had spent hours sanding herself. In perfect unison, her team began to kick and stomp to the music, following the choreography they’d spent hours learning.
Tucker’s eagle eye watched each of them, looking for any small imperfection they could work on the next time they practiced. Her team often left those sessions dripping with sweat and groaning about how much of a taskmaster she could be. But they looked forward to them anyway. She made sure they still had fun, with lots of laughter and camaraderie.
This might be work, but she regarded every woman on her staff as a friend. Over the last year, she’d made a point to foster the idea that they were family, not just coworkers. And she really believed that. On the floor, it was important to look out for each other, especially during busy nights like tonight.
“Tucker.” Wyatt walked up, his large shoulder brushing against hers. He’d been with her from the very beginning as her head of security. But they’d known each other longer than that. Wyatt had worked at the bar she’d managed while putting herself through grad school.
At one point he’d tried to get into her pants, but she’d shut him down damn fast. Almost as bad as messing with a military man would be sleeping with one of her coworkers or employees. She didn’t mix business and pleasure.
Now they were just good friends. Wyatt often stayed late to walk her out. He’d become the overly protective little brother she’d never had. And since he and Michelle, one of her best waitresses, had been together for almost six months now, everything had worked out for the best anyway.
“Thanks for helping me handle that guy and his dog before.”
“Didn’t look like you needed much help, boss. As usual. You had things well in hand.”
“Yeah, but it’s always better to have backup. At least he was smart enough to realize he was outnumbered and should leave quietly. I would’ve hated to make a scene.”
“But you would’ve done it anyway.”
She shrugged. “Sure. If I needed to.”
Wyatt nodded. They’d worked together long enough to know how the other operated.
“I see you sent Kayla over to defuse the bachelor nightmare that was brewing.” Wyatt tipped his chin in the direction of the bar. The song had flipped over to something about a girl and a tractor. Her team had melted into the crowd, back at it, serving the customers.
Everyone except Kayla. She was sitting on the bar, her tiny shorts riding up and flashing the curve of her ass. She tossed her long mane of red curls and laughed, the throaty sound carrying across the bar.
One of the guys tried to run his hand up the outside of her thigh. Before he could get far, Kayla smacked his hand and let out another peal of laughter like it was a joke.
“Stay close to her,” Tucker said, shaking her head.
A self-defense instructor and rape victim advocate by day, Kayla could take care of herself. But that didn’t mean Tucker was willing to leave her without backup if she needed it.
“You got it, boss.”
“And keep your eyes on your job, not on my dancer.” She smacked his arm, offering a glare they both knew was fake because she couldn’t quite keep her lips from twitching into a smile. Besides she didn’t really mean it. He and Michelle were good for each other.
Wyatt tossed her a grin of his own and wandered closer to Kayla. She glanced up, gave him a little nod and half smile of appreciation before returning her attention to the guys crowding around her.
On a bright note, Kayla should get an amazing tip. The money would definitely come in handy when she had to pay her tuition next semester. It wouldn’t be long before she had her master’s in psychology.
Tucker didn’t suffer any fools. She only hired people who had intelligence and drive. Ambition was a prerequisite. She wanted her business to be a stepping stone to more for everyone who walked through the doors—just like it was quickly becoming the kernel of her own dream come to life.
Growing up, she didn’t anticipate her calling in life would be to own a bar. But her entire outlook changed when she took a bartending gig at a little dive outside her college campus. At first, she was just looking for something that didn’t require a lot of effort and brought home enough to pay her tuition.
But in no time, she’d fallen in love with the life, her coworkers and customers. There was something about the camaraderie that fed her soul just as much as the classes she crammed for each day. And when her aunt left her a decent inheritance, Tucker had decided to combine it with her newly minted MBA and open her own business.
Months of pouring over plans, market research, studying the industry to determine what she could offer that other bars couldn’t...it hadn’t been easy, but it was absolutely worth it. Almost a year later, she was well on her way to success.
Shoving away from the column she’d been leaning against, Tucker headed for the women’s restroom to do a quick check. Pushing open the custom door made from reclaimed wood, she scooted past the line of waiting women with a smile and a murmured, “Excuse me.”
Everyone seemed happy, which is what she always liked to see. A couple of women were crowded around the long mirror, gossiping about a guy and reapplying gloss.
Grabbing a stack of heavy paper towels stamped with the Kentucky Rose logo, she refilled the first dispenser on the far side of the trough sink.
“Those napkin thingies are adorable,” one of the women said. “That’s what I love about this place. It’s the little touches.”
“Like the armadillo!” someone else exclaimed from behind the stall door.
“Thanks,” Tucker said, flashing an appreciative smile. “This is my home and I want it to feel that way for everyone.”
“Nicest bar I’ve ever been to,” someone else said, before slipping out the door.
“Not pretentious or seedy. Welcoming.”
That was exactly what she’d been going for with each and every detail she’d layered into her bar. Tucker turned to fill the dispenser at the opposite end of the counter, but stopped when something caught her eye. Someone had dropped trash along the back of the sinks.
It shouldn’t bother her, but it did. She realized she ran a bar and that most people didn’t treat it like their own place, but what kind of prick just left garbage on the counter when there was a can not three steps away?
Fishing between the wall and the towel tray, Tucker snagged a corner of whatever it was and tugged—but got a hell of a lot more than she’d expected.
It wasn’t just some cellophane from a new tube of lip gloss or even a condom wrapper. There, in her hand, sat a small bag of white crystals.
Maybe she shouldn’t have been surprised—again, it was a bar, after all—but she was. Tucker had a strict rule and everyone who worked for her knew it. No drugs—using or selling—by staff or customers. Anyone suspected of being high was shown the door.
Tucker stared at the baggie in her hand. Small enough that none of the women around her even appeared to have noticed. What the hell was she supposed to do with it?
