“That’s okay. I can get a ride to the bar,” she says. My stomach burns with nerves. “Will you call me?”
“As soon as I can,” I say, and she hands me the keys to her truck. “Don’t worry, nothing is going to touch you.” Reassuring her, I lean in and kiss her cheek, but it’s very close to her lips, which is where I really want to kiss her. When I walk out of the house, the sun is high in the sky, and the heat is starting to fill the air. I make my way over to my new office in Savannah’s truck, and when I pull up, I see that my father and brother are already there. I get out of the truck and walk up the steps to the front door. When I walk into the house, the cool air hits me right away, and I look over at my new secretary. Well, the secretary I inherited from my father.
“Morning, Mayor,” Bonnie says and smiles at me. She must be in her early thirties, and she looks like a debutante for sure. Southern to a T with her hair curled perfectly and her nails an acceptable length with a nude color on them. “Your father and brother are already in there. Would you like coffee?”
“No, thank you,” I say as I walk to the office door and open it. Stepping into the room, I see that my brother is wearing khaki pants with a white polo and a khaki jacket. He even looks like a douche sitting there on the couch. I see a tumbler in his hand already, and I have no doubt it’s not his first drink this morning.
He turns his head to look at me. “Nice of you to show up,” he sneers and takes a sip of his drink. Looking toward my desk, I find my father sitting behind it. At one time, I wanted to be like my father because I thought he was the perfect father.
The three of us look exactly the same except my father’s black hair has now turned white. He looks at me with narrowed eyes, and I see in front of him the paper that I had clutched in my hand last night. Then I look over at the wall but find the mess of the bottle from last night has been cleaned up.
“You’re sitting in my chair,” I say, and he just looks at me.
“That is the least of my worries today,” my father says, pressing the button on the phone.
When Bonnie answers, he says, “We are having a meeting, and there are to be no interruptions,” and releases the button.
“No interruptions.” I laugh bitterly now. “What’s the matter? You don’t want to tell the whole town that your sorry excuse of a son isn’t man enough to take responsibility for his actions?”
“What did you just say?” Liam says as he gets up and walks to me. I can smell the whiskey on him as if he bathed in it.
I go toe-to-toe with him. “How could you just walk away from your own flesh and blood?” I ask. “How could you?” Then I turn and look at my father. “And how could you live in a town and see him all the time and not want to get to know your own grandson?” I shake my head. “How the fuck can you do it?”
“Please,” Liam says, rolling his eyes. “We don’t even know for sure it’s my kid.” My hands flex into fists, but I try to keep my cool. “For all I know, she spreads her legs for everyone.” I don’t even think before I grab his shirt in my hands and yank him toward me. He’s taller than I am, but he’s lanky whereas I’m built like an ox thanks to the time I spend in the gym lifting weights.
“Let him go,” my father says, getting up and coming over to us. “This is exactly what she wants,” he hisses. I let go of my brother and turn to look at my father.
I hope he sees the hatred in my eyes. “You think she wants anything?” I ask him. “You think after you threw two hundred dollar bills in her face that she would want anything to do with you?” I laugh.
“Well, then I see she told you all about it,” my father says, and he puts his hands in his pockets. “She signed an NDA.”
“Who the fuck cares what she signed? She gave birth to your grandson. Does that not even register in your head?” I say, my voice getting louder. “How can you do that?”
“Oh, please,” Liam says. “If you ask me, she got the better end of the deal.” He walks back to his drink and takes it down in one gulp. “She wasn’t even that good.”
Yup, whatever control I had has snapped. I charge over to him, and my fist flies before he can register what is happening and falls back onto the couch. “You hit me!” His hand comes to his nose that is now pouring blood. “You broke my fucking nose!”
“Be happy I didn’t break all your fucking teeth, you worthless piece of shit,” I hiss, then turn to my father, who looks shocked by my behavior. I’ve always been the calm son. The son who did what his father said and never asked questions. “And, you.” I look at my father, shaking my head. “You’re even worse than he is.”
“Tread lightly, son,” he orders me. “I would hate to have to do something that you would regret.”
“Fuck you,” I tell my father, and he just glares at me. “You think you can stand in front of me and threaten me?”
“She is in default of her NDA agreement,” my father says calmly, thinking he has an ace up his sleeve.
“Good. Fucking sue her then. Let the whole fucking town know that my drunk and sorry excuse of a brother fathered a good kid. That she blackmailed you”—I point at him—“into keeping her silence. I’m sure the town would love to hear all of the secrets that you have buried in your closet, Father,” I say with disgust. Before I can say anything else, there is a knock on the door.
“Come in,” I say, looking at my father. “This is my office after all.”
When the door swings open, Jacob stands there, and I can see the rage on his face. “Savannah’s bar was vandalized,” he says, and I turn to look at my father, who stands there saying nothing.
Chapter Six
Savannah
I knew something was off the minute I got out of Jacob’s truck and saw the two potted plants that I keep beside the door tossed over. “What the heck?” I say, getting out of the truck and walking through the gravel parking lot. Only when I get close enough to the front of the door do I see the red spray paint.
TOWN WHORE
“What the fuck?” Jacob says from beside me. I look over at him, then I see what looks like a broken window at the end of the bar. I bought this bar seven years ago. It was half the size and in disrepair. When the owner asked for ten thousand dollars, I knew he didn’t even make that in revenue that year. But I saw things he didn’t, and I had a plan for the small twelve-by-twelve bar. He sold the land to me for an extra ten thousand and thought he was robbing me blind. But little did he know that five years later, I would be raking in close to half a million dollars a year, and that my country bar would be the place to be.
I take the keys out of my pocket and unlock the big blue door, gasping when I open it. “Oh my God,” I say, stepping in.
All the bottles behind the bar and the glasses have been smashed on the floor. The stools that sit in front of the long bar are tossed over and all over each other. The wooden tables look like they’ve been thrown around. I take a step in, and the sound of glass crunches under my cowboy boots.