Dirty Martini (Crow Bar Brute Squad Book 2) Page 2

  The time had come to remind him of the past. Katie opened her hand to ask for the newspaper. He handed it to her, and she opened it to a substantial full-page advertisement for grand openings of three new restaurants at the Riverwalk. “Remember this? I had your back. When it looked like the city was going to chicken out and maintain the status quo? Keep the riverfront the way it was, a jogging path that was not maintained, and riddled with crime? Now, it’s the jewel of the city. You had the idea, and I made sure you were the sole broker on all those lots. You made millions in commissions.”

  “And you’re still raking it in on rent down there, so I think you got the better end of the deal.”

  “Ari.”

  Ari nodded but wouldn’t budge. “I’m grateful for all of that, Katie. But you making an appearance at a public hearing and sharing your in-house architect with me is hardly the same as me putting my name on a project. You have to understand why I’m hesitating.”

  She tried the surefire recruiting move. Make it personal. Some business people liked to play golf. Some favored a Broadway show. Ari enjoyed shooting pool and talking business over drinks. There was a place down on Haven Street, a dicey-looking watering hole known as a favorite of the dockworkers, sailors on leave, and the sketchier characters of Newcastle. That place was sure to have pool tables.

  “I have an idea. Let’s get out of here and discuss this over a game of pool. We can workshop it after we’ve had a drink. I have lots of ideas.”

  The hotshot agent paused and looked at her strangely. Blinking several times, Ari took a sauntering step closer toward her, a wry smile spreading across his face. Katie had seen that look before. Her breath stilled. As powerful as she was, that type of behavior she’d never get used to. Ari should know better; she’d set boundaries with him ages ago, after the Riverwalk project. He’d hinted around while hitting the town together to celebrate their success that they’d make successful partners on a personal level and not just professional. But she just didn’t feel attracted to Ari in that way, and she’d said so at the time.

  And yet, there he was, invading her personal space. Because, why? Because she was desperate to make this project work, and he knew it. He had the upper hand. She’d behaved too needy, and now Killer Katie was the prey.

  One of Ari’s fingers dragged its way along her shoulder, stopping when he reached the opening of the lapel of her Italian linen blazer. Her cheeks heated in embarrassment. “Since you bring it up, there might be a way for you to convince me to partner up with you,” he said softly.

  She had to work hard to hide the full-body cringe, so hard her toes curled. Katie cut her eyes down to where Ari rested his index finger, dangerously close to the skin of her chest. Her large breasts and plump frame always seemed to make these blouses appear too revealing for some people. Ari was taking advantage of the view as he towered over her.

  Katie recoiled. “I think we’ve misunderstood each other. Once again.”

  “Have we?”

  “Clearly.”

  “We had a good time working together.”

  She nodded. “That we did.”

  “I’m just saying, you could easily sweeten the deal if you know what I mean.”

  Taking a step back, Katie jutted her chin out. “A person who doesn’t understand English knows what you mean, Ari. That’s how obvious you’re behaving right now. That was not my intent when I asked you to meet me here today.”

  Ari got the hint, finally. He removed his hand and stepped away.

  “Cool. Cool. I thought I picked up a signal, but I was mistaken.” His Italian loafers moved silently across the room to the marble kitchen island, where he retrieved his attaché, slinging the strap over his shoulder.

  Katie hated this crap. Men trying to make you feel guilty for sending mixed signals when you sent none in the first place. Damn these flimsy silk shell blouses; she should have just kept on her overcoat. But why? Why should she let him make her feel guilty? She had so much power at her fingertips, she could have that man squashed like a bug with one phone call.

  “I merely suggested we go somewhere for a drink to hash things out. That’s all. It was not an invitation for you to put your hands on me.”

  Ari shifted his whole demeanor then, completely ignoring her repudiation. He smoothly shot his cuff and checked the time on his garish watch. “I’m sorry, Katie. I gotta roll; I have a client meeting in Shoreline in fifteen. But hey, it was great to see you.”

  Ari flashed her one of his classic wide grins, then scooted out of there faster than Shaggy running from a perceived ghost. She called after him, her voice echoing off the bare walls. “Shoreline is done, Ari. Almost completely built out! This is where the exciting stuff happens.”

  The clunk of the industrial steel door behind him told her the answer. She looked around this condo with its restored hardwoods and exposed brick. The place’s original character was intact; she could see the small holes in the floor and in the walls where the factory fixtures had been bolted into place. It was a historic thing of beauty that had been restored after sitting empty and neglected for years. She knew she could make it work.

  She took the words of the editorial to heart as much as she hated to admit it. The space didn’t have to house only the ultra-rich. She wanted to see actual people from the neighborhood living here.

  Getting the neighborhood to buy into it was a long shot, especially with the much-reviled name of Ecco Corp involved.

  But if anyone could make it happen, it was Katie. She just needed a stiff drink and some time to think it over.

  Chapter Three

  Holden

  Holden Murphy was in no mood for loud, punchy drunks at noon on a Monday.

  Dougie thought it was amusing to refer to Honey, the barmaid, as if she were his own personal “honey.”

  “Honey, fetch me another, won’t you, Honey.” Dougie spoke it like an order, not a question, and then wheezily laughed until his amusement deteriorated into an emphysemic hacking cough.

  Holden had enough to deal with that day without keeping an eye on the regular barflies. The entire Satan’s Minions Motorcycle Club had decided that Crow Bar was the place to meet in the middle of the day. Apparently, the Feds had raided the club’s headquarters the previous day and had confiscated all of the computers. Holden didn’t know anything about that, nor did he care. He did find it funny thinking about motorcycle club members using computers for their sketchy enterprises, but he didn’t know why. But he did worry about the possibility that the motorcycle club could decide to make Crow Bar a regular hangout. Or worse, they could adopt Crow Bar once again as the club’s primary spot for wheeling and dealing oxy. Or meth. Or whatever the hell was keeping half of Dockside unfit or unable to obtain or hold down a decent job.

  “I’m right here, Dougie,” said Griff, the bartender, without a hint of humor.

  Dougie’s voice slurred when he argued. “I know, but I want Honey to fetch me my drink. She’s nicer’ n you.”

  Meanwhile, in the back of the room, nobody was using the pool tables because the Satan’s Minions were crowded around it, using the pale green felt as a table for their drinks and a makeshift conference table where they wrote down ideas for a new name.

  “She ain’t nicer, she’s just better looking than me. And it don’t matter anyway because you’re already drunker than the hog that fell into my corn mash barrels. I’m cutting you off for today, Dougie,” Griff said.

  At that moment, Honey passed by in her rush to return emptied beer glasses to the kitchen. She worked quickly to refill some pitchers for two tables full of thirsty dockworkers who had just ended their 3 a.m. to 11 a.m. shift. The more she hustled, the better tips she got.

  “That’s fine. You go on and cut me off. My honey will get me what I want. Ain’t that right, Honey?” He gave another wheezy laugh and reached out to slap her right on the ass.

  She yelped in indignation, “Hey!”

  Holden sprang into action. It was all the rea
son he needed to kick his ass out. Turned out, Honey didn’t need Holden’s fist; her Jiu-Jitsu class had taught her well, and Dougie was on the floor in two seconds flat. All Holden was good for at the moment was catching the drink tray.

  Holden goggled at Honey. “Wow. Okay,” he said as she anxiously dug out her hand sanitizer and applied it, then rubbed the clear liquid into her hands.

  “I’ll still need you to pick up the little bitch and toss him out,” she said, slightly out of breath and nodding to Holden as he returned the drink tray to her.

  Holden helped Dougie up, only to be thanked by a jab to the face that landed on the side of his skull. No harm was done, but now Holden was mad. He knew what Dougie was doing; he was trying to start a fight. Holden could have knocked him out cold with one punch. He glowered at Dougie and cracked his knuckles in anticipation of doing just that when the front door opened, blasting the room with icy air. Looking up, a vision of curvaceous heaven in a red overcoat and four-inch pumps raised the temperature in the room.

  The woman looked taken aback, too, but not because of some divine vision. She was startled and horrified as if she’d just stumbled upon a wrestling match between a giant green ogre and a mountain troll. Gripping her bag to her middle, she scurried out of the way as Holden dragged Dougie toward the door.

  As he passed, he maintained a firm headlock on the squirming Dougie while nodding to the lady in the red overcoat.

  “Doin’ good?” Holden asked her, putting on his best boyish grin.

  The lady looked perplexed between Holden’s smile and the cursing man attached to the inside of Holden’s arm. Pointing at Dougie, she replied, “Sure. But is he okay?”

  Holden glanced down at the top of Dougie’s head and acted as if he was surprised to see him there. “Who, him? Sure, he’s fine. Well, aside from being a drunk corn mash hog or whatever. I don’t know. He was just leaving.”

  Dougie struggled and wriggled free of Holden’s vise grip and took another sloppy swing at Holden’s skull that ended up connecting as little more than a bitch-slap to the face. Holden cackled. “Keep pushin’, Dougie, and see if you don’t get banned for life.”

  Turning to the lady, Holden said, “Excuse me,” and gave another charming, silly grin before finishing the job of tossing Dougie outside.

  He didn’t know her name, where she was from, or why she was here at noon on a Monday. But he’d be damned if he was going to let Dougie be in the same room as someone like her.

  With a spring in his step, Holden tossed the obnoxious Dougie outside. He wasn’t even bothered as Dougie cussed at him, tried to grab his keys, and finally exhausted his attempts to get back inside. Holden was a brick wall, and he enjoyed watching the guy wear himself out like an angry toddler. “Go home. I’ll drop off your keys once I’m sure you’re sober.”

  Dougie bleated out some unintelligible noises and flipped Holden the bird before nearly slipping on the ice, forcing him to focus on walking instead of airing grievances.

  Holden went back inside just in time to hear the drink order of the curvy lady in red.

  “Dirty martini. Extra dirty. And do you have a lunch menu?”

  Griff replied, “Sorry. Cook is only here at night.”

  She nodded, smiled, and said, “Fine. Extra olives, then.”

  Just then, Mavis appeared from the kitchen and announced, “Did I hear someone’s hungry? I’m just about to call a meeting with my boys, and you’re welcome to some snacks.” Mavis set down a platter of chips, nuts, pretzels, and other nibbles.

  Holden’s fellow members of the Brute Squad—the nickname given to the bouncers at Crow Bar—swarmed the snack tray, as expected. But none of them got a single bite before Holden smacked their hands away and shoved the tray closer to the lady in red.

  “Hands off, ya filthy animals. Customers first.”

  The lady in red smiled at him, just a little, warming up his insides, the way one feels when seeing a favorite person after a long, hard day.

  It wasn’t much of a lunch. But she was clearly hungry. Holden didn’t understand why he had taken a particular interest in the eating habits of a total stranger who was out of his league. All he knew was he had a strange, deep-down instinct to make sure she ate something.

  He watched while she popped some peanuts into her mouth and Mavis got on with the meeting, aware that all the other members of the Brute Squad’s eyes were on him. They were trying to figure out what was going on with this kid, the youngest of the bouncers, the shy, soft-spoken one who usually minded his own business except when customers became unruly.

  He knew all of that. And he didn’t care who saw him watching out for this lady. It just had to be done and had to be done by nobody but him.

  Chapter Four

  Katie

  The brisk January air outside had done some good to her lungs. Reset her mind, cleansed her mental palate. Scrubbed away the creepy vibes from Ari.

  Should she have seen it coming, his blatant come-on?

  He’d flirted with her before. But she had only taken it as Ari’s edgy way of conducting himself. He was always toeing the line between professional and friendly. After the last brick had been mortared into place at the Riverwalk project, and the business license applications began to pour in, Ari had taken her out to celebrate over steaks and martinis. That night, at Donatelli’s he’d reached across the table and squeezed her hand. Then, he’d edged closer and closer to her in that semi-secluded booth at the steakhouse. The more they drank, the more he’d invaded her personal space. At one point, he’d brushed her hair behind her ear and put his hand on her knee under the table. When she scooted away and explained to him that she didn’t have those kinds of feelings for him, he’d been respectful at the time. Nothing felt creepy or untoward. Not until today.

  Today, he’d crossed a line.

  “Dirty martini, extra dirty,” she told the bartender, then slid her size 18 backside cautiously onto a swivel barstool that looked as if it might give up the ghost at any moment. Her first warning, though, that this might not be the best place to have chosen for a drink, had come as soon as she’d stepped inside and come face to face with a young tattooed man subduing an older, sloppy drunk in a headlock. What could have been the series of poor choices leading up to that scenario at noon on a Monday, she wondered.

  Despite that alarming display, she couldn’t help but relish the boyish grin aimed at her from that large, tattooed bouncer in the tight black tee-shirt and a head of youthful, floppy hair. She’d also taken note of that chin dimple underneath a pair of full, Elvis lips. Her shock at seeing the scuffle quickly subsided into amusement and fascination, and she’d laughed to herself as she’d watched the striking young man forcefully escort the poor, pugnacious drunk outside.

  Calm yourself, Katie, she told herself. He’s probably ten, 15 years younger than you, at least.

  Not to mention, her body type was probably not something he found attractive. He was a towering, young wall of muscle. He was probably under orders to smile and be friendly to new customers. Even dive places like this had some standards of customer service, right?

  And anyway, she had a feeling that any shred of interest he might have would disappear at any moment if her ass lost this battle of wills against this wonky barstool.

  When the kind-faced older woman appeared from the kitchen and offered her some snack food, Katie felt relieved to have something to do with her hands. When was the last time she’d eaten bar peanuts? Not since college. She was so hungry, she wasn’t feeling very picky.

  Katie forgot all about the barstool for a moment when the floppy-haired bouncer smacked away everyone else’s grabby hands until Katie had gotten some snacks for herself. She smiled shyly up at him and nodded in thanks, keeping silent as the woman, who appeared to be the owner, commenced with some kind of meeting with her staff.

  She kept her eyes on the television, but the news was not as interesting as the conversation around her. All these men were all built like profe
ssional wrestlers or personal trainers. The one who appeared to be the oldest of them had his arm around a petite college-age woman, whom he hoisted up onto his lap when he sat down on a stool a short distance away from Katie.

  Katie sipped her drink, ate her peanuts and olives, and could not help but eyeball the cute couple. Never in her life had a man invited her to sit in his lap, let alone insisted. The two of them looked like they were absolutely head over heels for each other. Forget about the lap thing: nobody had ever looked into Katie’s eyes the way that man was looking at his girl. Katie found it endearing and bittersweet, wondering what that would feel like.

  She’d probably never know.

  Just once in a while, she would really love it if someone would wrap her up like that and blot the world out.

  Make her feel small. Petite. Take care of her. Protect her. She felt the protectiveness; it seared the air all around those two lovebirds.

  The bar owner talked on, and Katie overheard her explaining to her staff that they would soon have a new boss. This was apparently unwelcome news, as all the energy was suddenly sucked out of the room.

  Katie focused on her drink, making herself look away, as everyone seemed upset, and she felt as if she were intruding on a family meeting.

  Some of the men protested the news. Others remained silent and sniffled. They must really love her, Katie thought, feeling as if maybe she shouldn’t be here for this private moment. She turned her attention to the news program on the television that hung above the bar.

  Some time later, when the tone of the discussion eventually lightened up, Katie looked past the canoodling couple.