heavy glass ones, and she could use them as iced-tea glasses. Almost everything else would have to go, though. She’d been doing a quick-and-dirty inventory since she and Belinda had arrived this morning, and the results were depressing.
“But Brady’s is a neighborhood institution,” Tony argued. “You can’t close it for good.”
“I don’t really have a choice,” she said practically. “I know absolutely nothing about running a bar. I do, however, know a great deal about managing a tearoom.” She’d spent a year as manager of Lochinvar’s, the oh-so-tony tearoom inside Bailey-Davidson’s, the upscale department store owned by her ex-fiancé’s family.
Belinda’s was going to be much cooler than Lochinvar’s, which had been around for fifty years and attracted mostly older matrons. Belinda’s was going to bring in the younger women, the rich hipsters who frequented Hattie’s and Caribe in Bishop Arts—the ones who knew Oak Cliff was the cool place to be, the ones who thought Deep Ellum was just a bit too grungy and Highland Park too stuffy.
“But Brady’s is a gold mine,” Tony argued, following her along his side of the bar as she moved to count the next shelf of glasses. “It’s packed most nights with hard-drinking men and women who buy lots of beer.”
“What a charming picture. Anyway, I’ve looked at the books. The place might have been crowded, but the customers weren’t spending enough money. Brady’s profits were way down. There’s almost no money in the accounts either.”
That didn’t surprise Tony. “Brady spent it as fast as he could make it. He was a soft touch. He gave money away to any hard-luck story that came his way. He even hosted free Thanksgiving dinners for the homeless.”
“He did?” Julie was surprised. According to her mother, Brady had never done anything that didn’t directly benefit Brady. “That sounds so nice.”
“You didn’t know him?”
“Not really. Anyway, the point is, the books don’t lie.” She’d been taking classes at community college with an eye toward a degree in business management. She knew a bit about accounting. “Brady’s was barely breaking even.”
“Okay, so maybe the place isn’t a gold mine. Yet. But with the right management skills…” He looked pointedly at Julie.
“I’ve done the research. The demographics are changing. A more upscale establishment on this street will be cutting-edge. Belinda’s should be extremely profitable, even with the investments I’ll have to make to refurbish the place.” Julie was counting on some quick profits. Clever Belinda, with her perfect SAT scores, was going to attend an Ivy League university. And since the Davidsons had withdrawn their pledge to finance Belinda’s education, it was up to Julie to figure out how to pay the staggering tuition by next fall, only a year away.
Even though Belinda was certain to get some sort of scholarship, there would still be huge expenses. And her parents couldn’t contribute anything. They could barely take care of their own bills.
The real-estate agent had told Julie it could take months or even years to sell Brady’s for a fair price. And all the mortgages and liens Brady had on the building would eat up the proceeds from any purchase.
Opening the tearoom was a much better idea. She could sell everything—and there were some collectibles tucked in and around Brady’s, like the cigar-store Indian and the vintage pinball machines and neon signs. With the proceeds and her own little nest egg, she could transform this place into a posh yet cozy oasis that would provide her and her family with income for years to come.
Eventually, she would have to pay off Brady’s creditors. Fortunately, however, they’d been willing to work out terms when she’d explained she wanted to get the place back in business.
Julie had done the math. She really could manage this.
“You can’t do this,” Tony said. “Please, Julie, I’m begging you. You’ll be destroying a piece of Oak Cliff history.”
Julie stopped counting beer mugs. She kept losing track, and who could blame her when this gorgeous man was distracting her? She wondered exactly what he’d be willing to do to get her to change her mind, then immediately banished the thought. She’d broken her engagement less than a month ago. She was still reeling over her fiancé’s betrayal and the astounding realization that he and his whole family had expected her to brush his indiscretion under the rug. She had no business letting sexy Tony Veracruz heat up her blood.
“Mr. Veracruz, look around you.”
He did. “Yeah?”
“This place is a dump. It’s a dive, a blight on a neighborhood that’s trying to come back. I’m going to improve it, beautify it, make it a showplace Oak Cliff can be proud of.”
“Well, I’ll admit Brady’s could use a good scrubbing.”
“What it could use is a nuclear explosion. That’s what it would take to get the dirt off these floors. Everything reeks of stale beer and cigarette smoke.”
“You could clean the place up,” Tony tried again. “We’d help you.”
“I’m sorry, Tony.” And truly she was. Brady’s had probably been the sort of place where some people felt they belonged. Like Cheers, only grittier. Finding a place to fit in, to belong, was important, and she should know. She’d been trying to figure out where she fit her whole life.
Not in Pleasant Grove, the blue-collar suburb where she’d grown up in a housing project. She’d always known there was something better for her out in the world and she’d thought she’d found her place working at Bailey-Davidson’s. She’d devoted nine years of her life to it—watching, studying, improving herself, moving up the department-store career ladder, slowly accumulating college credits so that she would eventually qualify for higher management positions.
She loved that store. She loved being around the beautiful clothes, the delicate bone china, the designer bed linens—oh, how she loved the linens department.
Most of all, she’d loved being around all those well-educated, refined, soft-spoken people. And when Trey Davidson had noticed her, accepted her, when his friends had welcomed her into their circle—even though she couldn’t claim an Ivy League affiliation or a single drop of blue blood—she’d thought she’d found her place. Up-and-coming Bailey-Davidson’s executive and wife to the store’s heir apparent.
A dream come true.
Except the dream had turned into the proverbial nightmare, and Julie had once again found herself afloat in a strange sea in which she didn’t belong, wondering what she would do with her life.
Belinda’s could be her place. Her creation, her universe. She could surround herself with beautiful things, fine foods and people who appreciated the same things she did.
Tony Veracruz, she guessed, would not be one of those people. Which was a pity. Let Marcel at the Bailey-Davidson’s salon cut Tony’s hair, then put him in an Armani suit, and he’d fit right in at any office in any glass high-rise in the city. But Julie suspected that sort of life didn’t appeal to him. She could tell he liked himself the way he was and liked where he was in life.
Which was fine. That was part of his appeal, actually—the fact that he was obviously so comfortable in his skin.
His gorgeous skin.
“How ’bout I take you out to dinner tomorrow?” Tony asked. “We could get some burgers. You could tell me more about this tearoom idea of yours.”
Oh, she was tempted. For one thing, she hadn’t been out to eat at a real restaurant in weeks because she’d been hoarding her pennies.
But she had an idea that if she let Tony take her out, even for an innocent hamburger, before long he would be telling her more about what a great place Brady’s was and how wrong she was to change it to a tearoom, and she would start to doubt herself.
She