Wyatt hadn’t heard anything past “ward of the state” and “foster care.”
All the chaos inside him solidified into rock-solid commitment. Fuck foster care. This was his brother’s kid. And there was no way his parents could keep up with Belle.
He pushed to his feet and faced the desk. “Where do I sign?”
8
Gypsy was a goddamned sucker.
As her third candidate for the manager position told Gypsy about her education—a degree in hospitality management from freaking Cornell, for God’s sake—Gypsy glanced toward the bar’s front door.
When would she ever learn? Wyatt had been gone nearly three hours, and Belle had gotten bored of hanging with Gypsy within thirty minutes. It seemed that things good enough to occupy a three-year-old did nothing for a five-year-old. And since Wyatt hadn’t returned when he said he would, Gypsy had no choice but to bring the girl to the bar for interviews that were already scheduled. She absolutely could not put off finding a manager even another day.
God, she felt like an idiot for trusting him to be back on time.
“I’ve managed four different clubs,” Caity told Gypsy. “Most recently the top two clubs in Boston. And, honestly, neither owner was interested in any part of the business other than rubbing elbows with their clients.”
“Why did you quit?”
This came from Belle, who was sitting with them, elbow on the table, chin in her hand, feet swinging. She was an extrovert, no doubt, and she’d been riveted to the interviews from the beginning. Gypsy had tried everything she could to distract Belle, but in the end, the girl had proved to be quite the little investigator, getting away with questions like “Are you married?” and “Do you have kids” when Gypsy couldn’t. At least not legally.
Caity glanced at Belle, then back to Gypsy. It was a valid question, one Belle had obviously picked up from prior interviews, so Gypsy just smiled and waited for an answer.
“I um…” Caity glanced at Belle, then Gypsy again. “The activities there weren’t always aboveboard, if you know what I mean. The hip-hop scene can get pretty, um…”
“Dirty,” Gypsy finished for Caity. The woman got points for her careful choice of words in front of Belle. She chalked up a few more for walking away from the illegal, unethical activity. But she did have a bit of snobbiness Gypsy hoped stemmed from nerves. “I’ve been there. Worked at Moon Cat in Miami before I bought this bar.”
“Oh, wow,” Caity said, impressed. “That’s quite the renowned club.”
“Unfortunately, not for its aboveboard activities.”
“Right.”
“The most important question is,” Belle said, “do you like Fifth of Jack?”
Caity’s brows shot up. “The band? I love them.”
As if brandishing a wand, Belle gestured toward Caity. “You’re hired.”
Gypsy had to choke back an all-out laugh. Belle was intelligent and precocious, and she easily lightened Gypsy’s mood. “Thank you for that vote of approval, Belle. I just have a few more questions.”
The bar door opened, and Wyatt slinked into the shadows, surreptitiously moving toward the table. Hands in his pockets, shoulders slouched, his body language screamed defeat. Clearly, things hadn’t gone well with the attorney.
Caity glanced that direction. Her expression showed recognition, but she returned her attention to Gypsy the way a professional used to dealing with celebrities should. Another point in Caity’s favor. The woman had turned out to be as amazing as her résumé, and Gypsy was leaning toward Belle’s decision to hire her. Gypsy could taste the relief this would bring to her life.
“You seem like a perfect fit,” Gypsy told her. “Would you mind just watching Belle a second while I talk with—”
Belle had spotted Wyatt and she lifted a hand to wave. “Hi, Uncle Wyatt. We’re interviewing managers. Be very quiet.”
Gypsy stood, searching Wyatt’s expression for answers.
“I’m sorry?” Caity said, not so pleasantly surprised. Her gaze darted to Belle and back. “You want me to watch her?”
“Just for a minute. I need to talk with my friend, then we can continue.”
Gypsy only got two steps toward Wyatt before a chair scraped the floor. She turned back to find Caity slinging her purse strap over her shoulder.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Wright,” Caity said. “This isn’t going to work out for me.”
Gypsy faced Caity, confusion and concern tightening her stomach. “What? Why not?”
“After years of being undervalued and overlooked by men in this industry, I was excited to work for a woman who has been so successful, even if it meant a pay cut. But I’m not interested in babysitting my boss’s kid or being sidelined so she can clear up personal issues. I made this interview my top priority and planned my day accordingly, but you clearly don’t see this position as importantly as I do.”
“I’m so sorry,” Gypsy said. “I didn’t mean to make you feel—”
“I believe actions, not words. Your actions tell me everything I need to know. Good luck to you.”
Gypsy stood there dumbfounded as Caity left the bar. She wasn’t sure how to process her sudden departure and cutting words. She couldn’t exactly qualify having a five-year-old in on the interviews as professional, but it wasn’t like she’d planned for this. Then again, if she’d just stood her ground and told Wyatt no, she would have been putting as much value on this position as Caity obviously had.
“Why is she mad?” Belle wore a worried frown. “Did I do something wrong?”
Gypsy ran her hand over Belle’s dark hair. “No, sweetie, she’s just looking for something I can’t give right now. Go say hi to your uncle.”
Belle skipped to Wyatt, chattering about helping Gypsy with the bar and the interviews, but Caity’s exit reminded Gypsy of just how hard it was to find the manager she needed. And she’d just let the most experienced candidate walk out. Pressure renewed, Gypsy turned her glare on Wyatt.
He took one look at Gypsy’s expression and crouched in front of Belle. “If you can line up all the bottles of beer behind the bar in alphabetical order, I’ll give you ten bucks.”
Her eyes went comically wide. “Ten bucks?”
“Ten bucks. And after I finish talking to Gypsy, we’ll go anywhere you want to spend it.”
“Deal.” Belle ran around the bar, and the clink of glass sounded as Belle pulled bottles out of the boxes Gypsy had hauled from the back earlier.
“Goddammit, Wyatt.” Gypsy had a hard time keeping her voice lowered, angrier with each step she took toward him to get out of earshot of Belle. “I told you just last night to call if you’re going to be late. I also told you to be back in two hours. I need a fucking manager, and I can’t say I blame her”—she gestured toward the door—”for seeing me as unprofessional when I brought a five-year-old to her interview.”
“I can go after her,” he offered, serious and apologetic. “I’ll explain everything. I’ll get her to come back in.”