Something to Prove (2 page)

She finished her drink, tossed cash on the bar, and took a few moments to wander toward
the back of the bar. There was a small stage, a jukebox, and dartboards. Down a dimly
lit hallway were the bathrooms. Too tired to think, she opted to leave. Part of her
wanted to talk to some of the patrons, get their perspective as to why they came here,
but it would have to wait.

By morning, hopefully Meg would have information about The Irish Pub and, with any
luck, the books wouldn’t be as bad as she imagined. As she wound her way back toward
the front, raucous laughter exploded at the bar. The sexy bartender was enjoying something.

He caught her eye as she passed. His laughter made his eyes twinkle with mischief,
his smile lighting his face, like he had the best life in the world. She wondered
what it would be like to feel that even for a night. It wasn’t that she was unhappy;
she liked her life very much, in fact, but it had been too long since she’d experienced
a laugh that shook her whole body.

Morning came much too soon for Elizabeth, especially when she realized that she hadn’t
thought to pick up her own coffee for the maker. Now she’d be stuck with whatever
the hotel offered. The coffeemaker didn’t brew fast enough for her sloggy brain, so
she put her cup directly under the drip. After a measly half-cup, she took her shower
and prepared for the day.

Meg hadn’t called, so she dug around a little on her own, gathering information on
both IP, as she’d begun to call The Irish Pub, and O’Leary’s. Something about that
bar had stuck with her into her dreams last night. She couldn’t call it a classy bar;
it wasn’t. It was more like a neighborhood hangout for adults. Truth be told, she
wouldn’t have ever stepped foot in the place if she hadn’t been doing research. It
wasn’t the kind of establishment she normally frequented, at least not since college.
Maybe that’s why she liked the place.

She toyed with the frogs on the small table that acted as her desk. Before heading
to IP, she sent a quick e-mail to Meg. She hadn’t even gathered her keys when her
cell rang.

“Hi, Meg.”

“Hi. I’ve got bad news and more bad news.”

“Give me whichever is the least bad.”

Meg blew out a breath. “Claire doesn’t know much about that bar. Mr. Brannigan—your
dad—doesn’t talk about it.”

“Not a big surprise. What’s worse?” She jingled the keys in her hand.

“The one thing she did know was that your dad bought it for Keith.”

The keys bobbled in the air and she missed them. They hit the floor with a clunk,
as did her heart. “It’s Keith’s?”

“It’s in your dad’s name. You were right about that, but Claire is sure that he bought
it after Keith brought it to him and convinced him to buy it.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“Do you want me to book your flight home?”

“No. Not yet. I’m not done here.” She poked at the keys on the floor with her toe.

“But—”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll deal with Keith and my dad.” She disconnected, knowing
she’d been rude to Meg. It wasn’t as if she needed the reminder that Dad had made
it clear long ago that she and Keith were not allowed to fight over any property.
They’d mostly mended fences from the one time they fought. Since then, she’d been
relegated to working after Keith put plans in place.

Except for this time. He’d had twelve years to do something, and as far as she could
tell, he’d only made it worse. Elizabeth drove to IP and debated who she should call
first. She shouldn’t keep working toward turning this bar around without the green
light from Keith or Dad, but it was obvious that neither of them cared much. It was
a tax write-off and nothing more.

Armed with that knowledge, she decided to further assess the business before alerting
anyone about what she was doing. She wanted to know how bad this situation was so
that she could propose a plan to her dad, and by extension, Keith.

She unlocked the front door of the bar and was assaulted by a vile smell. Smoke, whiskey,
and possibly vomit. She gagged and flipped on the light. The place didn’t look any
better with the lights on. Although she really wanted to leave the door open to air
out the room, she locked up behind her. It would be just her luck to have a group
of bikers come in while she was alone.

Moving toward the office, she tried not to touch anything. If Mitch left books out,
she couldn’t tell where. The office was a pile of papers and dirty coffee cups. She
needed to find out how much they were paying Mitch. It was probably too much.

She sat at the desk and the chair wobbled and creaked. An old radio sat on the file
cabinet behind her, so she turned it on and found a news station. The news anchor
rattled on about the new mayor and what little he’d been doing for the city. She tuned
it out as background noise to keep her company. The mayor was of little concern to
her; she didn’t plan on being in the city long enough to care.

She hung her jacket on the back of the chair and then set to work organizing the piles
of paper. With the first stack clear, she uncovered an ancient laptop. It looked to
weigh about ten pounds. She opened it and booted it up, hoping to find the books on
there.

As the machine whirred and gurgled, she continued with the papers. Pages stuck together
with an undetermined substance she was afraid to inspect too closely. How could Mitch
find anything in this mess? She took the outstanding invoices and placed them in a
folder to be paid. Random notes Mitch had made to himself she stuck in a brown bag
she found in the corner of the room. Once the desk was reasonably clear, she sat again
and attacked the computer.

The accounting was on the desktop and easy to find. Unfortunately, it wasn’t easy
to understand. It was a basic Excel spreadsheet, but nothing was marked or described
adequately. She scrolled up and down the sheet trying to understand. She stared until
the numbers began to blur.

Then she gave up. Mitch would have to find the time to explain his accounting system.
This place was a disaster. No wonder it never saw a profit.

Pushing away from the desk, she craved another cup of coffee. Looking at the nasty,
gunked-up cups around the room almost quashed her desire for caffeine, but not quite.
She gathered those cups—eight in all—and took them back into the bar and dumped them
in the sink. Something else for Mitch to take care of.

While in the bar area, she saw that the liquor license was up-to-date. Mitch at least
had managed to get that much right. He wouldn’t want to totally screw himself out
of a job. She sighed and grabbed her purse from the office. She’d make a quick run
to Starbucks and then return to finish clearing out the mess.

She stepped out into the clear morning and sucked in a deep breath of fresh air. Even
in this mostly residential neighborhood, she had the sense of Chicago’s beauty. She
stood at the corner and looked up and down the street. A convenience store stood opposite
her position, but everything else was apartment buildings. Behind her, down the side
street, were single-family homes, mostly brick bungalows.

For the life of her she couldn’t figure out what would possess someone to put a bar
on this corner. It made no sense. There might be a good amount of foot traffic in
the neighborhood overall, but how many of those people would stop in for a drink?

She got in her car and drove with the windows down to enjoy the air while she could.
As she roamed through the neighborhood in search of decent coffee, her mind began
to catalog the information gleaned from her barhopping last night. She made a mental
checklist of things that needed to change at IP.

The creation of the list was slow going, though, because she was distracted by a sexy
smile. Every time she pushed the bartender from O’Leary’s out of her head, he muscled
his way back in relentlessly. Finally, she caved and allowed a brief fantasy to take
over her tired brain.

A little fantasy never hurt anyone, right?

Colin O’Leary bounded down the back steps that led from his apartment to the bar.
As he moved through the bar flipping on lights and prepping for the lunch crowd, he
whistled a tune. As much as he enjoyed the crowds and the noise of the lively bar,
this was his favorite part of the day. This was his time to be Colin O’Leary, bar
owner. It didn’t matter that the bar wasn’t really his. Morning prep allowed him the
time to pretend it was, that his father had left the bar to him. As if he hadn’t screwed
up everything.

Then the back door swung open and his bubble burst. He could tell by the sound of
Ryan’s steps that his brother was in a bad mood. Again.

“What’s up?” Colin asked as he took chairs down and reset them where they belonged
at each table.

“Don’t ask. Did you get the inventory done?”

“Just about. I—”

Ryan spun from where he was making coffee. “What do you mean, just about? I told you
I needed to get orders in today.”

Colin let out a heavy breath. “As I tried to say, I got most of it done, but then
we got slammed last night. By the time we got the crowd down to a manageable size,
I was tired and didn’t want to miscount.”

Ryan shook his head. “Sorry I jumped on you. Things are a little crazy.”

“Everything okay with Quinn? Any more problems?”

“Nothing more than usual. She’s ready to pop and won’t take it easy. You’d think that
after spending most of the winter in bed, she’d know better. At this point, she just
wants to have the baby. It doesn’t help that Indy went into labor early. Indy’s due
date was a couple of weeks after Quinn’s, so now she’s really impatient.”

Colin continued to work his way around the room. “Send her over to the house. Mom’s
so excited about the baby, she’ll do nothing but fuss over her.”

Ryan smiled. “I already tried. Quinn wouldn’t fall for it.”

“You look like shit. Aren’t you sleeping?”

“Not much.”

“Then take off. I can handle this.”

Ryan raised a single eyebrow and Colin’s shoulders tensed. After all these months,
hadn’t he proven enough yet? “It’s inventory, not rocket science.”

“How many times have you ordered?”

He shrugged. “Mary walked me through it while you were out of town. The distributors’
numbers are in the Rolodex.”

Ryan scrubbed a hand over his head. “No, I should check the numbers. I want to make
sure we don’t over-order.”

Colin slammed a chair down harder than he’d intended. “When are you going to stop
treating me like a fuckup? I’ve been here for a year, every day, doing exactly what
you’ve asked. When are you going to stop punishing me for leaving?”

Ryan crossed his arms and stared at his feet. “You’re right.”

Silence.

At first Colin thought he’d imagined it. “What was that?”

A tired grin crossed Ryan’s face. “You heard me. I said you’re right. Something had
to give. I thought I could keep doing it all with both bars even after getting married
and having a baby.”

“I told you I’m not going anywhere. You can depend on me. Let me take on more. Between
Quinn and the baby and running Twilight, your hands are full. I’ll ask if I have questions
about anything before I make a move.”

Ryan still didn’t look sold on the idea.

“I’m ready for this.”

“Fine.” The acquiescence came quietly, but Ryan followed with a finger pointed at
him. “But if you fuck up this time, Mom won’t be able to save your ass.”

“Like I’m afraid of you?” Maybe Ryan had forgotten who was the older brother.

As if he’d read Colin’s mind, Ryan continued, “We’re adults now, age is meaningless,
except for the fact that your body has already taken an extra year of beating that
mine hasn’t, so I’m faster and stronger.”

“Only in your dreams.”