Chapter 11 – Jasper Cleary
Jasper Cleary
T here's very little in life that gives me true pleasure these days. Partying, drinking, drugs, a variable smorgasbord of women. Those things used to do it for me. I think I might be experiencing some depression. A late twenties, mid-life crisis? Shit. Is that a thing?
Christ, I think my family is right. I'm a spoiled, narcissistic fuckwit. I'm bored and jaded. Yes, both. The woman I thought I loved left me for another man. It's possible I should have listened to my family's opinion on the matter.
You don't often see a real-life version of Barbie. I was so fucked from the very first minute.
Sure, her personality could be lacking, and she became a raging bitch anytime I said no to her lavish spending, but relationships are complicated and occasionally you have to make concessions.
My grandfather told me that and I took it to heart.
He recently clarified that statement by pointing out I'm a giant idiot.
"Christ boy, I meant you have to say you're sorry when you forget your anniversary or don't empty the trash before leaving on vacation.
Not that you should put up with hissy fits because you refuse to buy her a five thousand dollar pair of shoes.
What the fuck is wrong with your generation?
" Grandad spit the words at me with a level of disgust I'd never quite seen come from him.
That's a very good question. Perhaps I am a dumbass. After a lifetime of taking nothing too seriously I thought I'd met the woman I'd one day marry. What a joke.
The prospect of going back to my old ways is highly uninspiring. I'm obviously experiencing some seasonal sadness. Nothing in life quite gives that exciting zing anymore.
Maybe I should try celibacy for a while. Or try working on myself? No, that sounds ridiculously boring. My investments essentially run themselves these days.
What do I do to keep myself from dying of boredom? Life is hard.
Picking up my phone, I dial an old friend. Well, friend might be a stretch of the word. We'll go with a business associate I'm friendly with. Or used to be.
I heard from my housekeeper that Cannon Nash tried to poach her to work the winter in his restaurant.
The island is boring as fuck during the winter months. I refuse to venture into the city at this point in time. I'd rather freeze my balls off on the island than spend the winter watching my ex canoodle her new man at every party and event I'm forced to endure.
"Jasper?" Cannon asks, answering the call. "What can I help you with today?"
He doesn't seem overly thrilled to hear from me. He's not still holding a grudge from the time I stole his girlfriend back in college?
No, no. Definitely not. Ah well, even if he is… he'll just have to get over it, real fucking quick.
* * *
I've obviously downgraded my expectations over the last few months. Standing behind the bar in Cannon's restaurant, I grin at the old man who frowns at me.
"Jasper Cleary, what the hell are you doing working behind the bar at Nash's?" the old guy grumbles, scratching at his chin.
"Are you kidding, Tom?" I grin, pouring him an overly generous shot of whiskey. "I love this place."
"His floozy left him for greener pastures," the equally old man at Tom's side says.
"Yes, thank you Franklin. I'm expanding my employment horizons out of boredom." I shoot Franklin a grin. "Best not to sit around wallowing in my sorrows otherwise I might end up like the lot of you."
Cannon Nash, who may or may not have been expecting me this evening, pops out of the hallway leading to the kitchen and the office.
There are very few new people this time of year…
"Enough, good Lord," Franklin murmurs as I nearly overflow his tumbler.
My eyes rake over the beauty at Cannon's side. Her thick blonde hair is pulled up in a messy bun on the back of her head. She's wearing a black polo with the Nash's logo on the breast.
Speaking of breasts, she's quite well endowed in that department. The polo does her curvy frame little favors, but her waist dips in nicely only to curve into a set of enticing hips. The newcomer is young, but quite pretty.
She gives Cannon a nervous smile. Sticking close to his side despite the restaurant being mostly dead.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Cannon asks, offering me a hand to shake.
"You tried to poach my housekeeper. That's simply not acceptable. I'm here in her stead. Put me to work," I say, offering the blonde a grin. "Jasper Cleary."
"Riley Thomas," the blonde says, giving me a timid nod hello.
She's absolutely darling.
"Riley, give me a minute with Jasper," Cannon says, crossing his arms over his chest.
"O-Okay," she stutters, taking a step back.
"Skyla is in the kitchen." Cannon nods to the doors. "Tell her I want you to shadow her for a bit."
"Got it," Riley says, spinning and heading for the kitchen. Those dark jeans hug her ass quite nicely indeed.
"What the fuck are you trying to pull?" Cannon asks, dragging me to the back of the bar. Far away from the few patrons. I used to work the summers at Nash’s back when Cannon’s dad still ran the place. Granted, I delivered food back then not drinks, but Cannon knows I’m an expert at liquor.
I shrug. He’s going to make this difficult on me. "I'm bored. You know there's nothing exciting going on at this time of year."
"So head on back to the mainland. It's what you do every winter," Cannon says, raising his eyebrows like he's given me a helpful suggestion.
"I'm actively avoiding the city," I tell him, rolling my eyes. "Cynthia has her claws in a wealthier catch than me. I'm told their engagement is to be announced any day."
Cannon sighs, shaking his head at the ceiling. "You dodged a bullet with that one."
"Yes, I'm well aware. Trust me, my family has spared no opportunity to convey that delightful message." I sigh. "Fuck. Listen, you don't even have to pay me. Split any tips I receive and give them to your other employees."
I absolutely refuse to admit I’m lonely. I will also not give Cannon the satisfaction of knowing I’ve missed him.
I’m very unused to groveling. Generally speaking, I'm on the other side of this conversation.
"We all tried to warn you." Cannon shakes his head. "Fine. You can work, but if I put you on the schedule then I expect you to show up. No last minute excuses because you ran off to Mexico for a week on the beach."
"Agreed," I say, swallowing thickly.
"Do not hit on my new employee," Cannon says in a low gruff tone. "She's vulnerable and healing from her own heartbreak. Don't test me on this Jasper."
"Christ." I frown. "What little you think of me. I'm not a monster. I myself am trying to work through a broken heart."
"You're so fucking delusional." Cannon scoffs. "Cynthia fucked your brains out. You liked her level of crazy. You're far from broken-hearted."
The low warning growl that escapes my chest surprises both of us.
"The side she showed me was very different from what she showed everyone else. I was played the fool. Is that what you need to hear Cannon?" I growl, swiping a hand over my face.
Cannon frowns, shaking his head. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. Be cordial and welcoming to Riley, but don't lay on the charm."
"Everyone does think so very little of me these days." I sigh.
"Prove us all wrong," Cannon says. There's a look of challenge on his face. He pats me on the chest and saunters off. "And don't over pour the customers."
Fuck him. If anything, I'm an expert bartender. Far better at my liquor than I am at relationships, that's for damn sure.