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  I’m not going to delude myself. He’s my boss. And I’m grateful for his friendship. Besides, after living and working together, I’m sure it won’t be long until we’re butting heads again.

  Chapter Eight

  Donnelly’s Pub is right around the corner, but it’s not what has my attention. I can’t take my eyes off the twin beams of light issuing from Ground Zero. They are hauntingly beautiful, an illusion of what was. Connor doesn’t rush me. He turns off the ignition and sits quietly beside me, giving me a minute to take it all in. But the blood is rushing to my head again. I need some air.

  I exit the van and walk down the adjacent alley to catch a glimpse of my new home. There’s a green awning emblazoned with the bar’s name above the entrance. It’s Monday, the one night the place is closed when it’s not football season. Connor’s keys jingle as he holds the door open for me to pass through. It’s dark inside, but I can distinguish the outline of the bar in front of me along with a dozen or so tables scattered across the room. I breathe a sigh of relief. Things are on a smaller scale. Hopefully, I can handle twelve tables without overtaxing my nonexistent waitressing skills.

  Flicking on a light above the stairs, Connor starts hauling up my suitcases. “C’mon, this way. I’ll show you around the pub tomorrow,” he says, squeezing his way up the narrow staircase. “I’m sure you want to see your room first.”

  I follow him up three flights. If nothing else, living here is definitely going to give my legs a workout. He unlocks a door on the landing before ushering me through. “Don’t worry, I had a set of keys made for you. I put them on your dresser,” he explains. “You can come and go as you please, just double check to make sure everything’s locked before you leave. Drunks are notorious wanderers. One time, I found a guy passed out in the bathtub up here.”

  “Okay, now you’re freaking me out,” I respond, remaining in the hallway as he enters the second room on the right. “Don’t you have a bouncer to monitor your clientele?”

  He sticks his head out, beckoning me forward. “This is New York, babe. Be ready to expect anything.”

  I proceed with caution, my mind in overdrive. It’s like he pushed the panic button controlling my heart rate.

  Seeing my hesitation, he comes toward me. “You worry too much. I’ll be here ninety-nine percent of the time. Just remember to watch your back, that’s all. You’re not in Kansas anymore,” he jokes, flashing me a smile. For a split second we get lost in the moment. Flustered, I break away. I don’t know where to look. Sighing, he wheels my luggage into the room. Great, I’m already disappointing him.

  I pause on the threshold. It’s plain, lacking any type of decorative adornments, but it’s spotless. The white lace curtains on the window are immaculate, and the hardwood floor gleams. There’s a twin bed topped with a pink afghan, an extra wide bureau with an accompanying chair, and a chipped but serviceable dresser in the far corner. That’s it. Yet it’s inviting and cozy. I have to admit I like it.

  Connor scans my face for a reaction. “Well, what do you think?”

  I’m not exaggerating when I whisper, “It’s perfect.”

  Surprisingly, he looks relieved. “Good. I was hoping you’d say that.”

  There’s an unspoken intimacy in the air, a sense of being where you’re supposed to be with the person you’re supposed to be with. It’s like a puzzle piece being pressed into the exact right spot with all its jagged edges securely fitting into place.

  Hastily rubbing the back of his head, he continues. “I’ll give you some time to settle in. The bathroom’s the last door on the left if you want to freshen up. I’m gonna run down to the kitchen and fix us something to eat.”

  Good. I’m absolutely starving. “What’s on the menu?” I ask.

  “Your typical bar fare—anything that’s fried in grease,” he says crossing his arms.

  “How about a cheeseburger?” Trudging up and down those stairs is definitely going to come in handy because it looks like my caloric intake is about to go through the roof.

  “Enjoy one while you can. Pretty soon you’ll be sick of looking at them.”

  “Well, since I’m not on the payroll yet…” I tease. “How many people in Manhattan have a restaurant in their basement, not to mention all of this glorious space? Connor, it’s really incredible that you have the entire floor to yourself.”

  “Yeah, this place has been in my family for so long,” he admits. “Otherwise, I’d never be able to afford it.”

  That’s what I like about him the most—his honesty. Shuffling my feet, I glance up at him. “Thanks again for letting me stay here with you. I just hope I don’t screw it up.”

  “We’ll work on keeping your spilled drinks to a minimum. Besides, I think you’re going to make a killing on tips. The guys who frequent the bar are tired of being served by my ugly mug. They’re going to love you,” he says before exiting the room.

  Tucking my hair behind my ears, I ponder his comment while unzipping my suitcase. Is he encouraging me to date other guys? Is he really not interested in me at all? He runs so hot and cold. One minute, there’s this amazing chemistry and the next he’s so aloof, like he could care less. I thought I’d be a mess about coming back to the city, but I think I’m going to mess over him.

  Chapter Nine

  Beams of sunlight are reflecting off the wine glasses hanging above the bar. It’s early yet, but there are people hustling by on the street. Left to my own devices, I decide to check out my new place of employment. Maybe I’ll be able to hunt down a box of cereal in the kitchen.

  Wearing my most comfortable pair of jeans and slicking my hair back in a ponytail, I’m ready to dive right in. I have no illusions that this job is going to be easy. I’m sure my feet will be killing me by the end of the day. But there’s a hopeful flutter in my heart that wasn’t there when I walked into a NYU classroom for the first time. For some reason, this just feels right.

  There are ketchup bottles, salt and pepper shakers, and napkin dispensers on every table. Over dinner last night, Connor explained that I’d be responsible for refilling them at the end of every shift. The bar closes at 2:00 a.m. so I’m in for some pretty late nights. I don’t think I’ll be getting up this early any time soon.

  A stack of menus sits at the end of the bar. I scan the items to familiarize myself with what we have to offer. No doubt I’ll have a million questions for Connor before the night is over, but it never hurts to be prepared. It is pretty basic—burgers, fries, hot wings, salads, nachos. All the things people crave when they want a little food with their alcohol.

  Hanging on the wall by the cash register are several photos of firemen. I lean in and examine them more closely. They were all taken in the pub, and there’s an older man, most likely Connor’s father, with his arm around guys wearing FDNY shirts and hats. It’s obvious these mementos hold a special place in the heart of the Donnelly family. I’ll have to ask Connor about them later.

  Connor told me that he bartends most nights, so I’m not too nervous about handling a slightly tipsy crowd. If someone gives me trouble, I know he’ll take care of it. Connor’s no pushover. His tattooed biceps prove that. He’ll have no problem intervening if someone gets too touchy-feely with me.

  I’m kind of in awe at how he handles everything. Besides manning the bar, he does the books, orders supplies—he even cleans up the place. It’s a lot to handle for someone so young. But from what he’s told me, he’s been doing it his whole life. It’s in his blood.

  Now his parents live in Brooklyn. After his father’s heart attack, Connor decided to move above the bar to save time commuting. He used to have an apartment in the East Village but gave it up due to the long hours he was spending here. The upper floors need to be remodeled, but he’s worked hard to make it a pleasant enough place to live. The care he took in getting my room ready—well, it shows. He really went out his way to make me feel at home.

  The water running through the upstairs pipes stops. Connor must
be done taking a shower. He’ll be down any minute. Anxiously, I check my appearance in the full-length mirror behind the bar, smoothing a stray hair into place. Am I ready for this? The last thing I want is to disappoint him. I need to look busy. What should I do?

  Hoisting myself onto the bar, I pick up a nearby rag and start dusting the glasses hanging overhead. My hands are shaking. In an attempt to steady them, I grip the glass at the end a little too hard. It comes loose, falling to the floor, the sound of shattered glass breaking the silence.

  “I always fantasized about having a girl stand on my bar like in that movie Coyote Ugly, but I never thought it would happen.”

  Shit.

  “You never asked, baby. You know I’m always ready to indulge your fantasies,” croons a scantily clad blonde as she walks down the steps.

  Wait…Connor had a girl up there with him?

  Her hair is still wet. I cringe. They must have been in the shower—together.

  Before he has a chance to respond, her lips are on his. I look away, uncomfortable. She’s certainly staking her claim in front of me, leaving no doubt that Connor belongs to her. It’s beyond irritating.

  Finally releasing him, she saunters to the door. “Call me again sometime. That was fun.” Turning, her eyes meet mine. “I’d watch your step, honey. You don’t wanna fall.” Laughing under her breath, she winks at Connor before striding out of the bar.

  I’m frozen in place. Connor extends his hand. “C’mon down, Michelle. There’s a broom and dustpan in the back. You’d better start cleaning up this mess.”

  Wow, he’s not even going to explain himself. He’s just going to order me around? I guess his late night booty calls are off limits. I could care less. It’s none of my business how he conducts his personal life. I’m his employee and his lodger, nothing more.

  But my cheeks redden in embarrassment as I sweep the sharp pieces of glass off the floor. I have to face facts. I’m not enough for him. I was across the hall, but he called someone else to satisfy his needs. He doesn’t even think of me that way. Sure, I’m amusing to flirt with when he’s bored, but that’s as far as he’s ever going to take it. It was my first night here, and he didn’t wait five minutes to invite someone else into his bed. Doesn’t he realize how awkward it is bumping into each other like that? Maybe he’s not fazed by it at all. It’s what he does.

  “Michelle, get a move on,” he calls from the back. “I have to show you the ropes, and I don’t have all day.”

  Yeah, he’s going to be one hell of a boss.

  Chapter Ten

  My head is pounding. It’s my first night on the job, and we are slammed. So far, I knocked a bowl of chili off my tray and down my shirt. I forgot what brands of beer we have on tap. And I was yelled at to speak up so many times I lost count. No one can hear me over the two television sets running ESPN and ESPN2, never mind the constant din from the jukebox coupled with the noise of a full house. I need a break.

  Signaling to Connor that I’m heading for the restroom, he rolls his eyes and mouths for me to hurry. When I get there, the door is locked. Why is there always a line for the ladies room? I lean up against the wall, trying to be patient. Knowing that Connor will have a fit if I take too long, I knock. Seconds later, I hear a toilet flush. I step aside as the door opens, and a big, burly guy walks out. He looks at me like it’s the most normal thing in the world that he’s exiting the wrong bathroom and keeps going. Only in New York…

  It feels good to sit down, if only for a minute. I was right. My feet are killing me. Behind the closed door, the racket is slightly muffled, but my ears are ringing. Getting up to wash my hands, I dab at the brown splotch on my white shirt, but it’s going to take more than soap and water to remove this stain. Frustrated, I throw the paper towel into the nearly overflowing garbage can—one I’ll probably be emptying before the night is over.

  Reentering the scene, I quickly scan my tables. They’re all filled, but surprisingly I see someone expertly flitting between them. She’s older than me, possibly in her late twenties, and she’s running the show like nobody’s business. She’s smiling and laughing, joking with everyone as she runs the orders to the front. Her experience is evident. Why does Connor want me near his customers when he has someone like that working for him?

  A piercing whistle cuts through the hustle and bustle. It’s Connor summoning me to the bar. Nervously, I push through the huddle of guys congregated under one of the TVs. When I reach my destination, I can tell he’s not happy.

  “I had to call in Tammy. It’s her night off, but you’ve been in over your head since we opened.” I know he’s shouting at me because it’s so loud in here, but his frustration is also evident. “We’re gonna have to take this slower than I thought until you can keep up on your own. I want you to follow Tammy around for the rest of the night. Watch what she does and how she handles herself.”

  But I can’t let it go. “Connor, if Tammy’s such a pro, why in the world did you hire someone like me?”

  For a moment, I think he’s going to start screaming at me again. Instead, the corner of his mouth twitches as he catches sight of the stain on my shirt. “You’ll get there, Michelle.” Why is he indulging in this crazy experiment? I have no idea. Two guys claim the last remaining stools at the bar, and without another word Connor leaves to take their order.

  Okay, he wants me to learn from Tammy? Then that’s what I’ll do. Standing on my toes, I search the crowd for her. It looks like she’s headed in my direction, balancing a full tray of empty glasses. I hold the swinging door to the kitchen for her as she sails through. Without missing a beat, she says, “You must be Michelle. Follow me.”

  Tammy places the glasses into one of the large dishwashers. She’s petite and wiry. None of her actions are wasted, and her communication is direct and to the point. She applies a no-nonsense approach to her job, and I can tell she takes no prisoners. I think we’re going to get along just fine until she announces, “For the record, Connor and I slept together.”

  My jaw drops. Jesus, who hasn’t Connor slept with?

  Before I can respond, she continues, “But it’s over now. He’s good in the sack, don’t get me wrong, but his hook-ups on the side drove me nuts.”

  Great. He’s probably a walking STD.

  Wiping her hands on her apron, she sizes me up. “I can tell you have a thing for him. Every girl has a thing for him in the beginning. Trust me, you’ll get over it. I certainly did,” she admits, retrieving a pen from behind her ear. “There’s no better place to work, and I wasn’t going to let any drama get in the way of that. Connor can be a son of a bitch, but he’s okay. And besides, the tips are great.”

  I blink in rapid succession as a wealth of information rolls off her tongue.

  “You’re from a small town, right?” I nod absentmindedly. “Well, I came to New York from some shithole in Ohio when I was seventeen, as soon as I graduated high school, and I never looked back. You’ll adjust, sweetie. We all do.”

  “Do you regret it?”

  “What?”

  “Having to change in order to fit in?”

  “Living in Manhattan, it’s a dog-eat-dog world. You gotta do what you gotta do to survive. You’re either tough enough, or you’re not,” she explains. “Connor told me this is your second go-around, huh?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, this time I’m going to make sure you don’t fuck it up, okay?” Gently bumping my arm with her shoulder, she pushes open the door, beckoning me with her finger. “With an ass like yours, you’ll have this city at your feet.”

  I laugh despite myself. Maybe I can do this.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Need a drink?” Connor asks, turning the lock as the last customer of the night stumbles out of the pub.

  Collapsing onto a stool, I raise an eyebrow. “Won’t you get in trouble? I’m underage.”

  Tammy’s gone, and it’s just the two of us. We still need to clean up the joint, but Connor doesn’t s
eem to be in any hurry. My aching feet desire nothing more than a soak in the tub. I yawn. Hopefully we’ll make it upstairs before the sun comes up.

  “What? Are you tuckering out on me?” Connor teases as he uncorks a bottle of tequila from behind the bar. Placing two shot glasses on the counter, he fills each one to the brim. “To surviving your first night.” He raises his glass and waits for me to follow suit.

  Tequila isn’t my beverage of choice. Admittedly, I’m a lightweight when it comes to alcohol, and this shot is not going to feel so good when I wake up in the morning. But I don’t want to be rude. Connor is going out his way to put me at ease after my lousy debut. The least I can do is drink with the guy.

  “Cheers,” I say before tipping my head back. I feel the burn shoot down my throat. Plunking the empty glass on the bar, I close my eyes, trying to alleviate the sting.

  Amused, Connor laughs. “You should drink before each shift. Maybe it’ll take the edge off. Girl, you gotta learn to relax and loosen up out there.”

  Undoubtedly fueled by the alcohol, my self-control slips. “Sorry, I didn’t grow up in a bar like you did.”

  A flash of resentment flickers across his face. “Not all of us are lucky enough to come from such wholesome environments.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “Well, what did you mean?”

  My thoughts are befuddled, and I try to sort through them. “This is where you feel comfortable. I’m still trying to find where I belong.”

  Piercing me with his gaze, he asks, “Do you want to go home?”

  “No,” I respond without hesitation. “I’m just not used to…to not being good at something.”

  With a smirk, he sticks his hand into his tip jar, removing a dollar. Striding across the room, he feeds it into the jukebox and punches in a song number from memory. With his hands splayed across the glass, I can’t help but notice how broad his shoulders are. I sit back and prop my feet up on the adjacent stool, taking him in.