Badd Business Page 4

  “Business?” Rome asked, sounding skeptical. “What kind of business?”

  Bast laughed. “Expertise don’t come free, Rome, even for cousins.” He wrote some figures on the paper. “You need my help—in fact, you need me and my brothers. We’ve been batting around the idea of expanding for months now—we’ve hired some outsiders to staff Badd’s, and Kitty is shaping up to be a kick-ass manager, which means Zane and I can start spending time over here getting this place up and running and making us all some money.”

  “What are you proposing?” Rome asked.

  “Well, I know what you paid for the place, and I can guess roughly what you’ve put into it so far, which gives me a decent estimate of your total stake so far. Which is…not a small amount. You’ve actually gambled pretty heavily that this place will work.”

  Rome nodded. “We all had some cash saved, which was enough for a down payment on a loan to buy the place, and some extra to start it up.” He eyed Bast. “So you’re proposing a partnership—a percentage of ownership?”

  Bast nodded. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about. Twenty or thirty percent. We’d stake you some cash to bring in everything you need—which is a pretty sizable amount when you start factoring in back stock and food inventory, and the new kitchen equipment you’ll need.”

  “We weren’t thinking we’d serve much food,” Rome said. “That’s a whole different ballgame and I know it, so I was gonna focus on the alcohol.”

  “Nah, nah, nah,” Bast said, waving a hand. “Food’s where it’s at. You just gotta do it right—serve till you close, and make it comfort food, easy to make, easy to eat, easy to clean up after, with a decent markup value. The more you feed ’em, the more they’ll drink. When we started serving food right up to closing time a couple years ago our alcohol sales went through the roof. Late-night food is a moneymaker. Believe that.”

  “Which means we’ll need new equipment in the kitchen, is what you’re saying, because the stuff in there is old and shitty.”

  Bast nodded. “You got it in one. Clean out the whole kitchen—scrap it to the studs and start fresh. It’ll be pricey, but worth it. The vibe you have going on in here actually makes me feel like you’ll get a lot of afternoon and evening customers if your menu is right. This kind of atmosphere, you serve sandwiches, burgers, prime rib, maybe even some steak and seafood. You’ll need actual, experienced line cooks, though, not just short-order cooks, but it’d be worth it.” Bast slapped the bar with his palm. “I’m telling you, I have a good feeling about this place.”

  Rome perked up. “Really?”

  Bast nodded. “Absolutely. You’re on the right track with the renovations, it’s the finer details of actually running the business where you’re lost.” He tapped his chin. “And actually, if you’re serving that kind of food, you’ll want to find a kitchen manager. I can get you up to speed as the front of house manager, but you’ll want someone knowledgeable in the kitchen if you’re serving pricier menu items. You want to do it right.” He scanned the interior again. “Come to think of it, you’re gonna need more tables. The booths along the wall are great, but the middle area is lost space. Put a bunch of four-tops in here and you can almost quadruple the number of people you can seat.”

  “I was leaving it open for people to mill around,” Rome said.

  Bast nodded, shrugging. “And I get what you were going for, but giving people a place to sit down will be better overall. People sit, eat, drink, and then leave, and someone else takes their spot—or they camp out and keep drinking; either way, you win. If you’ve got a bunch of open space and nowhere to sit down because the bar is full, and the booths are full, they’re just gonna leave and go somewhere that has a table or two.” He indicated the front window, which ran the width of the storefront. “And you’ll want a bar over there with more stools. Give people places to put their asses, and you’ll gain customers who will spend more.”

  “I guess that makes sense.”

  “So, what I’m saying is that I’m thinking of a little bit of a rebrand from where you saw yourself going.” Bast gestured around again. “To me, this says somewhere to sit and eat and have some good stiff drinks, maybe listen to some live music, just sort of chill, hang out. Our place is the rowdy sort of bar, where things get wild. You’re gonna come here for a less rowdy atmosphere.”

  “I like things rowdy, though,” Rome said.

  Bast chuckled. “I could have guessed that. And your late-night crowd will get you that. Trust me—shit is gonna get rowdy. But you need a theme or focus that fits your atmosphere, and I’m just telling you what I see when I sit in here.”

  Rome nodded. “No, you’re right.” He glanced at Ramsey and me. “What do you guys think?”

  Ram shrugged. “Honestly, bro, this is your place. Do what feels right to you. We’re here to support you.” He hesitated. “I want it to be successful, because I did stake most of my savings on this.”

  “Same here,” I said. “I think Bast is right, and I think he knows this shit better than we do, so it only makes sense to listen to him—it’s why you called him over here in the first place.”

  Rome nodded again, thoughtful. “And what do you guys think about selling him a percentage?”

  “I think we’re sunk without it, Rome,” I said. “We’re in over our heads. I can learn how to pour beer and whiskey and mix drinks and use a register. But I don’t know the first goddamn thing about running a business. Bast does. He’s been doing it successfully for a long time. We’d be morons not to stake him in when he’s got the know-how and we don’t.”

  “Look, guys. I won’t mince words, okay?” Bast hesitated a moment, then fired away. “You won’t last another month without help. You’re hemorrhaging cash and you’re flailing around like a monkey with its balls stuck in a vise. Stake us in, let us take over and show you the ropes, and I guarantee you’ll see profits faster than you’ll believe.”

  “So, hold on, though,” Ram cut in. “Stake us in? Who’s us?”

  Bast tilted his head to one side. “I dunno exactly, yet. Zane for sure. Brock is likely to want in, and Bax might, too. The others? Probably not so much. But between Zane, Brock, Bax, and me, we’ll be able to scrounge up enough cash to renovate the kitchen, get your inventory squared away, and do whatever else needs doing. While the kitchen is being worked on, we’ll start looking for a B-O-H manager.”

  “B-O-H?” Rome asked.

  “Back of house, meaning the kitchen. F-O-H is the front of the house, meaning the bar and restaurant area.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  “So, percentages…” Bast tapped the sheet with the figures he’d been working on while he talked, occasionally doing math on the calculator on his phone. “I’ll have to talk to my brothers and see who’s interested in joining me on this, and then I’ll come back to you with more specific figures as to what kind of a percentage will make sense for everyone involved.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Rome said.

  Bast stood up. “So you’re in? We’re in business?”

  Rome stuck out his hand and the two men shook. “Yeah, we are. Family business, oddly enough.”

  Bast laughed at that. “I’d never have thought this was even possible. Then you crazy assholes come waltzing into my bar, and now here we are getting ready to buy into a business together.”

  “Wasn’t on my radar when I first tossed out the idea of moving up here and opening a bar,” Rome said. “But it makes sense.”

  “All right, well, after I talk to my brothers I’ll get back to you. We’ll work up a contract and get the ball rolling.” He paused halfway out the front door. “You know, I’m actually getting excited about this the more I think about it. I’ve been getting a little bored at the bar lately—it’s so routine now that there’s no challenge or excitement anymore. This? This is new, something I’ve never done before, and it’s gonna be fun.”

  “Now that you’re on board, I think I can get excited again,” Rome said. “
I was getting a little overwhelmed and worried, I don’t mind admitting.”

  Bast laughed. “It’s still gonna be a lot of work. Don’t think I’m gonna come in and do everything for you. You’re gonna have to work your ass to the bone if you want this place to take off and run smoothly.”

  “Hey, I got no problem working hard,” Rome said. “We’ve been working since we were eleven. Our first job was collecting scrap metal for Old Man Harney, remember that, guys?”

  Ram laughed. “Old Man Harney. Wow, haven’t thought about that ornery old cuss in years.” He shook his head, tugging at his beard. “He was a real dick, as I remember.”

  “Yeah, he was a dick,” I said. “But he was a dick who paid decent cash for scrap metal, and had a bad habit of leaving half-finished forties on his back porch.”

  “Which we’d steal regularly,” Rome added. “I think he did that on purpose. Looking back, he oughta be shot for enabling our underage drinking habit, but at the time I thought it was the best thing ever.”

  Bast laughed. “We’re gonna have to get drunk and trade stories sometime. I gotta go, though. I’m taking my wife to lunch.”

  We exchanged fist bumps and goodbyes, and then Bast was gone and it was just the three of us standing in our bar.

  Rome sat at the bar, lost in thought. When Ram plopped down beside him, Rome eyed our brother. “So how long before you think you’re gonna bail on me, Ram?”

  Ram frowned. “I wouldn’t call it bailing, Rome. I’ll never bail on you. If you need me, I’ll be here. But you know I need to be outside. Hunting, hiking, fishing, riding, roping. This city shit ain’t my scene, and you know it. I’m all for a change in scenery and, to be honest, I was getting to the point with the smokejumping that it was starting to feel like it was time to let the younger cats get at it. Not that thirty-two is old, but for something that physically demanding? It was getting dangerous. And with the increase in forest fires lately, it was nonstop work.” He rapped the bar with his knuckle. “It was a matter of when one of us got hurt or killed, not if. So, changing things up makes sense to me. Plus, it will be good to be available if Pops needs us.”

  “But?” Rome prompted.

  “But, I want to be out there,” Ram said, gesturing at the walls, meaning the wilderness beyond Ketchikan. “Alaska is one of the last truly wild frontiers on the planet, and I want to get lost in it.” He laughed. “Not literally lost, but you know what I mean.”

  Rome nodded. “Yeah, I got you.” He glanced at me. “Rem?”

  I shifted in my seat, less willing to air out my inner thoughts just yet. “I’m all in, for now. You know I’ve never loved the idea of running a bar, so I guess just count on me finding something else at some point. What or when, I don’t know. But like Ram said, I support you guys no matter what, so if you need me, I’m here.”

  “You’ve got deeper thoughts than that, Rem,” Roman said. “Don’t bullshit me.”

  I sighed. “I’m not bullshitting you, I’m just…still thinking.”

  “About what?” Rome asked. “That girl? Kitty’s friend, Juneau?”

  “That girl was one hell of a fine piece of Alaskan hotness,” Ramsey said. “Can’t believe you let her walk away like that.”

  “It’s not about her,” I snapped. “That was one stupid conversation over shitty hospital coffee, and that was it.”

  Rome and Ram exchanged glances, and then they both burst out laughing.

  “Oh, man,” Ram said, once he stopped laughing. “That’s just great.”

  I frowned. “What? What are you talking about?”

  Rome bumped his knuckles against Ram’s. “You,” he said, with another laugh. “You’re in deep shit, bro.”

  I shot off my stool. “The fuck are you talking about?”

  Ram shook his head. “Nope, not saying anything. Not going there. You’ll have to figure this one out on your own.”

  Rome nodded. “Totally agree.”

  I shot them both daggers. “If I never see her again, it’ll be too soon. She was annoying.”

  “And sexy as fuck,” Ram said. “That curvy little body? That’s all you, buddy. You’re saying you don’t want to take a bite out of that juicy ass of hers?”

  I answered by giving both of them my middle fingers as I left the bar.

  I could hear them laughing as the door slammed shut.

  4

  Juneau

  “After looking at previous case files, I think there’s a clear precedent for what we’re trying to prove. We need not only the previous cases which establish precedent, but the laws they used to win those cases…” my boss, Daniel Ulujuk, was essentially talking to himself.

  He had a brilliant legal mind, and was ferociously dedicated to cases affecting Native Alaskans, often taking on the cases pro bono. But he was…eccentric. He liked to walk through his cases verbally, well in advance of the actual judgment, and my job was to take dictation for each new argument. Then, after he’d listened to himself, as well as read through my transcripts, he’d rip apart his own arguments as if he were the opposing counsel. I would turn those dictations into readable transcripts, and then make my own notes and thoughts on his arguments, identifying areas where he may need to shore up his reasoning, or provide more evidence for a particular item.

  It was boring as hell ninety-nine percent of the time. But it was all part of articling and getting ready to write the bar ads and then becoming a lawyer myself.

  He found it all endlessly exciting, and while I enjoyed the actual trials, the actual work to get to trial was mind-numbing drudgery. I was good at taking dictation so I could do it on autopilot while the rest of my mind wandered. Normally, I daydreamed about the random detritus that fills your mind—my last workout, what I’m going to have for lunch, what to wear that night when going out with Izzy and Kitty, the podcast I’d listened to on my lunch break yesterday…

  Today, my thoughts were focused on something else entirely.

  On a certain male.

  An obnoxious, arrogant, filthy-minded, dirty-talking male with piercing, mesmerizing, violently blue eyes. And golden blond hair that had a tendency to fall in front of his left eye, which he would then brush aside with a casual sexiness that could utterly destroy my ability to think straight. And that’s not all. He had arms the size of my thighs, shoulders so broad and hard and thick you could stand on them, and a jawline that was rugged and craggy. One minute, his lips begged to be kissed, and the next they could twist in a sarcastic grin, or transform into a heated, sensual grin dripping with sexual promise.

  Gah, Juneau. Stop thinking about Remington Badd. Just stop. He’s annoying. Worse—he’s infuriating.

  I want nothing to do with him.

  I do NOT want to know what it would feel like for his X-rated fantasy to come true.

  I do NOT, in any way, shape, or form, want to feel his cock inside me, thrusting with feral, pounding force into my tight channel, bouncing me on his thighs so hard my tits ache from jouncing against him.

  “Juneau?” A sharp, irritated voice cut through my lustful reverie.

  “Wha—? What?” I blinked, cleared my throat, and shifted with awkward arousal in my swivel chair. “What was that? Sorry, Daniel.”

  I must be losing my mind.

  Daniel—late fifties, black hair in a short, neat, classic side part, wearing rimless glasses—had little patience for nonsense. “I asked you to read back the last minute or two.”

  I glanced down at my handwritten dictation—my usual shorthand notes had morphed into…err…a sketch of my thoughts:

  Remington. Head down, just his jawline visible—and a thick, muscled chest, and rippling abs…and his thick, veiny cock. And the lower half of a female body, a very curvy female body, facing away, a section of back and serpentine spine, her round ass spread out, his cock an instant from being buried inside her, one strong hand greedily clutching at her hips, his fingers dimpling her flesh, the other gripping himself.

  * * *

&nbs
p; Good grief. I am losing it.

  I hurriedly covered the graphic sketch with a scrap of paper so Daniel wouldn’t accidentally see it, and read back the last few lines of notation.

  “You lost at least three minutes of dictation, Juneau,” Daniel said, a note of displeasure in his voice. “I have court in an hour, so we have to focus.”

  “Sorry, Daniel. I was…”

  His eyebrow lifted. “You were what?”

  I felt myself blushing. “Nothing. I wasn’t paying attention, and I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

  “Okay, let’s get back to it.” He cleared his throat, stared at the ceiling, whispering the last few lines I’d read back to him as he tried to recall his mental train of thought. “Ah, yes. The truth of such matters, then, far too infrequently penetrates our global consciousness. Our people are lost in time, all but forgotten, and this man’s case is an example of why we must right this wrong…”

  I forced myself to focus entirely on Daniel’s words, refusing to allow my thoughts to wander back to Remington. I couldn’t afford to daydream like that again. Thank god no one would see my notes but me, and I would be sure to destroy them as soon as Daniel left for court.

  We had just enough time to hurry to the courthouse for the preliminary hearing, and that process—thankfully—required all of my attention. Once that was finished, we would have a quick working lunch, and Daniel would spend most of it outlining his strategies and tactics for the case. And then I would transcribe the morning’s dictations.

  Typically, the morning was all pretty boring, for the most part, until I got to my notes and the page containing my sketch. I ripped that piece of paper free from the notepad and set it aside, continuing to work my way to the end of the dictation, packaged it up for Daniel, and brought it to him to look over. Normally, this was when I destroyed my old notes, so there was no chance of previous dictations getting mixed up with the most recent version.

  Folded the single offending sheet of paper into a tiny square, I stuffed it into my bra, peeking around to make sure no one saw me do it, and then I put everything else into the paper shredder.