but running the financial side of a bar? Uh. No.
Second thing I learned was that the bar wasn’t bleeding money like it had been stabbed repeatedly with a wicked hunter’s knife. This piece of news confounded me. If Mom had blown through my money and potentially hers, I’d imagined the bar would be next on her list. Plus, it wasn’t in the greatest condition.
Well, on second thought . . .
I’d checked out the bar since I was alone when Clyde had headed into the kitchen to do some cleaning after explaining that my car, which was no longer in the parking lot, was down the street at a garage getting the windshield replaced.
No way did I even want to think about that bill.
Back in the day, before I’d left for college, Mona’s had been a mess. Bar top always sticky and so was the floor, but the origin of that stickiness was always questionable. Taps were broken. Kegs should’ve been eighty-sixed ages ago. Days-old lemons being used, fruit juice beyond the expiration dates, and a whole slew of other grossness went on. Mom had always hired her friends to bartend. Her friends basically being middle-aged men and women who hadn’t grown up and thought working behind a bar meant they got free booze. So cleaning was never high on the priority list.
Although the bar wasn’t looking like it was in its prime any longer; more like it was in its geriatric stage, it was cleaner than I gave it credit for yesterday. Behind the bar, the ice had recently been dumped and the ice well flushed out with hot water, preventing a slew of gunky bacteria growth from developing. I hadn’t seen fruit flies or small critter droppings, which were unfortunately commonplace in bars. The bar tops were freshly wiped down and the floor was also clean behind the bar; the bottles were stacked and organized.
Even the tables out on the floor had been cleaned, as were the ashtrays. So, while the bar might need a renovation, someone definitely cared about it, and I knew that wasn’t Mom.
My gaze flicked to the printed-out spreadsheet for last month—the spreadsheet stapled to a gazillion receipts—and I scanned the lines. Like the dozen spreadsheets before it that I’d found, all the way up to March of last year, everything was tracked—monthly bills, like electricity and other utilities, income coming in, food and beverage costs and breakdowns, and, most surprising, payroll.
Freaking payroll.
The reason why Mom always had friends working for her who were interested only in free drinks was that she could never make payroll. The idea of Mona’s making enough money to pay its employees on a regular basis had been laughable. Not funny laughable, but maniacal, slightly crazed laughable.
But Mona’s had been making payroll for about a year now and had employee names I didn’t recognize with the exception of Jax and Clyde. There was even some dude who worked in the kitchen on weekend nights, helping Clyde out.
Mona’s was turning a profit for the last four months. Nothing major, or to get overly excited about, but a profit was a profit.
Leaning back in the chair, I slowly shook my head. How was this possible? If Mona’s was making money, why was she stealing—
“What in the hell are you doing in here?”
Emitting a low shriek, I jumped in the chair as my chin jerked out. All the air whooshed out of my lungs. Jax stood in the doorway, and he must’ve been part ghost and part ninja, because I hadn’t even heard him approach. The floors creaked about every other step when I’d walked down the hall to the office.
It had only been a handful of hours since I’d last seen Jax, and it wasn’t like I’d forgotten how hot he was in those hours, but geez, all I could do was stare at him for a moment.
Freshly showered, his hair was slightly darker as it curled against his forehead. The black shirt he wore appeared tighter than the one he wore last night, which I’m pretty sure the female population was thankful for.
But he didn’t look happy at all to see me.
Jaw set and lips pressed together, he glared at me as I stupidly gazed back at him like a fawn. “What are you doing in here, Calla?”
At the sound of my name, I snapped out of it. Placing the spreadsheet and receipts on the desk, I narrowed my eyes at him. “Well, considering this bar is my mom’s, I have every right to be in the office.”
“That’s some dumb rationale considering I’ve been at this bar for about two years and last night was the first time I’d seen your sweet ass.”
Heat flashed across my cheeks as I tilted my chair to the left. “Can you stop referring to my ass as sweet?”
His eyes deepened to dark chocolate. “Would you prefer I refer to it as hot?”
“No.”
“Sexy?”
I inhaled through my nose. “No.”
“How about heart shaped and thick?”
My hands curled into fists. “How about not at all?”
His lips twitched and then the humor fled from him as his gaze dipped to the stack of papers. He stalked over to the desk. “You were going through the files?”
I shrugged forced casualness. “Wanted to see how the bar was doing.”
“I’m sure that’s really not your business.”
What the hell? “I’m pretty sure that it is.”
He planted one hand on the desk, right on top of the spreadsheets. “Do tell.”
Swiveling the chair, I angled the right side of my body toward his. “Well, considering that this bar is the only thing my mom will leave me one day, I have every right to look at those papers.”
Something flashed over his face as he tilted his head to the side. “Leave you this bar?”
“Mom has a will. Has had one for years. So unless she’s changed it recently, which I doubt has been high on her to-do list, if something happened to her, God forbid, the bar is mine.”
Again, there was a strange tightening to the skin around his eyes I didn’t understand. A moment passed. “Is that what you want? The bar?”
Hell to the no. I didn’t say that.
“What would you do with this bar if you did unexpectedly end up with it?” he demanded.
I said the first thing that popped in my head. “I’d probably sell it.”
Jax drew back from the desk, straightening to his full height. His eyes were like shards of glass as he stared down at me. Gone was the teasing, flirting bartender. “If you don’t care about this bar—”
“I never said that.” Not exactly.
He ignored that. “Then why are you here? For your mom? That’s a lost cause and you damn well know that. And you didn’t stay at a hotel last night, did you?”
His rapid change of subject left my head wheeling. There were days when I thought she was a lost cause and then others where I couldn’t allow myself to think that. “Thanks for sending the cab, but—”
“God, you’re going to be a pain in my ass.” He moved away from the desk, scrubbing his fingers through his damp hair. The muscles in his back tensed under his shirt.
I drew in a sharp breath, feeling my cheeks redden once more. “I’m not a pain in any part of your body, buddy.”
He barked out a laugh as he faced me. “You’re not? I told you what kind of crap your mom is messed up in, and the fact that a lot of nasty folks want a piece of her, and you’re still here. On top of your window being busted out—”
“Look, I get that my mom is in trouble and all that. Newsbreak, but that’s nothing that new to me.” Well, she did seem to be in a lot more trouble than normal, but at this point, whatever. “And the stuff with my car?