ANOTHER DAY, ANOTHER ROAD TRIP.
The first few days after I signed the contracts with Alex were pretty slow. We had to wait on contractors to make time for us, but now that everything’s a go for the remodeling, we’re on their timeline, not our own. That means one, if not both, of us has to be available whenever the crew need us. Sometimes, it’s just a question that can be answered over the phone. Other times, it’s a major decision Alex and I are needed for and it’s not worth playing phone tag, which means me leaving Grinders and driving into New Orleans.
I wish I could put my truck on autopilot and close my eyes for a few minutes. I’m so freaking tired.
Deacon and I have a pretty set schedule now, with me working the first part of the day and him the last part, but once or twice a week, we switch it up and I work the evening shift. Those are the days that kill me. I was at Grinders until about eleven o’clock last night and back up there this morning before leaving a little after noon to get on the road. I refuse to complain, though. This part of the process is harder than I thought it would be but we’re just getting started and I’m still adjusting. Knowing it will all be worth it once the restaurant is up and running is what’s driving me and keeping me focused. Eye on the prize and all that shit.
When I finally pull into the parking lot next to the building, I allow myself to take a moment and just breathe. I’m so ready for this restaurant to be open but I don’t want to rush and miss the little things that mean so much. The neighboring businesses with their brightly-colored shutters and the sounds of jazz and laughter floating through the air inspire and invigorate me. It takes a lot of personal strength to keep myself from running to the front door.
Once inside, my demeanor is all business, no bullshit. Although, I’m absolutely smiling on the inside when I notice how well everything seems to be coming along. Seems being the key word here.
“Mr. Landry, thank you for meeting me here today.” Mr. Arnold shakes my hand before flipping to a page on his clipboard. “My team is ready to go forward with the kitchen remodel but we’re still missing the permits we need for the gas and water. Without those, we won’t be able to hook up the appliances once they’re installed.”
“I thought Ms. Collins had already taken care of all the permits?”
“Not that I’m aware of. We have what we need for the rest of the building, just not the kitchen. Ms. Collins hasn’t been returning my calls lately,” Mr. Arnold admits and I start seeing red. It’s only been a couple of weeks and, already, Alex is starting to fuck things up. Not only has she dropped the ball on some important business, like permits, but she’s also been interfering with family time, including Sunday dinners. The last two Sundays, like clockwork, it’s been something—water leak, supply emergency. Normally, I’d be getting an ear full from my mama over it, but she knows I’m busy and I think she’s trying to let this feud between Deacon and I blow over.
“Well, let’s see if she’ll answer my call.” I dial Alex’s number and take a few steps away from Mr. Arnold just in case I let some cuss words fly. I’m trying to stay cool and professional but, damn, if Alex isn’t making it difficult.
She picks up on the second ring. “Micah, darlin’, how are you?”
“Alex, where are the permits needed for the kitchen remodel?” I don’t have time for chit chat.
“What do you mean? I faxed them over to Mr. Arnold’s office yesterday.” Her voice is sugary-sweet over the phone and I wonder if she’s with someone she’s trying to impress.
“He says he doesn’t have them. Can you bring your copy to the building?”
“I don’t know, I’d have to look for them. When do you need them?”
I grit my teeth and spit out, “Right the fuck now, Alex,” before looking to see if anyone can hear me. Thankfully, I’m the only one in the area. After I take a calming breath, I speak in a nicer tone. “We need those permits today. Mr. Arnold’s crew is ready to start working but they can’t until they have those papers. Don’t make us lose a day of progress.”
“I just love it when you’re all demanding and serious, Micah. Such an alpha male.” It sounds like she’s sighing into the phone and I’m two seconds away from hanging up on her. Alpha male? What the hell is she talking about?
“If you faxed the papers yesterday, then I’m sure you have your copy. Get the permits over here, now,” I bark out before disconnecting my phone. I’ll show her alpha male.
Twenty minutes later, the front door of the building opens and Alex blows in with the late fall breeze, looking like she just left a spa day with her girlfriends. On daddy’s dime, I’m sure. As far as I know, the only thing Alex does is work for her father and I use the term work lightly. Mr. Collins deals in real estate, just like his father did. I’m sure she sells a few things here and there, but not nearly enough to support the type of lifestyle she leads.
“Micah,” she croons, pushing her oversized sunglasses to the top of her head. Walking toward me, she reaches out and pulls me toward her, like she’s going to air kiss my fucking cheeks, but there’s no air, just kiss.
It’s all I can do to keep my composure, but the contractor is here and I’m trying to be professional. So, instead of rebuking her, I smile tightly and straighten, clearing my throat. “Alex,” I say curtly. “Did you bring the permits?”
“Right.” She goes all business, opening up an oversized bag and pulling out a file. “These are what I have.”
Mr. Arnold steps over and takes the stack of papers from her, grunting his appreciation.
“I faxed these over yesterday,” Alex says, walking over to the newly installed bar and tossing her bag on top.
“These are the ones we already have,” Mr. Arnold says, thrusting them back at her. “I need the ones for gas and water.” It seems as though he’s lost his patience with my business partner and I don’t blame him one bit.
Her blue eyes go wide at his abruptness and her mouth opens wide. “Well, those were the ones my assistant gave me.” Her tone is unapologetic and condescending.
Her assistant?
“Alex,” I start, low and calm, but inside I’m feeling anything but. “You had one job. Secure the permits. You assured me that wouldn’t be a problem. They were supposed to be ready by the beginning of the week and it’s now Wednesday. And I’ve had to make an extra trip here, when I should be attending to business back home.” My voice raises as I continue. “If we don’t have these permits, work doesn’t get done. Mr. Arnold here has a lot of other jobs to attend to. His time is valuable.”
I feel like I’m speaking to a child, but I’m at my wits end today. Tired and pissed off—it’s never a good combination.
“Well, my time is valuable too, and it’s taken me an entire week to be your beck and call girl.” Alex’s cool demeanor is slipping and she stomps a few steps across the wooden floor, crossing her arms over her chest like a petulant child.
“My beck and call girl?” I seethe. Fuck professional. “This is our business. Last time I checked your name is on the dotted line, just like mine. So, you have to pull your weight around here. If you don’t, this will never work. We might as well close up shop. Turn out the fucking lights, the party’s over.” I throw my hands in the air for dramatic effect and her eyes go wide. I know she’s not used to being spoken to like this, but I’m tired of the diva behavior and I’m tired of busting my balls over something that’s supposed to be a partnership. “I can’t do your job and mine too. I still have a restaurant to run in Baton Rouge. This is never gonna work.”
Fuck, I miss Deacon.
Shit like this is never an issue with us. We both put everything we’ve got into whatever we do. One hundred percent. Never anything less. And that thought pisses me off even more, because I don’t want to think about the shit storm that is me and Deacon right now.
My plate is fucking full.
“I’m sorry,” Alex says, uncrossing her arms and letting her shoulders drop. “I’ll get the permits tomorrow. Will tomorrow work for you, Mr. Arnold?” The professional Alex is back and I don’t know why or what her agenda is, but I’m so tired of her bullshit.
“Tomorrow,” Mr. Arnold grunts, looking at Alex and then at me, raising his eyebrows as if to say this one’s a doozy.
Don’t I fucking know.
Right now, I hear Deacon’s voice in the back of my mind saying I told you so and I want to punch him in his fucking face.
I walk over to the bar and look over the plans while I let my blood cool. I feel Alex walk up beside me, but I don’t look at her. I can’t. I’ll go off on her again if I do.
“I really am sorry,” she says, her hand landing on my shoulder and I move until I’m out of her reach. “I’ll do better.”
I finally look up at her and she seems sincere, but it doesn’t excuse her lack of motivation and responsibility.
“You gotta do your part.” Leaning against the bar, I look out at the open floor plan and I can see in my mind what this place can be. I want it. I want my dream, what’s in my head. But I know I can’t do it alone. Maybe if I could clone myself, but since that’s not an option, I need Alex. “You want this, right?”
“Yes,” she says, nodding her head. “I want it.”
“Well, then fucking act like it. This isn’t one of daddy’s deals that he’ll pick up the slack on. It’s your name on the fucking contract. Do what you say you’re going to do and do it on time.” I know my words are a bit harsh, but maybe what she needs is some tough love to light a fire under her ass. I doubt she’s had much of that in her life.
“Okay.” The pout and soft tone of her voice tell me her feelings are hurt, but I don’t have time for all that girl bullshit right now.
“And get the damn permits. Tomorrow.”
“I will.”
I let out a long sigh and rub my hands down my face.
“You look tired.” She sighs, walking closer.
“I am, but since I’m here, we might as well go over the order forms for the tables and chairs.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, we need to stay on schedule.”
“You know,” she says, her voice dropping an octave as she leans over the bar. “You can always stay at my place. I have an apartment not far from here.”
“No.” The harsh laugh that follows my response makes her pause. Not just no, but hell no.
“Well, it’d be better than driving home like this,” she says, pointing to my tired face. “It’s dangerous, you know. Driving sleepy is almost as bad as driving drunk. It’s statistical.”
I quirk a smile at her effort, but the answer is still no. “Come on, let’s go over this list so I can go home before I become a statistic.”
By the time Alex and I hash out the exact tables and chairs we want to order—quantity, size, and price—the sun has already set and I’m walking back to my truck in the dark, feeling every bit of exhaustion hit me like a tidal wave.
After I make it out of downtown and back onto the main highway, I exit off and stop into a gas station for a fill up and a large cup of coffee. Yawning, I stretch my arms above my head and walk around my truck a few times, trying to wake myself up.
New Orleans doesn’t seem that far from Baton Rouge until you drive it every other day and meet yourself coming and going. Damn, I just need my bed and at least six hours of sleep.
As the pump clicks off, signaling the tank is full, I glance at my watch and see it’s already after ten. I don’t know how it got so late. And I haven’t talked to Dani since this morning.
With my tank full of gas and my cup full of coffee, I pull back out onto I-10. The traffic is still a little thick, even this late in the evening, because this is Nola and there’s always something going on here.
It’s when I make it to the quieter, less congested portion of the highway that I start to feel my eyes closing on their own accord. Doing all the tricks of the trade—rubbing my eyes, rolling down the window, and turning the radio up to an ear-splitting volume—I will myself to stay the fuck awake.
Alex’s words from earlier about sleepy driving and being a statistic floats back into my foggy brain and I have to laugh, shaking my head. Fuck if I’m going to prove her right.
Hands at ten and two and my chest practically up on the steering wheel, I wide-eye it another ten miles down the road. Maybe if I’d got more than two hours of sleep last night this wouldn’t be a problem. But I ended up at Grinders placing all of the end-of-the-month orders to get as far ahead as I possibly could. I didn’t expect to be driving to Nola today. I planned on being home in time to cook dinner for my girl.
The next thing I know, my tires hit the grid on the side of the road and I swerve, nearly losing control of my truck.
“Fuck.”
My heart is pounding out of my chest. I swear I was awake, mouthing the words of the song on the radio one minute, and practically flipping my truck in the ditch the next. Thank God there weren’t any cars driving too close to me.
Letting my heart settle back into my chest, I blindly grab for my phone on the center console and hit the speed dial for Dani.
“Hey, baby,” she says, picking up on the second ring. Her voice sounds sleepy and sexy and the best thing I’ve heard all day. “You on your way home?”
“Yeah,” I manage to get out without sounding too worked up.
“Everything okay?”
Maybe I didn’t manage to hide my panic or maybe Dani is so good at reading me, I can’t hide anything from her, even if I want to.
“Just tired and missin’ you.”
“How much further until you’re home?”
“About thirty minutes. Think you can talk to me until I get there?”
I hear the rustling of sheets and Dani clears her throat. “Of course.” Without me saying another word, she says, “Tell me about your day.”