JAX (The Beckett Boys #2) - Olivia Chase Page 0,27
Because I sure as hell do. I’ve been crunching the numbers every day.”
“So? Your big idea is to completely change us and alienate those who remained loyal through our hard times?”
“The people who remained loyal are cheap and rowdy and got us in trouble. We can’t afford that shit anymore.” Smith’s voice is getting a frustrated edge now. He stands up and glares at me. “What the fuck is going on here? Why are we getting into it now?”
“Because this isn’t working for me,” I tell him bluntly.
He stalks around the desk to stand in front of me, eyes narrowed. Smith is an intimidating fucker. But he’s my brother and I know all his tricks. “I’m sorry it isn’t working for you, princess. But our bills are getting paid, and the police and neighborhood are finally backing off. You haven’t had to deal with the brunt of their bullshit. I have.”
“Dad would be pissed if he saw what you were doing here,” I say, dropping the big ace in my hand.
Smith stills, his eyes hard on mine.
It’s true. And we both know it. As much as Smith might feel he’s doing good for the bar, he’s changing everything from what our dad intended. It wasn’t supposed to be some fucking generic bar—fuckers can go to Applebee’s or TGI Fridays if they want that kind of shit.
Outlaws was ours and it was supposed to be special.
What we had was great. Until he started fucking it all up. Putting out ads and coupons in the local paper, for God’s sake. Coupons. What the fuck.
“That’s a low blow,” he replies. “I think Dad would most want the business to stay afloat.”
I feel a twinge of guilt over my harshness, but it’s overrun quickly by my frustration. “So little of him remains now,” I say. “The bar was his legacy to us.”
“Right. To us. For us to do as we see fit.”
“Or as you do.” There, the words are out.
Smith inches closer to me, his jaw tight. “What the fuck are you trying to say?”
“I’m saying that you’re doing what you always do. You run with your own ideas and don’t bother consulting me or Asher.” My anger is a festering pit in my gut. “Even though this bar is part ours, too. But that doesn’t fucking matter to you, because you’re a golden god and you know better than anyone else what is right.”
“Fuck you,” he spits. “If you had to run this bar on your own, you’d see how fucking hard it is. Trying to keep a business running when everyone around you wants you to fail. I think Dad would be more concerned with staying in the black than with keeping true to your outdated vision.”
I turn away from him and leave the room. I’m so mad I can’t speak. I head back to the bar. I don’t give a fuck about the police, or anyone else who wants to shut us down. I won’t cower from them.
My anger spurs me into action. I saunter over to a table with two sexy women and their boyfriends. Shoving aside my emotions, I paste on a fake smile and lock eyes on one of the women, a brunette with great tits. “Hey, darling,” I purr. “What can I getcha?”
She responds instantly, her lips parting, despite her boyfriend’s glare. “Oh. Hi. Um, how about some kind of a cocktail with rum?”
“I’ll make it extra sweet for you,” I say, then lean forward. “If you can handle it, that is.”
The boyfriend stiffens. “Ahem.”
I ignore him and turn to the other girl. “And for you? Maybe you need something with a bit more punch than you’re getting.” I shoot a deliberate glance at the man beside her. His face reddens. Then I look back at her. “I bet you can handle it, can’t you.”
Her eyes widen, and she gives a shocked giggle.
The two men stand and shoot hostile glares at me, but both are smaller than me by a good few inches and several pounds. I release all of my anger and stare at them until they wilt.
They grab their girlfriends’ hands and tug them out of the seats, saying how Outlaws is dirty and greasy and they didn’t want anything here anyway. Then the four of them leave.
I’m petty. Petty as fuck. But a small part of me gets a burst of pleasure from fucking up my brother’s big plans to have a bunch of local shithead preps come into the bar.