? “Long story.”

Dylan was too young for even his most thoughtful frown to produce much wrinkling, but the spirit was there. “Buy me a drink and tell me all.”

“Don’t you have to go?” Teag knew Dylan was doing all sorts of classes and workshops lately.

“Not for another twenty minutes or so. Simon’s picking me up. Wednesdays are his short days at the brain factory.” Dylan’s face acquired a happy glow at the mention of his college professor boyfriend. Live-in boyfriend.