Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 94678 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94678 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
“If I had, I would have…” His words trail off to silence.
I refuse to let him off so easily. “You would have…?”
He doesn’t answer me. He can’t. Because that would require him to admit that he wouldn’t have done shit. He would have still left, and I still would have put too much concentration on my heartache instead of the business that once kept my family’s stomachs full.
“Go home, Mikhail,” I repeat for the third time tonight while breaking through the back exit door. “And never come back.”
Chapter 6
Mikhail
In less than twelve hours, I watch Emerson walk away from me for the third time. It stings, but this, her family’s legacy appearing more like a shanty than an establishment that once attracted a thousand patrons a night, fucking burns.
Inga’s pride and joy was once Lidny’s hotspot. It catered to all walks of life. The rich, the poor, and everyone in between. It was so popular that I emulated its success in numerous bars and nightclubs across the country.
Its business plan made me rich.
What the fuck happened?
As disappointment smacks into me, I fight to hear both the pleas of my heart and my head. I should walk away as per Emerson’s many requests, but I wasn’t lying when I said I bought half this bar from her mother as a wedding present for Emerson.
My share of the once-thriving establishment gave me the capital to purchase my first watering hole. I’ve added two a year to my portfolio ever since.
My eyes fall to the ledgers Emerson was going over when I watched her from afar for the past hour. I only interrupted her when the gleam her eyes got at the last call for drinks sparked through her tired gaze for the quickest second.
The last call signaled that we were only an hour away from the rest of the night being solely about us. No drunk patrons, no wandering hands. It was just two teens in an empty bar that inaugurated my obsession with the retail industry that serves alcoholic beverages.
I had no clue what I wanted to be when I grew up until I walked into this bar, locked eyes with the pretty girl behind the counter, and grew an obsession with anything she had an interest in.
I didn’t even have a favorite color until I took in Emerson’s sea-moss-green eyes for the first time.
With my reputation on the line and my name still on the deed, I ignore the niggle in my gut warning me that this is a bad idea. I snatch up the books months overdue to be balanced and a bottle of whiskey from the shelf before I kick open the door of the only space that offered Emerson and me an ounce of privacy from a world determined to tear us apart.
I don’t know how much time passes before I detect that I’m being watched. My ass is dead, the whiskey is half-empty, and I’m reasonably sure the wetness in the corner of my mouth is drool. It isn’t thick enough to announce I’ve been asleep for hours, but it indicates that I slept sometime between Emerson’s departure and her return.
Emerson’s eyes, just as puffy as mine, shoot down to the books I’ve balanced before they return to my face.
“Before you say anything,” I blurt out before she can speak.
My head is thumping and I drank on an empty stomach, but none of that matters right now. This—she—is far more important.
“Your supplier is overcharging. The price list he gave you is the retail price of the goods, not the wholesale cost.” I hold my finger in the air when she attempts to interrupt me. “When you cut deliveries from three deliveries a week to one, he didn’t remove the extra two charges from your monthly statements. He’s also charging import fees on products made right fucking here in our own country.”
Emerson’s expression matches mine when I unearthed the error. “That dirty rotten scoundrel.”
I nod, agreeing with her. “I contacted Darris on your behalf last night. He wasn’t happy about my midnight call, but he shut the fuck up when I reminded him whose name is also on the deed of this business.”
Her brows are tightly knitted, but they don’t match the relief shooting through her eyes.
Her angry expression switches entirely to thankful when I say, “Your account will be credited with the missing funds before the bar opens this afternoon. The amount isn’t life-changing, but it will cover most of those.”
I wave my hand at the overdue bills tacked to the noticeboard next to her desk before standing to my feet and stretching. My body is all twisted up, and I’m sure I’ll be dodging bullets soon, so it’s better to stretch now than after I’m shot.
Emerson surprises me. She doesn’t come out lock, stock, and barrel for me interfering in a business I will never see as mine. She takes in the updated books with the eagle eye of a first-year accountant before she strays her eyes to the bottle of whiskey that kept me awake long enough to unearth the numerous injustices.