JAX (The Beckett Boys #2) - Olivia Chase Page 0,26

tug and continue on my way.

For some reason, I’m in a mood.

Not a very good one.

“What’s your poison?” I ask the customer at the bar in a flippant tone. He’s clearly new, not one of our usuals, wearing a pale blue polo shirt with expensive sunglasses perched on his head. But Smith has thrown me enough glares over ignoring all the new people that I’m making a minimal effort with them, despite my disdain.

“Um. Do you have a cocktail menu?” he asks.

Is this dude serious? I quirk a brow. “What do you want? I can make it.”

“Well, that’s pretty confident of you,” he says slowly. I can tell he doesn’t believe me.

“My business is liquor,” I tell him. “I’m fucking good at it. What do you want?”

He pauses, scratches his chin, takes a look at his generic blond girlfriend. She titters and gives a little shrug. “Um,” he finally tells me. “How about a Jack Daniels on the rocks?”

Thanks for giving me something difficult. I bite back my sarcasm and just pour the drink for him, then slide it across the bar. He tosses money on the surface and sips his drink while his girlfriend works on her frou-frou cocktail.

Ugh. This is so fucking stupid. Who the fuck asks for a drink menu in a place like this? You get beer or liquor. Why is that so hard?

I grab a couple of empty glasses and focus on cleaning them.

“This place has changed,” Sam, a regular in our bar, says with a sigh. “I’m barely recognizing it anymore.” He’s perched on his usual stool, chin resting on his hands, eyeing the crowd around us. “What’s happening here?”

I sigh. “I don’t know. Smith thinks it’s better for us to change things sometimes.” I try to give a casual shrug, like I’m not bothered by everything.

Why do things have to change? Why can’t they stay the way they are? What we had was working for us. Our clients had a safe space to be wild and free. And we were happy to provide it.

Now that Aubrey’s in the picture, suddenly Smith’s had a change of heart. He doesn’t want us to be what we were. We’re supposed to be different now. Cater to a bunch of rich and stupid assholes who can’t handle us.

Sam finishes his swig of beer and eyes his watch.

“It’s eleven-fifteen,” I tell him. He’s here a little late for a Thursday night…normally he rolls out right before eleven. Sam’s one of our regulars who comes to this bar to escape whatever the fuck is going on in his life. We used to be a place of solace for him.

Now, based on the way he looks around at the increasingly preppy crowd, we’re just another regular bar. I’m getting the feeling he might not be coming around as much after tonight.

My stomach sinks. Fuck this. I hate that we’re changing, and Smith needs to know. It’s going too far.

I toss down my dishrag. Grab Sam’s drink and pour him another full beer. “This one’s on the house,” I tell him. “We appreciate you being a loyal customer.” Smith might get pissed about that, but who cares? Why aren’t we taking more care to retain the people who loyally kept us in business after Dad died?

Their needs matter, too.

Sam gives his first warm smile of the night. “Thanks, Jax. Always thought you were a good one.”

“Then you’re the first,” I tell him with a wink. I move out from behind the bar and head back to the office, where Smith is crunching numbers.

When I click the door closed behind me, he looks up, irritation in his eyes. “What?” he barks out.

I cross my arms. “We need to talk.”

“Yeah, that much is clear. You’re in the office.” He gives an irritated sigh. “What do you want, Jax?”

“I don’t care for the way things are going with Outlaws, and neither do our regular customers.”

Smith sighs and rakes a hand through his hair, leaving small spikes on top. “We’ve gone through this before. We sat down and discussed what changes we were going to implement to keep the bar running.”

“But it’s not the same bar anymore,” I shoot back. “It’s just another generic joint where people can get generic beer and generic appetizers and have generic happy hour specials. We used to be different, one of a kind.”

“And we used to be on the verge of closing,” he retorts, holding up a bunch of receipts. “Do you remember how broke as fuck we were?