Over a Barrel, page 10
Tony patted his knee. “Took you four times to get it right with Dram.”
Greg took a longer swallow this time. “Was hoping for three on this one.”
“Did you think more about what I suggested?” Tyler leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his still mostly full flute dangling from his fingertips. “Going the speakeasy route for the time being?”
“What’s this?” Al asked. A speakeasy was not something she’d heard them talk about before as an option.
“Sloan and I were at Bourbon and Branch last week,” Tyler said. “And it made me think. A speakeasy could be a way to expand that wouldn’t require as much space, at least not right away.”
“We’d consider it,” Tony said, and Greg nodded, clearly something they’d discussed since Tyler had brought it up. “Wouldn’t take as much time or overhead either.”
“I’d still want a food license and a small kitchen,” Greg said. “For events and Sunday brunch, but we wouldn’t need the kind of space we have at Dram. Simple line, that’s all.”
“It would do well there,” Ty said. “There are plenty of places in New Orleans that are just bars, and we’d be offering something more than that. Upscale and inclusive.”
“Another queer-friendly place will not go amiss,” Sloan said, holding her glass up for a clink against Clancy’s.
A clink that rattled a thought loose in Al’s mind.
A possibility.
Hope.
She stood and scooted out of the booth.
“Mama Al,” Greg said. “Where you going?”
She started opening drawers in the kitchen island, searching. “Pen and paper?” she asked when she didn’t find it in the first few, not as familiar with their kitchen as her own or the winery’s.
“Drawer beside the stove,” Greg said.
She crossed to the stove at the far end of the kitchen and found Greg’s current recipe pad, right where he said it would be. She ripped a blank piece of paper from the back and scribbled down Tchin Tchin’s address and Jen and Etienne’s phone number. She returned to the booth and pushed the piece of paper across the table to her kids.
“What is this?” Greg asked as Tony picked up the future Al desperately wanted them—and her—to have.
“Your speakeasy.”
Chapter Nineteen
Flying back to New Orleans from California on Christmas Day was a trick CC and Colby had learned after their first disastrous holiday travel season. That first year, they’d both been so tight on time, and Hanukkah had lined up just so, that they’d flown out Christmas Eve—a disaster—and back on Boxing Day—an even bigger disaster. Lesson learned. Flying back on Christmas Day also meant CC sometimes got an extra day off, depending on the firm holiday calendar. This year, though, she found herself at a bit of loss with the extra time. She’d expected to be working through it, gathering the final pieces of the Tchin Tchin deal to send to the title company. Instead, she was waiting on a call from Jenn and Etienne on whether they were moving forward at all.
She checked her phone one last time, then, seeing no emails or texts from them, she shoved the device in her jeans pocket, threw a sweatshirt over her tee, and made her way to the kitchen. She’d just started a pot of coffee when a knock sounded against the front door.
“No blender this morning,” she hollered, assuming it was her sister. She pulled two mugs down from the cabinet, then went to open the door, surprised Colby hadn’t let herself in. “I prom—”
“I can help with the no blender.” Al, in a paisley patterned maxi skirt and teal sweater, stood on her front porch, holding a familiar white and green bag. “Beignets. Won’t be as good as Colby’s, but they’ll do in a pinch.”
CC couldn’t help but laugh. No one had ever said those beignets would merely ‘do in a pinch.’ Credit to her sister, who yes, CC thought made better beignets too, but doughnuts, while tasty, were beside the point. “What are you doing here?” she asked Al.
“A peace offering.” She held up the bag again and, at CC’s cocked brow, added, “This is not all I have to offer. You’ll want to hear this, CC, and it smells like you’ve already got the coffee going.”
Yes, CC had sent Al a text on Christmas Eve, but they hadn’t spoken or texted since. What exactly did she have to offer? Would it move them forward, professionally and personally, or set them back? She recalled her Christmas Eve chat with Colby, the question her sister asked. The one that had been rattling around in CC’s head the past two days. Would whatever offer Al came bearing help solidify the answer, one way or the other?
She opened the door the rest of the way for Al to enter. Once inside, her eyes grew wide. “This is beautiful, CC.”
“It’s not the mansion you rent.”
“That I rent. I wouldn’t live there. It’s too big.” She cut CC a glance, then went back to surveying the surroundings. CC figured that Al, like herself, couldn’t help her interest in real estate and renovations. Was maybe even more interested than even the average real estate professional given her family’s ventures. She walked ahead of CC, through the living room and past the kitchen, where she dropped the bag of beignets on the granite island. She paused in the short hallway that led to the bedroom suite and glanced back, asking permission. CC nodded, and Al continued ahead. “Colby’s is a mirror?”
“In dimensions,” CC said. “We made individual adjustments inside our own units. Her kitchen is bigger, my bathroom is bigger.”
Al stuck her head in the CC sanctuary, as Colby called it, and whistled low. “You don’t say.”
“Typical shotgun double.”
“I don’t think this is typical.” Al ran a hand over the reclaimed wood that covered the wall behind her bed’s headboard. “Are these the old floors?”
CC nodded again. “Gloria saved them for us.”
“Greg’s general contractor?”
“Yep, she’s a miracle worker,” CC said of the woman who had transformed their fixer-upper into an oasis fit for two sisters who loved to be close but also needed their own space. But for how much longer? What would CC do with the space once she left? The thought of renting it to someone else made her stomach queasy. CC shook it off, focusing on the here and now instead, on the woman in her home. She led Al back to the kitchen. “Col and I rented for a year,” she said as she fetched mugs out of the cabinet and filled them with coffee. “We bought this place after Greg introduced us to Gloria. She just got it, how we wanted to transform the space yet keep the character.”
“Gloria’s amazing. She’ll do a great job on the speakeasy.”
Startled, CC bobbled the mug as she handed it to Al, splashing hot liquid on both of them. “Shit, I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine, CC.” Al set her mug on the island and took the paper towel CC offered. “Probably shouldn’t have just sprung that on you.”
“It’s my fault. I didn’t sleep all that well.” She wiped the coffee off her own hand. “Now, what speakeasy?”
“I’m violating half a dozen ethics rules here,” Al said as she climbed onto one of the stools. “But since your boss did too, and nearly everyone will get what they want in the end, I hope when the dust settles it’s only me on the road to early retirement.”
CC shot out a hand, laying it on CC’s forearm. “Don’t, then.” No matter what had or would happen between them, Al was too good an attorney and mentor to take herself out of the game.
She laid a hand over CC’s. “I’m almost sixty, I’ve earned it.” She chuckled, then withdrew her hand and lifted the mug to her lips, sipping.
And keeping CC in suspense. She leaned a hip against the island. “Any day now with the rest of your thought, please?”
Al chuckled, her dark eyes twinkling with mischief again. “You’re not wrong about Tchin Tchin. We can’t let that building be bulldozed.” The twinkle turned into heat and zeroed in on CC. “And I can’t let the best thing that’s happened to me in years slip through my fingers.”
CC set her mug aside, clearing her throat and ignoring the somersault in her belly. “We said we weren’t going to make decisions on whatever this”—she gestured between them—“might be.”
“And it’s not the driving force.” Al clasped her hand in midair and lightly tangled their fingers. “But I’m not going to claim I don’t have a personal interest either.”
CC lowered their hands to the island but didn’t draw hers back, leaving their fingers entwined. “Okay, let’s hear it.”
“Your clients will be receiving a letter of intent this morning from Rosin Hospitality.”
CC’s fingers clenched around Al’s. “Your family’s company?”
“We’ll offer to buy it all, but in the end, your clients will get the money they deserve, Bo will get his whiskey, and we’ll buy the real estate, not Mosley. Greg and Tony will turn it into a speakeasy, and Ez and Noah will move the distilling equipment Greg and Tony don’t keep for decor out to the winery. Archer, our winemaker, needs a new hobby.”
“But the price tag . . .” Bo had nearly doubled his offer to keep the deal alive.
“Not an issue,” Al said. “The price may come down a little because Rob won’t be happy, but again—Bo will still get his whiskey, and Jen and Etienne will still get a premium and the peace of mind that their property will be well taken care of.”
It was too generous an offer, and CC knew it was as much for her as it was for Jen, Etienne, and any of the Rosins. “Al, I can’t—”
“It’s your client’s decision, not yours.”
“You keep putting me in these binds.”
Using the hand still in hers, Al drew her around the corner of the island and rotated on the stool so CC stood between her spread legs. “I’d like to put you in other binds if you think we can make this work.” She clasped her other hand and held them together in both of hers. “And if you’re not ready, that’s okay too. I’ll keep working to win your trust back.”
“You weren’t the one who broke it in the first place.” She lifted her gaze, meeting Al’s. “I get that now, and you and your family don’t have to go to such lengths to prove it.”
“My family sees a good business opportunity.” She pulled her closer. “And I see what I hope is an opportunity to swan into my retirement with a smart, beautiful woman at my side.” She brushed her lips against CC’s cheek, making her shiver. “But know this, CC—I respect you too damn much, as an attorney and a woman, to ever use who you are against you, no matter what you decide.”
CC angled in her face, lips at the corners of Al’s mouth. She didn’t need more time. She felt as safe as she ever hand in Al’s hands. Safe enough to put her heart there too. “Let’s close this deal.”
Chapter Twenty
Al stood with her shoulder leaned against the opening to Dram’s service area, watching her friends and family celebrate midday with the restaurant all to themselves. Didn’t make it any less of a party. The winter snowflakes and lights had been swapped for gold and purple streamers and balloons, festive for New Year’s and for the upcoming LSU bowl game. Greg, a tiger alum, had lined one end of the bar with appetizers, while Colby had piled the other end with desserts, leaving Tony in the middle to sling drinks.
Jen and Etienne stood close to the middle, chatting with Tony, Greg, and Tyler about plans for the speakeasy. Past them, near the desserts, CC, Colby, Brynn, and Sloan were celebrating as well, glasses of whiskey in hand. She missed Noah and Ezra, and Miller and Clancy, but someone had had to stay home with the kids. Archer, who was swaggering her way with two glasses of whiskey, had been at the closing today to represent the vineyard contingent.
He handed her the glass. “Thank you for all my new toys.”
“You’re welcome.” She sipped the Tchin Tchin dark rye Jen and Etienne had graciously shared for the occasion. “Will it keep you interested?”
He shrugged a shoulder, his gaze skating past Al and out the window. She looped an arm through his, worried about her friend who a year ago had seemed so excited about the vineyard but now seemed distant in a way she’d never known Archer Scott to be. “What’s going on, babe?”
He sipped his whiskey and hummed his appreciation.
“Good, isn’t it?” she said.
“Hopefully what I make will be half this good.”
“Is that what you’re worried about?”
He shook his head. “I love the grapes, what we do, the wine we’re making. I have no doubts about that. And in the summer when wine country is crawling, it’s amazing.”
“Less so in the drippy winter.”
“Your ex-husband loves it.”
“We’re not talking about Ezra.” She reached up and tilted his scruffy chin down, forcing his gaze. “Your whole life can’t be the dirt and the barrels and fucking tourists in the summer, then hiding away in the winter. You’re not a polar bear.”
His grin was one of the sexiest she’d ever seen. Had been why she’d sent Ezra across the floor of a crowded party to fetch him that night long ago. “And your whole life can’t be your work. Neither of us is cut out for that.” His gaze cut across her shoulder again but this time landed squarely on CC. “You always were a sucker for a redhead.”
She returned his earlier shrug, and his full barrel-chested laugh eased some of her worry. And drew said redhead’s attention.
“Go get your girl,” Archer said with a slap to her ass. She slapped his back, then followed his order for a change. She circled behind CC, traded her empty glass for a red velvet cupcake, then looped an arm through CC’s, drawing her over to the window bench seat.
“Will we be seeing any more of the Dotsons?” CC asked.
“No, I don’t think so. They’re going to pause acquisitions for a while. Bo has the line he wants, Rob wants something different with the company.” She flitted a hand in the air, as much a summary of the shouting match she’d witnessed that she cared to bother CC with. “They’ve got their own shit to sort out. This deal just made that more clear.”
“So you’ll be going too, then? Back to New York?”
“What I do is independent of Dotson Brands.”
CC laid a hand on her crossed knees. “I’d wondered about that. I’m sorry if this deal cost you the secondment.”
“Don’t be. The secondment simply ran its course.”
“But that’s not exactly what happened, was it?”
She shrugged. Yes, if Dotson Jr. wanted to bring an ethics complaint against her, he would probably win, but she didn’t think Dotson Sr. would let him given his own shady dealings. But the writing was on the wall for Dotson Brands too. Bo had his pet project, and Rob would be taking over the rest of the business. Al was more than happy to hand Rob to someone with more patience than her. But while she had that flexibility, hers wasn’t the only job that could be affected. She and CC had talked about that earlier this week, and CC had decided it was worth the risk, but it was a risk nonetheless.
“What about you?” she asked. “Any fallout at MRM?”
“Status quo for now. Bosses are happy with the paycheck.”
“It could have been more.”
“It could have been none if we hadn’t closed the deal.”
“Touché.” Al held up the last bite of her cupcake to toast against CC’s glass. Their quiet laughter was drowned by Colby’s and Sloan’s at the bar.
“I’m going to miss her,” CC said.
“Sloan?” Al wasn’t surprised her daughter-in-law and CC had hit it off, both at the Hanukkah dinner and as Sloan had negotiated the deal documents for Rosin with her the past week.
“Yes,” CC answered. “She’s been great to work with and get to know better, but I meant Colby.”
Al nearly choked on her last bite of cupcake. “What?”
“You didn’t hear?” CC patted her back, then handed her the glass of whiskey. “Miller stole her away.”
Al’s eyes grew wide. “For the head pastry position at Chess?”
CC nodded.
“Fuck, I feel sorry for Greg and Tony, and I know you’re gonna miss her like crazy, but Miller has been trying to fill that position forever. Colby will be a great fit. And at least she’s still in the family. We can get deliveries.”
“We?”
Al set the whiskey glass aside and angled on the bench toward CC, an arm behind her, the other on the table. “I’m not going back to New York either, CC. I have no immediate plans to leave New Orleans.”
CC held her stare several long seconds, as if letting the words sink in, and when they finally did, the corner of her mouth turned up in that killer smirk that had hooked Al a month ago in an airport bar. “We closed the deal.”
“We did.” Al lowered the hand on the table to CC’s thigh under the table, tracing her blunt nail up to the hem of her skirt. “And tonight, we celebrate with our families.” She dove under the hem, hand clasping the inside of CC’s thigh and making her gasp, a lovely blush racing up her neck to her cheeks. “And then you’re going to meet me at my place tomorrow night, wearing that dress and those fuck-me heels from the Christmas party, and we’ll have our own celebration.” She cupped her over what felt like lace panties that if Al wasn’t in a public place, she’d get down on her knees to examine more closely with her tongue. “How does that sound?”
Her grin stretched wide. “Like a party I wouldn’t want to miss.”
Chapter Twenty-One
CC parked her car in the driveway behind Al’s rental and took a moment to reflect over the past month, over the ups and downs that had brought her to the edge of this cliff, about to take a leap she couldn’t have imagined at the start of the holiday season. She couldn’t have guessed that the salt-and-pepper spitfire who had approached her table at SFO would be her companion on the roller coaster of the past month, would be the person holding her hand as she jumped tonight.
Her belly somersaulted with excitement, the earlier worry that had nagged her all month gone. Her clients were happy, and CC was pretty damn sure Al was going to make her a happy woman tonight too. Hopefully for many more nights to come. Was there a risk the fire between them might burn out? Sure, she had to be realistic, but for the first time in six years she wanted to walk through that fire. She didn’t want to hide from herself, from her needs, or from the woman whose needs she hoped to help meet too. They’d only known each other a month and had a lot more to learn, but what CC knew of Al already included the open arms and giant heart she wrapped around her loved ones, and it made CC want to be counted among them. Made her want to help Al feel at home here in New Orleans too.
