Chapter 1
Tyree Johnson smacked the monitor of his piece-of-shit computer and glowered at the electronic squiggles that danced across the screen. He stood up so that his large body loomed over the machine. Then he narrowed his eyes as he aimed a stern finger at the uncooperative candidate for the trash bin. “Last warning. You think I can’t have a shiny new computer here within the hour? Just watch me.”
He heard a snicker and looked up to face the two women who stood in the doorway of his small, cluttered office in the back of his bar, The Fix on Sixth.
“You laugh, but I was a Marine. I know how to handle slackers. There’s still life in this hunk of junk. It’s just being obstinate.”
“Are you sure you’re not just being cheap?” Jenna Montgomery asked, her green eyes sparkling with mischief. She wore her shoulder-length red hair in a ponytail, making the smattering of freckles over her fair skin seem even more prominent.
Seeing her, Tyree reminded himself that The Fix wasn’t solely his anymore; he’d recently taken on three partners. And a good thing, too. Only a few months ago, his blood pressure had been spiking daily from the constant worry about losing his beloved bar due to a balloon note that he didn’t have the cash to pay off.
Then Jenna Montgomery, Reece Walker, and Brent Sinclair had stepped forward and not only helped him pay off the note, but were now working side-by-side with Tyree to make sure that The Fix was solidly in the black come the end of the year. That was, in fact, the condition Tyree had set when he agreed to take on his three new partners; if The Fix wasn’t turning a profit by the end of the year, they would put it up for sale and split the proceeds. Because no way was Tyree throwing good money after bad.
Hopefully, it wouldn’t come to that. He loved this place with its thick limestone walls and long gleaming bar too damn much.
He’d bought the corner property on Austin’s popular Sixth Street six years ago after digging himself out of a morass of depression and pain. The Fix wasn’t just a job—it was his life. Hell, it was his resurrection. A place he’d worked toward. A business he loved. A dream that had revived him after tragedy had cut him off at the knees.
And not just his dream; it had been a dream he’d shared with his wife, God rest her soul. And it was damned ironic that even after years of scrimping and saving, he’d only been able to afford the place after Teiko’s death—and the payout on her life insurance.
He’d traded one love for another, but not a day went by when he wouldn’t eagerly burn The Fix to the ground if it would gain him even one more day with the woman whose death had left a hole in his heart.
But that was impossible, so he was doing the next best thing; he was working his ass off to improve The Fix, draw in more customers, and sell more food and drink. Anything and everything to keep the bar’s doors open and him standing stalwart over the place that represented a dream she’d once shared.
And if that meant limping along with a crappy computer, then that’s what he was going to do.
With a wide grin, he caught Jenna’s eye and then glanced down at the monitor, where the spreadsheet he’d been going over earlier now filled the screen, all bright and innocent as if it had never been a bug up his ass.
“See there? All good.”
“Uh-huh.” Jenna exchanged an amused glance with Megan Clark as both women stepped all the way into the office.
The second woman tucked a long strand of dark hair behind one ear, then pushed a pair of black cat’s eye glasses up her nose. Both gestures seemed like nervous habits, which seemed out of character for the woman he’d recently hired as the bar’s Girl Friday, gofer, dogsbody, assistant, or whatever the hell you wanted to call it. But before he could find a casual way to ask her what was wrong, Megan shrugged, and said, “Austin allergies. I don’t usually wear glasses, but my contacts are driving me crazy.”
He nodded, realizing that she’d misunderstood his questioning glance. Before he could clarify, though, Jenna jumped in.
“Thanks for doing this now,” she said, dropping into one of the guest chairs as Megan continued to stand, leaning against the rough limestone wall. “I know meeting before the bar opens is more convenient, but I had a doctor’s appointment this morning.”
“Everything okay?” He fought a worried frown as he settled down behind the desk, noting that her cheeks seemed a little hollow and thinking that she’d shed a few pounds. She looked healthy enough on the whole—hell, her skin was practically rosy—but Jenna was a little thing, and if she lost too much weight…
“What? Oh. Sure.” A flush of color crept up her cheeks. “Just a little, you know, nauseous. I’m sure it’ll pass.”
“Hmmm.” He studied her, his mind whirring. “Don’t let Reece catch it.”
Her cheeks burned even redder at the mention of Reece Walker’s name. Reece and Jenna had recently become engaged. And now, as Tyree remembered the nausea that had laid Teiko flat when she’d been pregnant with their son, he couldn’t help but wonder if there was more than wedding bells in Reece and Jenna’s future. About seven pounds or eight pounds more, actually.
Jenna cleared her throat and dug a notebook out of her bag. “We have a long list of things we could go over, but since it’s working hours, Megan and I thought we’d only hit the top ones today.”
She gestured toward Megan, who nodded, then shook her head. “I’m sorry. We need to talk about the Man of the Month calendar and the cookbook, but I just have to say something first.”
She shot Jenna an apologetic look as Jenna rolled her eyes. “Jenna told me that I don’t need to worry, but I wanted to say again how much I appreciate you giving me a job. It’s not as if you have much call for a makeup artist in a bar, and it’s really helping me out. I’ve only had a few makeup jobs since I moved to Austin, and that’s my own fault, since I pretty much came on a whim. And money’s been tight.”
“Megan, come on,” Jenna said. “You know it’s fine.”
Megan kept her attention on Tyree. “I know you were working on the books just now. And I know that The Fix is doing everything to up revenue. I don’t want to be a drain. I don’t feel right taking this job if it’s going to be a problem for the bottom line.”
Tyree nodded slowly as he settled in behind the desk. “Fair enough. You’ve been officially working here for how long? Four days?” At her nod, he continued. “And in that time you’ve worked as a hostess, helped behind the bar, worked with Jenna on this calendar issue I’m about to hear about, made a Costco run for paper products, did a stint of prep work in the kitchen, and spent over an hour on the phone with the HVAC technician. Hell, without you, we might have had to close up. No AC in Austin during the summer? That’s too many sweaty bodies in my book.”
“All true,” Megan said. “It’s just that—”
“And haven’t you been doing Brooke’s makeup before she goes in front of the camera?” he added, referring to one of the two stars of The Business Plan, the reality television show that was also doing a complete makeover on the bar’s interior and whose cameras had become a constant presence at the bar.
“Well, yeah,” she admitted, as Jenna crossed her arms, looking smug.
“I’d say you’re pulling your weight just fine, Megan,” Tyree said. “And I’m happy that when you needed the extra work, we had enough to toss it your way.”
He meant what he said. He didn’t know the details of why Megan left a thriving career as a makeup artist in LA to move to Austin, but he did know that she’d done it at the spur of the moment. And that there’d been a man somewhere in the picture. Presumably a man she was trying to avoid.
He hated the thought that Eli might be in a strange town someday without work or friends to help him. And the thought was doubly potent if he imagined that Eli was a daughter instead of a son. Old fashioned, maybe, but that’s the way Tyree rolled. “We square?” he asked, his attention focused on her.
“Yeah,” she said. Her expression was firm and businesslike, but he saw the smile behind her glasses. “We are.”
“Then let’s get to talking about this calendar. I swear, Jenna, I never expected there’d come a day when part of my job would be looking at beefcake shots of shirtless men.”
She blinked at him, all innocence. “That wasn’t part of your Marine training?”
“Watch it, girl,” he said, but with laughter in his voice.
“Well, you’re off the hook today, because we have a problem. I’d hoped to have a few proofs to show you—just shots of Reece to get an idea of lighting and poses before we schedule the full shoot for Mr. January to Mr. March. But our photographer got hired by some fashion magazine, dropped everything, and moved to Milan.”
“I’m impressed.”
Jenna scowled. “He was supposed to be good. Now he’s gone. So Megan and I are interviewing replacements and poring over portfolios. Fortunately, all the guys are easy to get a hold of, so I don’t think scheduling will be a problem. And of course Megan can do makeup, so we don’t have to worry about that. So by the time we hire someone, we can probably knock out Mr. April and Mr. May at the same shoot.”
“We want to get the final, cleaned-up images to the calendar designer as early as possible so that we can stick to a late October on-sale date for the calendar,” Megan added. “And we want all the shots to have continuity. Like writers, photographers have a voice. We don’t want someone who’s going to abandon us midway through the project. We’ll be running contests into early October, right?”
Megan directed the question at Jenna, who nodded. “It’s the best way to keep interest up and folks walking through the doors. At any rate, the point is we’re looking for someone who can photograph both men and food. If we can use the same photographer for the cookbook, that would be sweet. You’re working on the recipes, right?”
She tilted her head as she eyed him, and he was reminded of Mrs. Thibodeaux, his fourth grade teacher in New Orleans.
“Got a stack of them in this pile of junk,” he said, tapping his computer affectionately.
Jenna nodded, the gesture obviously a mental checkmark, and continued. “So that’s the scoop on the end result. Meanwhile, Megan and I both think we need to kick up the real estate on the actual contest.”
Tyree’s brows rose. “Real estate?”
“Male pecs, male abs, male torso. You know. The reason the women come every other Wednesday.”
“We want to lure in some new guys,” Jenna explained, probably in response to his confused expression. “High profile guys. Nolan’s a great start,” she said, referring to a local drive-time radio personality who would be bounding across the stage in two days for the Mr. April contest, “but we want to go even further.”
“You have ideas as to where to find these amazing paragons of manhood?”
Jenna’s lips twitched. “I think you should enter. Megan agrees,” she added, as her companion nodded.
Tyree crossed his arms over his massive chest, leaned back in his chair, and shook his head. “I’ll be forty-six in a few months. I may not be too old to sponsor that shit, but I’m definitely too old to participate.”
The women exchanged looks. “The female point of view begs to differ, but we can table it for right now. The point is, we’re going to go hot and heavy into recruiting. Megan has a few ideas on which local businessmen to approach. The kind who look very fine in tailored suits. And we’re thinking a wet T-shirt contest might be fun.”
Tyree leaned back and lifted his eyes to heaven. “Lord, save me from ambitious women.”
“Funny,” Jenna said, as Tyree grinned.
“Seriously, Jen, this is your concept, your baby. You run it how you want, and I’ll support you. Anything else?”
“Just that we’ll keep bugging you about entering. You’ve got some serious pecs, bossman. And the broadest shoulders I’ve ever seen. You’re almost as hot as Reece,” she teased as she pushed herself up out of her chair.
He just shook his head and chuckled.
“Eventually we’ll wear you down,” Megan promised. Or maybe it was a threat.
“And one day hell will freeze over,” Tyree shot back. “Doesn’t mean either of us will be around to see it.”
She laughed, and the two women hustled out leaving Tyree shaking his head, amused.
Since he’d managed to scare his computer into cooperating, Tyree worked a bit more on the accounts, and found that his mood had improved. Probably a little bit because of Jenna and Megan’s company, but also because the books were showing a consistent increase in revenue over the past few weeks. And that was a hell of a thing.
He shut the machine down before it had the chance to get cranky again, then headed into the kitchen to make sure things were running smoothly, and the team wasn’t getting backed up with the lunchtime rush.
During the first four years that The Fix had been open, Tyree himself had run the kitchen, experimenting as he finalized what he now considered to be a damn perfect menu. But with the increasing competition on Sixth Street, the heart of Austin’s tourist-and-college scene, he’d made the decision to be a front-of-the-bar owner, getting to know the customers and having a presence in the place. That was something a corporate bar could never replicate. That true down-home feel of a genuine local bar.
Since Jenna had come on board as the bar’s marketing guru, she’d seconded his decision. And although Tyree missed being in the kitchen trying to replicate and expand on the southern flavors of his childhood, he couldn’t deny that he liked the sense of being at the center of life at The Fix.
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