Something to Prove (11 page)

“A few days, I think. I want to see what happens here.”

“I’ll call you later. Maybe we can have dinner together. How’s Melissa?”

“She can’t wait for summer break. A few weeks and school’s out. Maybe she can come
visit you.”

“I’ll be home by then.”

“Sure?” His skepticism fueled the uncertainty.

“I don’t see why not. Everything’s right on target here.”

His eyes shifted and he wouldn’t meet her gaze. “I’ll call you later about dinner.”

She nodded and he walked out the door. Elizabeth sat, stunned. The confrontation that
she thought would explode hadn’t, but Keith had left her with a feeling that was much
worse. He was up to something, but she had no idea what.

An hour later, she had received the last of the deliveries they had been expecting,
and Colin still hadn’t shown up. Her frustration grew. Although she’d been glad he
wasn’t there to witness Keith’s arrival, she had expected him to come in. They still
had quite a bit of work to accomplish before they opened.

A different kind of burn swam in her stomach. She popped another antacid. He’d said
he was looking to get laid last night. Maybe he did after she left. She thought of
Janie and Lori, but she knew they wouldn’t after she’d asked them not to. Golden rule
of girlfriends. But it’s not like Colin would have a problem finding someone else.

She sighed. It shouldn’t matter. It didn’t matter. His personal life was his business,
unless it interfered with work. This was interfering, all right.

She continued to bustle around, setting up the new, freshly washed drink ware, lining
up the bottles of alcohol to draw the eye to the most expensive liquor, while constantly
watching the clock. Lunchtime came and went with not so much as a phone call from
Colin letting her know when he’d be arriving.

She finally gave in and dialed his cell phone. It rang four times then went to voice
mail. Her teeth clicked while she listened to his snappy little message. “Colin, Elizabeth.
We have a lot to accomplish before we reopen in approximately twenty-four hours. Where
are you?”

Leaving the message didn’t ease her anxiety. She had two new waitresses coming in
to get used to things before tomorrow. Colin had hired them, and he’d assured her
that they were experienced.

The bar hadn’t been this quiet since her first morning there. And even then she had
the crappy, staticky radio as background noise. She realized part of her unease was
the silence. She’d become not only accustomed to Colin’s rambling and random singing,
but she’d begun to rely on it as part of the atmosphere.

Determined to move forward without Colin’s help, she grabbed a remote and turned on
a TV. The volume blared and she jabbed at buttons to lower it. “Who the hell needs
the volume that loud?”

“It won’t seem so loud when there are fifty people milling around and talking.”

Colin’s voice startled her. The volume of the TV must’ve drowned out him opening the
back door. “Where the hell have you been? I’ve been here all morning trying to get
everything together.”

“I had an important errand to take care of. It wasn’t ready, so I had to wait.” He
dropped a box on the nearest table. “I hope you like it. I know I didn’t run it past
you first, but I figured at this point you could trust me to show a little initiative.”

He opened the flaps on the nondescript brown box and grabbed what was inside. T-shirts.

“That was your all-important mission that took more than half the day?”

“Yeah. One of the things that helps the employees at O’Leary’s stand out is that they
all wear bar T-shirts.” He paused with one shirt balled in his hand. “I know we didn’t
talk about this, but I know how much you dislike the name The Irish Pub, and really,
if we’re reinventing the bar, it should have a new name.”

“What did you do?” Suspicion crept back up her spine.

“I just ordered a few, so if you don’t like it, it’s no big deal.” He grasped the
shirt in both hands and opened it. Bright orange letters on the left breast read B
RANNIGAN’S
S
PORTS
B
AR
.

An uncharacteristic surge of pride filled her chest. “Brannigan’s, huh?”

“Well, I figured you’d really flip if I called it O’Leary’s, especially since the
name is already taken.” He turned and dug through the box.

A litany of problems rose in her brain. There had been no legal name change, the business
license and everything was listed as The Irish Pub. No advertising with a new name
had been done.

Even with the problems that this would cause, part of her didn’t care. She liked seeing
her name on the business. She’d never experienced that pride before and it felt good.

“When I sell, the new owner might not like my name all over the place. Not to mention
that paperwork has to be done to make it official. And the sign outside still says
The Irish.” She shook her head. “Now was probably not the best time for a name change.”

“Don’t stress. You worry about the paperwork crap, and I’ve got the word of mouth
covered. While I got the shirts, I ordered a temporary banner we can hang outside
until we decide on a permanent sign.”

Word of mouth? How was he going to make that happen in less than a day? While she
realistically planned for a slow build of customers throughout the week, she didn’t
want their opening day to be a flop.

Their Web presence was still being built. She began to tick off a mental list of what
needed to be changed: Facebook, Web site . . . had they set up a Twitter account yet?

Something smacked into her face, and she blinked and looked to see what had hit her.
A black T-shirt sat on her shoes.

“Wake up. We have work to do.”

“I’m plenty awake. I’ve been here for hours. If I had known about your planned name
change, I could’ve gotten other things taken care of, things that I’m now adding to
my to-do list.” She grabbed the shirt from the floor and tossed it back to him.

He caught it in his left hand. “This is yours. You can’t possibly plan on wearing
a suit to our grand opening.”

“What is wrong with my suit? I’m the owner, not a barmaid.”

He slung the shirt on his shoulder. “If you want to be successful here, you either
need to blend in or be gone. People in this neighborhood are middle class, blue collar.
They don’t want to look at a suit when they’re trying to enjoy some downtime.”

“And by putting on a T-shirt, I’ll blend in?”

He walked closer and slid the shirt from his shoulder and placed it on hers. “Not
a chance, but you can at least fake it. You also need to get rid of the Benz.”

“What’s wrong with my car?”

“The only Mercedes these people come across is in a Janis Joplin song. Rent something
more inconspicuous. Like a regular person.”

“You’re awfully bossy today. Any other demands?” She yanked the T-shirt from her shoulder
and gripped it tightly in her fist.

His gaze didn’t return to hers. He continued to dig through the box, sorting shirts.
“I’m sure you’ll do whatever you want, but you brought me in because I know people.
Jeans and that T-shirt. Although you look really hot in heels, I would suggest gym
shoes. The floors will get slippery, and I’d hate to see you fall and break your neck.”

A little jolt of pleasure ran through her. He thought she looked hot in heels. His
opinion shouldn’t matter, she reminded herself. “Fine. I’ll dress to fit in with regular
people.”

She turned to go into the office, but stopped. It bothered her that he assumed she’d
always had money. Before she could stop herself, she said, “I’ll have you know that
just because I have money now, I didn’t grow up that way. I am a regular person.”

His head whipped up and his gaze bore into her. “Sweetheart, there’s nothing regular
about you.”

“Shows what you know,” she mumbled and turned back to the office.

Colin couldn’t remember a time when he’d ever been this nervous. They had less than
an hour until their official reopening. Elizabeth had been scarce all day. Although
she’d agreed to dump the stuffy suit, she arrived in dark gray pinstripes, like any
other day. He didn’t comment, knowing it wouldn’t matter. Every time he looked at
her, he no longer saw the stiff businesswoman. He only thought of the pliant, sensual
woman pressed against his body during their kiss.

His mind continued to wander back to the other night. After he’d kissed Elizabeth,
he wanted more, but knew she wouldn’t go for it. He probably shouldn’t have touched
her at all, but he wanted to know. Needed to have another taste of her, especially
after seeing her dance with all those strangers.

He had no claim to her, and his fantasies were getting out of hand. The previous day,
he’d intentionally come to the bar late, knowing he couldn’t ignore their kiss. He
made sure he’d had other things to occupy his brain when he did arrive. He shook his
head now to force himself to focus on the work at hand.

The new waitresses had experience and quickly learned the lay of the land. Now he
just had to hope that Moira’s big mouth worked. She had an extensive network both
professionally and socially that he hoped to use to his advantage.

As he stood in the quiet front room, peace settled over him. He turned in a circle
and liked what he saw. This was his place. He’d done it. Now he just needed to make
it a success. He ticked off the last few items in his head and realized that he hadn’t
talked to Elizabeth about the basement. He strode to her office and swung the door
open without knocking.

Air whooshed from his lungs as her bare back faced him. Only the black strap of her
bra interrupted the smooth skin. She slid the bar T-shirt over her head and tugged
it down. She hadn’t noticed his presence, so he cleared his throat and tried to avert
his gaze. Sort of.

She flinched. “You didn’t knock.”

He ignored her reprimand and thoughts of her bare skin and said, “What do you think
of the shirt?”

“Hell, no.”

When she turned, he couldn’t believe his eyes. She was beyond sexy in the scoop-neck
shirt that dipped low, showing just enough cleavage to make his mouth water. The shirt
hugged every feminine curve.

“Hey, eyes up here.” Her hands rose above her chest to her face.

His gaze wandered up, drinking in every inch of her. “What?”

“Give me a shirt like yours. I’m not wearing this in public.”

“How about in private?” He smiled at her, but she didn’t budge. “It looks good. And
it’ll help sell beer.”

“I repeat, I am not wearing this. I get that you don’t want me in my business suit,
but this is unacceptable.” She shifted from foot to foot and her hands fisted.

She was uncomfortable. Nervous? The thought niggled in the back of his head. Why would
she be nervous? “What’s wrong with it?”

“I don’t see you baring your chest for all to see.” She crossed her arms, which only
distracted him further because it pushed her breasts higher, like an invitation.

“Would it make you feel better if I did?” He tugged at the hem of his own shirt.

Quickly uncrossing her arms, she pointed at him. “That’s not what I mean. I am a businesswoman,
the owner of this bar. Not a sexual object to be ogled.”

She was right and he knew it, but he couldn’t help but ogle her. She was hot, standing
there angry and flushed. Pink crept across the expanse of skin exposed above the black
neckline of the shirt. He wondered if the same blush would streak her skin after an
orgasm.

He cleared his throat. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll get you a different shirt. I
actually came in here because we need to talk about the basement.”

“Now? We open in less than an hour.”

“Yeah, but there’s something not right about the basement. It’s too big.” He shoved
his hands in his pockets to stop himself from reaching out and stroking her skin.

“The size of the basement is irrelevant. As long as there are no more dead critters
down there, I don’t care. Now get me a shirt. I can’t go out to the front looking
like this.”

He smiled again. “Sure you can. The other girls are wearing the same thing.” Not that
they could hold a candle to her.

“That’s your first problem. I’m not one of the girls. I’m a woman.”

Oh, yes, she was. He turned and left to get her the shirt. Seeing her stiff and irritated
should’ve helped ease the lust, but it didn’t. Memories of the other night flooded
back and he was feeling like a horny teenager again. Elizabeth was not the first sexy
woman he’d kissed. She didn’t even like him, but the chemistry they shared wasn’t
something they could deny.

He tossed a shirt through her open office door without so much as a glance. He needed
to keep his head in the game. Marissa and Erin, the new waitresses, were chatting
at the bar. He glanced at the clock. Fifteen minutes until open. What harm could it
do to unlock the doors now?