Chapter 2 #2
“Call me if anything happens. And don’t let anyone from upstairs give you trouble.”
By “upstairs,” he means the second and third floors, the parts of The Summit that give it its reputation.
The second floor houses a high-end casino that caters to the wealthy ranchers and businessmen of Cooper Heights.
The third floor is something else entirely.
It’s a members-only sex club that I pretend doesn’t exist.
What happens up there stays up there, and I’m perfectly happy keeping it that way.
“I’ve got it under control,” I say, giving him a gentle push toward the door. “Go take care of Ruby.”
Clay’s face softens at his wife’s name.
“Thanks, Charlotte. I owe you one.”
Once he’s gone, I go through my opening routine. I check the beer taps, stock the fridges, and cut fresh fruit for cocktails. By the time I flip the sign to “Open,” the bar is gleaming and ready for business.
For the next hour, I fall into the comfortable rhythm of serving drinks and making small talk with the regulars.
Despite what Adrian thinks, I genuinely enjoy this job. The Summit’s first floor is actually pretty classy, with a menu of craft cocktails that rivals any upscale bar in Denver.
When Clay hired me, he took a chance on someone with zero bartending experience. The previous bartender, Sami, had quit unexpectedly after marrying some famous rock star who lives in town. Clay needed someone fast, and I needed money for beauty school.
It was perfect timing.
“Can I get a Macallan, neat?”
I turn around, and my heart leaps into my throat.
Standing there in his worn leather jacket and faded jeans is my father, his familiar smile warming his face as our eyes meet.
“Dad!”
Without hesitation, I rush around the bar and throw myself into his arms.
He catches me in a bear hug that lifts me off my feet, his familiar scent of sawdust and that same aftershave he’s worn since I was a kid wrapping around me like a security blanket.
“There’s my girl,” he says, setting me down but keeping his hands on my shoulders to look at me. “You look good, kiddo.”
“What are you doing here?” I ask, unable to stop smiling. “You didn’t tell me you were coming!”
“Wanted to surprise you.” His eyes crinkle at the corners. “Thought I’d check out this place you’ve been talking about. See where my daughter spends her nights.”
I laugh and lead him to a stool at the bar.
“You picked a good night. It’s just me running things.”
“How’s school going?” he asks as I slide back behind the bar. “Beauty school treating you okay?”
I hesitate, the memory of that C- flashing through my mind, but I push it away.
“It’s challenging, but I’m learning a lot.”
“Your mom would be proud,” he says softly. “She always said you had her eye for color.”
A familiar ache blooms in my chest at the mention of Mom.
It’s been eight years, but there are still moments when the loss feels fresh, like a wound that never quite heals. Dad has been my rock through it all.
“So, what brings you to Cooper Heights?” I ask, pouring him his usual whiskey neat. “Business?”
He nods, taking the glass.
“I had some meetings with a potential client. Thought I’d stay in town tonight instead of driving back.” He takes a sip, then adds, “I’m actually meeting Koda for drinks here in a few minutes too.”
The glass I’m cleaning nearly slips from my fingers.
“Koda’s coming here?”
“Yep. Should be any minute.” Dad checks his watch. “Thought you’d be happy to see him. It’s been what, eight years?”
Eight years, three months, and twelve days.
Not that I’ve been counting.
“Yeah, something like that,” I manage, turning away to hide my burning face.
Koda Wilde is my dad’s best friend. He’s also the man I used to have the biggest crush on when I was twelve years old.
My hands shake as I set the glass down, the memories flooding back all at once.
I think back to Saturday afternoons watching Koda’s fights on Pay-Per-View, curled up on the couch between Mom and Dad as they cheered him on.
I remember the way my heart would race whenever Dad mentioned that Koda was coming to visit.
I used to spend hours getting ready, picking out my best outfits and practicing conversations in the mirror.
Ugh, I was such a mess back then.
But I couldn’t help it.
Koda was everything a twelve-year-old girl could dream about. He was tall and strong, dangerous in the ring but gentle with me. He’d ruffle my hair and call me “kiddo,” and I’d melt into a puddle of preteen hormones.
Then Mom died, and everything changed.
Koda came to the funeral. I remember him in that black suit that looked wrong on his powerful frame, his face carved from stone as he stood beside Dad at the graveside.
He hugged me afterward, and I breathed in his scent of leather and something uniquely him, wishing I could stay in the safety of his arms forever.
But his career was taking off. Title shots and big fights in Vegas and Atlantic City. The visits became phone calls, then holiday cards, then nothing at all.
“Charlotte?” Dad’s voice snaps me back to reality. “You okay? You look a little pale.”
“I’m fine,” I lie, forcing a bright smile. “Just surprised, that’s all. I didn’t know you two were still in touch.”
“We talk every few months. Check in on each other.” He takes another sip of whiskey. “He’s been living up in the mountains since he retired. Bought a cabin outside town.”
“That’s great. I know how close you two were.”
“I should probably warn you that Koda’s a bit different than you might remember,” Dad continues. “He’s been through some rough times. All that mess with...”
He frowns and he trails off.
“With...” I prompt, waiting for him to finish.
Dad waves his hand dismissively.
“Never mind. It’s not important. Just be patient with him. He’s not much for small talk these days.”
For a second, I consider pressing him for details about what he left unsaid. But then I decide against it. Whatever happened with Koda, Dad clearly doesn’t want to get into it right now. And honestly, I’m not sure I’m ready to hear it.
I reach for a clean glass from the rack and start polishing it with more attention than it needs, focusing on making the surface gleam under the bar lights.
Then I hear the front door chime, and my entire body goes rigid.
I don’t need to look up to know it’s him. My hands shake as I continue polishing the same glass for the third time.
“Palmer, you son of a bitch!”
That voice. It’s deeper than I remember, but unmistakably his.
I finally lift my eyes, and my breath catches in my throat.
Koda Wilde stands in the doorway like he owns the place, and somehow, he’s even more devastating than my teenage fantasies could have imagined.
He’s taller than I remember—at least six-three—with shoulders that strain against his worn flannel jacket.
His dark hair is longer now, pulled back in a messy man bun that shows off the sharp angles of his jaw.
There are new lines around his eyes and silver threading through his hair at the temples, but somehow that just makes him more attractive.
My dad stands and the two men embrace in one of those back-slapping hugs that men do. Watching them together, it’s obvious how much they’ve missed each other. Twenty-five years of friendship doesn’t just disappear, even when life pulls you in different directions.
“Look at you,” Dad says, stepping back to assess his best friend. “You look good, man. Mountain life’s treating you well.”
Koda chuckles, but there’s something guarded in his expression. “Can’t complain.”
His gaze sweeps the bar, taking in the polished wood and modern fixtures, and I realize with growing panic that he hasn’t noticed me yet. I’m partially hidden behind the beer taps, and the lighting back here is dim.
I could stay hidden. Let Dad make the introductions when Koda’s sitting down, when I’ve had a moment to compose myself.
Instead, I step forward like an idiot.
“Hi, Koda.”
Koda’s head turns toward my voice.
The moment our eyes meet, something electric passes between us.
Koda’s eyes darken as they travel from my face down to where my black tank top hugs my curves, then back up again. Something hot flares in his gaze before he quickly masks it.
For a heartbeat, neither of us moves.
Then his lips curve into a wry smile that makes my knees wobble.
“Charlotte Palmer,” Koda rumbles. My name on his lips sounds different than it used to. “Well, I’ll be damned.”