that she blamed Ben for the distance—she had been equally hesitant. Their father had kept her existence a secret from his only son, too. They both had some making up for lost time to do.
That was why Essie had grasped at his request to help out, when his current manager had quit unexpectedly, with both eager hands. If she had a career plan, bar work would have no place in it, but the job comprised predominantly night shifts, which protected her dedicated blog-writing time during the day. And until she decided if she was cut out for a stuffy academic position, it provided a perfect stopgap. And the pay Ben had offered was great.
Essie rounded the corner, dodging a steady stream of smartly dressed office workers and frantic stallholders setting up their fresh produce and delicious-smelling street food for Soho’s famous, three-hundred-year-old Berwick Street Market.
She stepped off the kerb to dodge a fruit and veg vendor carrying a precarious tower of produce-laden boxes six high, narrowly avoiding a delivery van that screeched to a halt. The coffee sloshed inside the takeaway cup with a violent lurch. A spout of scalding liquid jettisoned from the sip hole in the plastic lid and sprayed the front of Essie’s favourite dress, deliberately chosen for her first day at work.
She cursed while a trail of coffee dripped down her cleavage and soaked into her bra. Her eyes stung as she dabbed at the brown stain with her fingers and stepped back onto the pavement, pushing her way back into the hustle of the commuter crowds.
She breathed through her disappointment over the dress, her face forcing a bright smile. Ben wouldn’t care how she dressed. Only that she turned up, offered him as much help as she could and became someone he could rely on. And if she hurried, perhaps she could beat Ben and his business partner there and she could clean up before making a good impression.
This part of Soho housed an array of trendy bars, eclectic restaurants and small, elegant hotels. The innocuous, black-painted street frontage of The Yard—sandwiched between a designer menswear store and an Italian deli—meant Essie almost walked straight past. If it hadn’t been for a van parked on half of the pavement and the sign writer blocking the other half with his ladder while he worked on the shiny new nameplate, she might have missed her destination completely.
Essie followed the harassed sign writer’s directions to the narrow alleyway between the deli and the club that led to the rear entrance of The Yard. Yanking open the ancient, squeaky door, she entered the cool gloom of the darkened interior.
‘Ben?’
She made her way along a maze of dimly lit corridors, following the sounds of activity, her insides a flurry of twisting energy, one she couldn’t blame on the barely tasted coffee.
The bar area swarmed with electricians rigging reams and reams of neon lights into every available nook and cranny. The sharp chemical tang of new paint filled the air and a very harassed-looking Ben paced near the front entrance door with his mobile phone glued to the side of his head. When he saw Essie, he visibly sagged and quickly ended his call.
‘I am so glad to see you.’ He gripped her elbows and kissed her cheek, a gesture that felt far from natural. She forced her breathing to deepen so she didn’t pass out from excitement.
Baby steps.
Although they’d known of each other’s existence for some years, their sibling relationship held a new and fragile quality. Recalling the first time Ben had made contact still held the power to suffocate her with emotions; the date, time and what she’d been wearing when his call had come in engraved on her memory as if it were yesterday.
Twelve months ago, he’d relocated full-time to London, which had taken their contact from the occasional awkward video call to an actual face-to-face meeting. From that moment Essie had been secretly and cautiously smitten, because all they’d really shared to date was a genetic bond with their devious and unscrupulous father, a string of hesitant emails and a few quick, stilted coffee dates. If they were going to have a lasting relationship in the future, using this opportunity to get to know each other better was crucial.
Essie shrugged off her doubts by rummaging in her backpack for her notebook and a pen. She was here to lighten Ben’s burden. To show him who she was. To build on their sibling status, having been denied that opportunity all their lives by their father.
She bit down hard on her lip—she wouldn’t spoil her first day by thinking of Frank Newbold. She flipped open the notebook, pen poised, a picture, she hoped, of cool, unfrazzled competence. The coffee stain notwithstanding.
‘Tell me what you need. You look stressed.’ And so much like their father, a man whose face she could no longer bear to look at.
Ben scrubbed his fingers through his already messy hair.
‘The shit’s hit the fan with one of my New York clubs...’ He winced.
As well as renovating The Yard in Soho, Ben owned and managed a string of clubs in New York, where he’d grown up.
‘You don’t need to hear my work woes.’ His wince turned into a hesitant smile. ‘But I am going to have to leave you to things here—I have to fly to the States tonight and sort shit out.’
Essie rolled her shoulders back. That he would trust her with his shiny new cocktail bar and nightclub gave her shivers that bubbled up at the back of her throat, threatening to close off her windpipe.
‘Of course.’ She swallowed, eager for another of his grateful smiles. ‘That’s why I’m here.’ She could pull a pint from her years of working the uni bar, and the rest she’d learn on the job while her own career path loitered in an uncertain slump. Her motivations were more about personal bridge-building than flexing her managerial muscles in the hospitality industry. But looking at the furrows in Ben’s brow and the dark circles around his tired eyes, she knew she’d walk a path of hot coals to help, even if it took her away from developing her relationship blog full-time, one of the ideas she’d considered now that she’d finished her PhD.
A small frown settled between his brows. ‘Are you sure you can spare the time? Shouldn’t you be job-hunting or schmoozing professors?’
Essie snorted a nervous laugh. Now that she’d finished her PhD, an academic position held far less appeal than it should. She’d considered a university teaching post but was way too intimidated to believe she had anything useful to teach others. She’d love to focus full-time on promoting her blog to wider audiences, but part of her secretly baulked at dedicating all her energy to making it a success—the ‘lost little girl’ part of her who missed her dad and couldn’t understand why he spent so much time away. After all, what did she know about healthy human relationships? Everyone would see through her, know she was a fraud.
‘I’ll be fine until you can replace me with someone better qualified.’ She had plenty of time to build her own career, whatever that looked like. She only had one brother. And, for now, he needed her.
He cracked a wide smile. ‘Great.’
Essie flicked through her notebook to hide the attack of rapid blinking. She’d be the best bloody bar manager he’d ever seen. He wouldn’t be able to resist falling deeply in sibling love with her.
‘So, to recap on our previous conversation...’ She tapped the pen on the page, tempted to push it behind her ear to inspire greater confidence. Perhaps she should have bought a clipboard. ‘My predecessor has already hired waitstaff, bulk ordered the beverages and organised a cleaning crew...’
Ben
