“No way you’re paying when you’re with me, for anything. Put it away.” He stands, grabs the check and stalks off toward the register.
I do as he says and put my wallet away. I know there’s no amount of arguing that’s going to change his mind. I reach the register just as Crew finishes up. He places his hand on the small of my back and leads me to his truck.
“Thank you for dinner,” I say once we’re on the road. If I weren’t looking at him I would have missed his nod, acknowledging me. We make idle chitchat about nothing of importance. I even bring up the weather. Lame, I know, but the silence gives me too much time to think. Time to analyze and replay his words from dinner. Talking about the weather is a much better option at this point.
“You don’t have to come in tomorrow. There’s not a lot going on right now. Next week the furniture is supposed to be delivered, and I have a supplier coming in so we can pick the mugs and all that for the bar area. I’ll also need you to start files on the staff we’ve hired so far, process background checks, and I’m sure a bunch of other shit I have no clue about.”
I smile at him. “I’ve got you covered. That’s what you hired me for. If you change your mind about tomorrow, let me know.”
“I won’t. Enjoy your weekend. I’ll see you Monday at nine.”
“You got it, boss,” I say, climbing out of the truck.
“Crew,” I hear him correct me before I shut the door.
I wave and turn to head toward my car. “Wait!” Crew quickly catches up with me with his long stride. “I’ll walk you.”
“It’s like twenty feet,” I tell him.
“I’ll walk you,” he repeats.
Again, I don’t bother to argue, letting him have his way. I hit the remote to unlock my car and he pulls open the door. “Have a good weekend.”
“You too, Berklee.” He waits until I’m buckled in before shutting my door and tapping on the roof three times.
I drive away without looking back to see if he’s watching me. My mind is already coming up with ideas. Ideas that I need to shut down.
ROLLING OVER, I look at the clock. Just after six and I’m wide awake. I told my parents I would be at their place around nine. Dad wants some help finishing up the deck he’s building, and Mom, of course, insisted that she make breakfast.
It’s been a couple of weeks since I’ve seen them. I’ve let the club consume me. Like Berklee, I told Zane to take yesterday off as well. I tracked some deliveries, returned some e-mails and spent the rest of the day and night looking through the new website and sending off changes to the designer. We messaged back and forth until close to one this morning.
Deciding I’m not getting back to sleep, I climb out of bed and head to the shower. Mom will be thrilled that I’m early.
When I pull up, Mom’s already at the door. “Crew.” She rushes out onto the porch and wraps her arms around me. Pulling away, she swats my arm. “It’s been too long,” she scolds me.
“Hi, Mom.” I throw my arm over her shoulder as we walk in the house. “I’ll do better I promise.”
“You better,” she says, stepping out from underneath my arm. “I’ll get breakfast started.”
“How you been, son?” Dad asks from his spot at the kitchen table. He’s reading the paper and drinking his morning coffee. That’s his routine, has been for years.
“Good, just getting everything up and running with the club. Got some staff hired.” My mind immediately goes to Berklee.
“That’s good to hear. Things are coming along good, then?” he asks.
“Yeah, I hired an administrator. Zane is taking lead on security, and we’ve hired a few bouncers, bartenders, and servers. We still need to add a few more to the roster. I hope to have Berklee do more interviews next week.”
“Berklee? What a unique name.”
I don’t comment. “How are things? How’s the deck coming?” I ask Dad instead.
“Good. I just need to finish the railing.”
I look at him and he must see the question in my eyes. If he’s already at the railing he didn’t need my help, obviously. Dad tilts his head toward where Mom is standing at the stove and winks. Figures. She must have been saying how it had been two weeks since I’ve been by, and Dad took it upon himself to make that happen for her. He’s always been one to give her whatever it is she wants. I just shake my head and he grins.
“You need any help down at the club?” Dad asks. He’s trying to change the subject.
“Thanks, but we’ve got it. Berklee, Zane, and I are getting it done.”
“You let us know if we can do anything.”
Mom sets a big plate of pancakes in front of each of us and one for herself. “How is Zane?” she asks.
“You know Zane, still breaking hearts.” I laugh.
“Well, he needs to settle down. You both do. Hey, what about the new girl, Berklee? Maybe with them working together—”
“No!” I state, louder and more intense than what I intended. I feel like a dick for snapping at her. “What I mean is they’re coworkers. I don’t need office romance to run my staff off. He needs to look elsewhere.” What I don’t say is that if anyone gets close to Berklee, it’s going to be me.
“Oh poo.” Mom waves her hands in the air, dismissing me. “There is nothing wrong with dating someone you work with.”
“You can’t be serious.” I’m surprised at her statement.
“Of course I am. Tell me, if they both do their jobs and it doesn’t interfere with the club, how is that wrong?”
It’s wrong because she’s my employee. I’m the boss, as she likes to remind me. It’s wrong because I can’t stop thinking about how it would feel to be inside of her. It’s wrong that I want her.
“I mean, that kind of thing happens all the time. Did you put a rule in your employee handbook that states that coworkers can’t date?”
I make a mental note to get Berklee on an employee handbook. Just another item I wouldn’t have thought of.
“What happens when they split? Then you have jealousy and animosity, and I don’t need that in my club. Not to mention if one of them can’t handle it and quits. That leaves me in a bind.”
“Not all splits are terrible, Crew. Have a little faith, my dear.” Mom reaches across the table and pats my hand.
“You ready to tackle this deck?” I ask Dad, changing the subject once more. Talking relationships with my mother is the last thing I want to do.
Dad chuckles as he pushes back from the table. “Let’s get started.”
He doesn’t have to tell me twice. I pick up my plate and carry it to the sink.
“I got those. Go on now,” Mom says.
I drop a kiss on her cheek and follow Dad outside. We spend the rest of the day taking our time putting up the railing on the new deck. Neither of us is in a hurry to get the job done.
“I think that’s got it.” Dad stands back, hands on his hips, admiring our work.