Rebel Heir

  Copyright © 2018 by Vi Keeland and Penelope Ward

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the authors’ imaginations. Any resemblance to actual persons, things, living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

  REBEL HEIR

  Editor: Elaine York, Allusion Graphics, LLC

  Cover model: Micah Truitt

  Photographer: Leonardo Corredor

  Cover designer: Sommer Stein, Perfect Pear Creative

  Proofreading & Formatting: Elaine York, Allusion Graphics, LLC

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Acknowledgements

  Other Books by Vi Keeland & Penelope Ward

  Other Books by Vi Keeland

  Other Books by Penelope Ward

  “I’ve never even had sex on the beach, no less made one.”

  “There are two other bartenders. They can help you make whatever you don’t know. Pleeeeaaase. My sister’s water just broke, and I want to drive back to New Jersey tonight to avoid the morning traffic. I’ll owe you one.” I heard Riley pouting through the phone.

  “But I was going to write tonight.”

  “You didn’t come to the beach today because you were going to write all day. How many words have you written so far?”

  I looked down at my laptop. Seven. I wrote seven damn words today. “More than yesterday.” Sadly, that was the truth. “But I’m on a roll.”

  “Pretty please. It’s an emergency, or I wouldn’t ask.”

  I huffed, “Fine.”

  Riley squealed. “Thank you! Oh! And wear something low cut to show off that big rack of yours. No one will care if you don’t know how to make a drink with those on display.”

  “Goodbye, Riley.”

  I looked in the mirror. My dark hair was in a messy bun piled on top of my head. I had no makeup on and already switched out my contacts for glasses that hid my tired, blue eyes. I sighed. At least I’d showered today.

  My roommate, Riley, bartended in one of the trendy Hampton bars down by the beach. It was the type of place that snotty, rich, yuppie guys sported polos with little horses embroidered on them and loafers with no socks. The women were all thin and flaunted excessive, perfectly tanned skin. After the last run-in I had with a guy there, I definitely wasn’t looking to attract attention. I brushed on some mascara, let my hair down from the bun, and didn’t bother to put my contacts back in. Good enough.

  The parking lot at The Heights was packed. The place had a rooftop bar. Thus, the name. People were smoking out front, and the music from inside blared so loud that the windows vibrated. I remembered from the one time I’d come that there were three bars…the rooftop, one inside, and one outside on the deck that overlooked the beach. There was also an adjacent restaurant that seemed to be popular before the bar crowd took over. I wasn’t sure where my roommate was working tonight.

  A giant man opened the door as I approached, so I went to check inside first. Riley spotted me right away. Yelling, she waved two hands in the air from behind the bar, then cupped them around her mouth. “Come on back. I’ll give you a quick tour.” I walked to the end of the long bar and lifted the hinged top for access.

  “This is Carly.” She pointed to a redhead wearing pigtails and a half-shirt. The woman waved. “She works the outside bar with Michael. Just popped in to steal some of our glasses because she didn’t stock her own bar well enough.”

  Carly shrugged before lifting a box and yelled over the music. “I’m always late.”

  Riley pointed to a shorter, blonde girl who made Carly’s skimpy outfit look matronly. For a second, it made me regret not changing into something a little nicer or at least fixing myself up a bit. “And that is Tia. She works the left half of the inside bar. I work the right.”

  Tia waved.

  Riley drummed her fingernails on the top of a row of taps. “Okay. So we have Bud, Stella, Corona, Heineken, Amstel, and Lighthouse Ale, which is a local brew. Push the local brew if they tell you to pick one.”

  “Got it.” I nodded.

  She turned to the mirrored shelves behind us. “Everything is top shelf. The most popular stuff—vodka, Jack Daniels, rum, Fireball, tequila—are all stocked on the left and right side of the bar so we’re not banging into each other as much.” She pointed to beneath the bar. “Glasses, syrups, sinks, and coolers for bottled beer are all under here. On top of the red cooler, there’s a laminated book that gives you the ingredients to any cocktail you don’t know how to make.”

  “Red cooler. Got it.”

  She tapped her finger to her lip. “What else? Oh. If anyone gives you any problems, just whistle, and Oak will take care of it.”

  “Oak?”

  She motioned to the front door manned by the huge man that I’d passed on the way in. “The bouncer. I don’t know his real name. Everyone just calls him Oak. I assume it’s because he’s built like a tree. He’s the bouncer and fill-in manager when the owner isn’t around.” Riley pulled her purse from under the bar and lifted the strap onto her shoulder. “Which, lucky for me and you, he shouldn’t be tonight. He’d freak out if he knew I left someone without experience behind the bar.”

  My eyes widened. “He shouldn’t be in tonight? What happens if he shows up?”

  “Relax. The rich prick was in the City for some board meeting today. He’s not going to show up.”

  Riley kissed my cheek and ran out from behind the door. She yelled over her shoulder, “Thanks for doing this. I owe you one.”

  My first few customers ordered beer. Aside from some extra foam because I hadn’t mastered the art of pouring yet, no one seemed to be the wiser—that is, until a group of four women approached.

  “I’ll have a Cosmo.”

  “I’ll have a Paloma.”

  “I’ll have a Moscow Mule.”

  A what?

  “I’ll take a Corona, please.”

  At least the one with manners wouldn’t be getting her drink screwed up. I poured the Corona, shook up a Cosmo—since it happened to be my favorite, I actually knew how to make that one—and then started to flip through the drink mix book that was on top of the red cooler. Only…it didn’t have a recipe for a Moscow Mule or a Paloma. I headed down to Tia.

  “Hey…what goes into a Moscow Mule?”

  “Seriously? I’ve never been asked to make one, but I think it’s two ounces of vodka, four ounces of ginger beer, and lime juice.”

  “Thanks. What about a Paloma?”

  “Who the hell are you serving?” She laughed. “Two ounces of tequila, seven of grapefruit soda, and lime juice. The weird drink mixers like ginger beer and grapefruit soda are in the bottom of the cooler. You’ll have to dig.”

  “Got it. Thanks.” br />
  On my way back down to the other end of the bar, I stopped to refill a beer and made change for someone. The music was just so loud and distracting, and I was feeling a bit overwhelmed, so by the time I grabbed glasses and started to make the ladies’ drinks, I wasn’t sure I remembered it correctly.

  Was it ginger ale, beer, vodka, and lemon? I looked down to the other end of the bar. Tia had a shaker going in one hand and the other was pouring a beer. The bar was also starting to get backed up.

  “Did you forget about our drinks?” Mule lover had an attitude.

  “Coming right up.” And don’t blame me if it tastes like crap.

  I whipped up my best impersonation of the stupid cocktails and poured them both into a fancy glass. Everything tasted better in a swanky glass anyway. After I rang them up, I moved on to the next customer.

  “I’ll take a mudslide,” the guy with the pastel pink polo said.

  “Umm. Okay.” I glanced down to Tia. She was still busy. I couldn’t interrupt her for every customer. “That’s with Kahlua, right?”

  The guy gave me a look. What was with everyone at this place? “Maybe you should get a job at the ice cream store down the block if you don’t know how to make a mudslide.”

  “Maybe you should drink beer instead of a ladies’ drink,” I countered.

  “It’s for my girlfriend. Not that it’s any of your business.”

  “Oh.”

  I walked to the recipe book. Why aren’t these things in alphabetical order? Mudslide was second to last. Vodka, Bailey’s Irish Cream, Kahlua, Milk—all in equal parts.

  Two other customers ordered their drinks as I mixed the cocktail. I needed to learn not to make eye contact until I was ready to take the next order. Because of the interruptions, I’d inadvertently put in Bailey’s twice and forgotten the milk.

  While I rang up snotty mudslide guy’s drink, the foursome of women I’d served returned to the bar. They pushed their way to the front and slammed two glasses down on the bar. The liquid from the drinks splashed all over.

  “These aren’t right. I don’t know what you put in them, but they taste terrible.”

  “Okay. Give me one minute, and I’ll remake them for you.”

  The woman at the forefront of the bitch brigade rolled her eyes.

  I took the twenty-dollar bill from mudslide guy over to the register and returned with his five dollars in change. Fifteen bucks. What a rip off.

  “Here you go.”

  The guy had a milk mustache as he lowered what I’d just concocted. “This isn’t right, either. Do you know what the hell you’re even doing back there?”

  “No!” I yelled back in defense. “I’m helping out a friend. You don’t have to be so rude. I’m doing my best.”

  I took my time remaking all three drinks and had the snooty patrons taste test them this time before walking away. I’d felt someone watching me from the end of the long bar, but had to work my way over.

  It wasn’t until I’d finished taking care of two more customers that I got a quick look at the eyes I’d felt following me. I did a double take. This guy was gorgeous. Drop dead gorgeous, but he also stood out like a pit bull amongst a sea of poodles. Black leather biker jacket, sun-kissed skin, scruff on his face, dirty blond hair that stuck out all over in a messy way that looked like maybe he’d just had sex. Really good sex. My eyes caught with his deep green ones, and his intense stare made me nervous. “I’ll be right with you.”

  He nodded once.

  After I finished with the guy next to him, I turned my attention to the rebel in the middle of a sea of pastel polo preppies.

  “What can I get for you?”

  “What do you know how to make?” God, the voice matched his face. Sexy, deep, and intense.

  Apparently, he’d been sitting there for a while and figured out I wasn’t the best bartender. “Beer,” I grinned. “I know how to make beer.”

  I caught a glimpse of a lip twitch—I thought. “The owner realized when he hired you that you only knew one drink recipe?”

  “Actually, he didn’t exactly hire me. I’m filling in for a friend, and I honestly don’t have a clue what I’m doing. I think I might’ve even given the last guy the wrong change.”

  The guy was quiet. He seemed to be studying me, and it made me uneasy. I didn’t know many actual badasses, and this guy was clearly a badass.

  “So…what can I get for you?”

  Rather than answer, he stood and took off his leather jacket. I gulped getting a look at the muscles bulging from the plain white T-shirt he wore. Tattoos covered his arms, coiling around like ivy to cover every inch of skin. I had the craziest urge to examine them up close—ask him what each of them meant.

  “What’s your name?” He hadn’t taken his eyes off of me, yet I didn’t really feel like he was checking me out. It was confusing and intriguing at the same time.

  “Gia.”

  “Gia.” He repeated after me. “Tell me, Gia, what would the owner think if he knew you were behind that bar giving out wrong change and pissing off his customers?”

  This guy might’ve been sexy as hell, but his sudden change in tone had warning bells going off. Yet, I didn’t walk away or call Oak. I stood there answering like an idiot. An idiot who vomited truth when she got nervous. “I’m thinking the owner would probably be pissed off. He wouldn’t see it as me doing a good deed for a friend who had to leave in an emergency.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Well…I heard he’s a prick.”

  He cocked a brow. “Yes. I’ve met him, and he is a prick.”

  Even though he’d agreed with me, it didn’t sound like he was on my side at all. I needed to extricate myself from this bizarre conversation. “So…would you like my specialty…a beer?”

  “Sure.”

  “What kind?”

  He shook his head slowly. “You pick.”

  Relieved to escape for a few minutes, I walked over to the tap, pulled a beer mug from the crate under the counter, and started to fill it with the local beer that Riley had told me to push. Still feeling those eyes on me, I glanced back over my shoulder at my rebel customer and found him staring. He didn’t even have the courtesy to pretend he wasn’t when I’d caught him.

  “That’ll be six dollars,” I said setting down the full mug.

  “Eight.”

  “Pardon?”

  “The beer, it’s eight bucks, not six.” He seemed a bit annoyed.

  “Oh. You’re correcting me so you can pay more?”

  The bouncer-manager-tree walked up to the bar and stood next to my customer. “Liquor delivery came late and was short four bottles. Receipt is under the cash drawer, boss.”

  It took a minute for what I’d heard to sink in. My eyes widened. “Did you say…boss?”

  Badass glared at me. “That’s right, Gia. I’m the prick. I own this place.” His mouth curved into a smile that was anything but happy. “Now, get the fuck out of my bar and tell your friend she’s fired.”

  Shit!

  He was the boss.

  I figured this guy for some kind of drifter passing through town on his bike, not the owner of the entire establishment.

  Everyone was staring at me as I scrambled to find the right words.

  “You can’t do that. You can’t fire her. Don’t blame Riley because I can’t make drinks to save my life. That’s not her fault. She was trying to do a good thing by having me step in because of her family emergency. She could have just left you high and dry. Don’t punish her for my incompetence.”

  When the bouncer approached again, the prick held out his hand without breaking his stare, which was firmly directed at me. “Not now, Freddie.”

  “Sorry, boss. I have to let you know that Elaina just called out. She’s not coming back to work at all. Decided to head to the City with her boyfriend. They both got auditions for some play. She said she’s really sorry but that she quit.”

  The prick ran his hands through his h
air in frustration and gritted his teeth. “What the fuck?” He looked like he was going to blow. He let out a deep sigh then closed his eyes to compose himself. When he opened them, he just glared at me.

  He was so intimidating, but I wasn’t about to let him see me sweat. I needed to stand my ground and defend what I knew in my heart was right.

  I gave him a few seconds to process the news that had just pissed him off even more and then I pleaded, “Please. You need to reconsider. I’m not leaving until you assure me that Riley hasn’t lost her job over this. It’s not fair.”

  He gave me a once-over. “You can’t bartend for shit…but can you stand around, look pretty, seat people, and carry the occasional tray of food, if needed?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The nighttime hostess just quit. I’m not going to be able to find someone in time for the Friday night rush, which is about to start rolling in any minute. If you help me out, I’ll let your friend, Riley, keep her job.”

  He wanted to hire me?

  “You just tried to kick me out! Now you want me to work here?”

  “Yeah, well, I’m in a bind I didn’t anticipate, and I had a few minutes to digest your sorry excuse. It seems you had good intentions in helping your friend, even though it was a dumbass move on her part to ask you to do that.”

  “So, what if I don’t accept the job?”

  “Then Riley gets fired for putting someone behind my bar who shouldn’t have been there. The choice is yours.”

  It took a moment to really consider his proposal. Or was it extortion? The truth was, I needed the extra money. I’d blown the ten-grand advance I received from the publisher of the book I was writing to rent the summer share I was living in. Getting an extra job that would provide some supplementary income was something I’d been considering anyway. This could actually really work in my favor.

  “Is this job offer just for tonight or until you find someone permanent?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t gotten that far. Are you in or not?”

  “I’ll take it…but I want the position permanently. And it’s not because I’m giving in to your bribery. It’s because I’d actually like a job to supplement my income. I’m writing a book, and I blew most of the advance, so…”