Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
FLIC
I scrub at a non-existent stain on the floor by the bar like I’m trying to erase my bad mood.
Maybe I am. And the real kicker is that I don’t have a good reason to be this irritated.
It’s Tuesday afternoon, and I’m at The Hay Barn with sunlight filtering through the window, catching on the reflection of the bar I’ve just spent the last half an hour polishing.
I usually love days like this. Putting The Hay Barn back together again after a busy weekend.
Feeling the place breathe and settle around me as I clean and restock the fridge and the shelves, the radio humming in the background.
But no, my thoughts are as furious as the blizzard that blew through Denver yesterday—eight inches of snow in under six hours, enough to send the plows out before dawn to dig half the city free.
I should be happy. Everything is exactly the same as it was before Grayson Ashborne walked into my life with his irritating smile, like he knows what buttons to press to wind me up and presses them anyway.
The only difference now is that, for a few months at least, my rent is lower, giving me a little room to breathe easier.
It should feel like a win. Instead, every time I wipe down a counter or shove a stool back into place, all I can think about is how close I came to owning this bar outright.
I just had to do my part in Grayson’s deals for four weeks.
But after Paul bailed, there’s no way I can leave The Hay Barn again.
And then there’s the other reason I’m in a bad mood.
How much I enjoyed the trip to Buffalo. It wasn’t the private jet or Grayson.
It was watching the Stormhawks. Actually watching them, from a skybox instead of on the TV here.
Actually being present at a game instead of running trays in and out of the kitchen, not having to rewatch plays at 1 a.m. because I’d missed them while serving drinks.
I hadn’t realized how much of the buzz and game play I’d been missing in running my bar.
I sigh, berating myself. I need to pull my shit together and stop fixating on something I never had in the first place.
This bar runs because you run it. And you don’t have time to play tour guide to the likes of Grayson Ashborne, especially when he doesn’t even listen to you.
This is where I belong.
I haven’t spoken to Grayson since his driver dropped me here after our flight landed on Saturday night.
I climbed out of the car and told him he’d need to find someone else to help him.
Then I hurried into my bar, almost crying with relief that it was still intact, and a frazzled Mia was holding everything together for me.
I drag the last stool down from the table just as the front door swings open and a familiar voice calls out: “Lower your staple gun. I know you’re closed. I come in peace.”
I don’t bother hiding my scowl as I turn to see Grayson standing just inside the doorway, dressed in one of his immaculate suits again. He looks every bit the businessman everyone hates, but damn, it’s hard to ignore how well he wears that suit.
“What do you want, Ashborne?”
Before he can answer, a woman steps in behind him.
She’s a tall brunette, wearing worn boots and a leather vest under a leather jacket.
Her hair is tied back in a no-nonsense ponytail.
She looks like the kind of woman who could arm wrestle half my regulars and win.
I’m instantly annoyed. What the hell is this?
Is this the Stormhawks fan he’s hired to replace me?
The annoyance shifts to worry. Has he come to do more than gloat?
Is he about to tell me he’s raising my rent or give me notice?
Grayson gestures between us. “Flic, meet Sonia. Sonia ran a biker bar for fifteen years. She knows everything there is to know about running bars, and she’s a Stormhawks fan.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say, offering her a polite smile before turning a full death glare on Grayson. “It didn’t take you long to replace me. Don’t tell me you bought her bar, too? You’re really stacking up the properties.”
The amused smile playing on Grayson’s lips makes me want to throw something at him. “And,” he continues, ignoring my outburst, “Sonia is available to cover The Hay Barn while you’re busy keeping me from getting booed out of stadiums. If our deal is still something you’re interested in, of course.”
I raise my brows as Sonia pulls out her phone and points to one of the booths. “I’m going to make a call while you two chat.”
“Is there anyone you don’t have on your payroll?” I hiss when Sonia is out of earshot.
The smile drops from Grayson’s face. “I need help, Flic. And I’ve gone about it the wrong way from the start.”
That gets my attention.
“This isn’t the first time I’ve come up against opposition because of my last name.
I thought I could handle it the way I usually do.
By moving fast, buying out the problem, and making it impossible for anyone to argue with the results.
” He exhales. “But this isn’t a building; it’s an NFL team and an entire city where the loyalty runs deep. ”
Grayson rubs a hand over the back of his neck. For the first time, I look beyond the smug billionaire and see a man who looks bone-tired and a little frustrated. I don’t want to buy it. But my gut says he’s telling the truth.
A moment later, he continues with a wince: “You were right to keep asking about why I bought the team.”
My eyes narrow. Vindication flares hot in my chest. I knew there was more to what Grayson was giving me.
“I meant what I said about wanting to belong. But there was another reason.” He hesitates. “I bought the Stormhawks because they needed me to.”
“What?” I shake my head. “Why would they need a new owner?”
“Because they’ve been in financial trouble for a long time. Ticket sales are inconsistent. Sponsorship revenue has dipped year on year. The Huberts have done a damn good job hiding the extent of their problems from Denver, but the reality is they’ve been patching holes for too long.”
“No,” I say automatically. The Stormhawks are Denver. They’re packed stadiums and sold-out jerseys and Sundays that stop the whole city.
But even as the denial leaves my mouth, something shifts. Rumors at the start of the season about budget cuts. And a conversation I overheard in the bar about backroom staff leaving and not being replaced.
We couldn’t understand why the Huberts would sell the team they loved.
The team they built from nothing. My stomach twists.
It wasn’t through choice. It was necessity.
They sold because they had to. And even though a part of me doesn’t want to believe it, the pieces start sliding into place.
Rumors. Budget cuts. Staff disappearing.
None of it made sense before. Now it does.
Or at least some of it does. Because I can’t shake the feeling that Grayson might be giving me more, but he’s not giving me everything.
The Huberts had to sell. That makes sense.
But there would’ve been other offers, surely?
Other people or companies they could’ve gone to.
Why sell it to Grayson? That’s the part he hasn’t explained.
His gaze meets mine. “I didn’t buy this team to gut it. I bought it because someone had to. I want it to succeed, not just this season, but the next and the next.”
Those dark eyes bore into mine, and I find myself wondering if I got this man wrong. The thought sits there for a second before I shove it away.
Grayson continues: “The Stormhawks’ biggest sponsor is shopping around.
I’ve got three weeks to prove I’m not here to strip this team for parts.
Three weeks to gain the loyalty of the fans and change the narrative.
” He steps closer. “I can’t do that without someone the fans trust. Someone who understands this team from the outside in.
” His voice lowers. “Hand on heart, Flic—I will do better. I’ll listen.
I’ll show up. I know I don’t have any right to ask, but I need help and you’re the best and only person who can do it. ”
I blow out a slow breath, my thoughts still spinning from everything Grayson just said.
The idea that the Stormhawks were in trouble—that the Huberts sold because they had to—has knocked something loose inside me.
But that doesn’t change the facts. “I really appreciate the offer, and I’m sure Sonia is brilliant, but after last weekend, I can’t leave The Hay Barn in anyone else’s hands. This is my bar. It’s where I belong.”
Grayson’s reply is typical. Does nothing deter this man?
“I get it. The Hay Barn is important to you. I respect that. So how about this… spend thirty minutes with Sonia. If you’re not blown away by her brilliance, no problem.
I’ll walk out and go find an actual T-Rex to eat me and make the fans happy. ”
A surprised laugh escapes and I swear Grayson seems to brighten.
“But if you are happy, you could accompany me to an event this afternoon.” He pauses, then adds, “Nothing to do with fans, but important to get right. We’ve got a room full of our small local sponsors and an opportunity to smooth some ruffled feathers.
I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that these companies have loyal customers, and so their support is important. I could use a wingman.”
I snort. “Wingman? Babysitter, more like.”
Grayson’s phone rings, and I watch him glance at the screen, instantly back in business mode, but after half a second he silences the call and slips the phone back into his pocket.
“It can wait,” he says simply.
And maybe it’s that small gesture, but I find myself agreeing to give Sonia thirty minutes. Grayson takes a booth in the corner, opening his laptop, the frown returning to his face as he types.
Sonia stands, stepping to join me. I wonder how much of our argument she overheard.
I shove the thought aside and focus on showing her around the bar.
She asks all the right questions, and within minutes she’s rattling off inventory numbers and even points out a way to rotate stock I’d never thought of.
“You run a tight ship,” she says. “Most bars your size are total chaos back here.”
I try not to glow under the praise, but it’s impossible not to feel a tiny bit proud as well as impressed.
“How on earth did Grayson find you? And what did he offer you?” I ask, because Sonia is not only skilled behind the bar, and a biker, but she’s also genuine. And I can’t imagine how her path would’ve crossed with Grayson if not as part of a deal.
“It’s one of those friend-of-a-friend situations,” she replies with a warm smile that has me more than a little intrigued.
“Grayson built affordable housing in upstate New York two years ago and literally changed my sister’s life.
She was living in an awful, rented apartment with her family, and it was really dragging her down.
Grayson personally led the project, creating these gorgeous affordable apartments.
They were small but they had so much light.
My sister was convinced she wouldn’t be able to afford one, but Grayson had a whole team of people turn up at her door to help her and her husband with a budget and work out what they could really afford.
And then that’s what they paid. Sorry,” she says, dabbing at her eyes.
“It’s just, when someone you love goes from being deeply unhappy to feeling like they’ve won the lottery, it really means something.
“Anyway, Grayson stayed in touch with a lot of the residents afterward. My sister mentioned me to him once, told him I used to run a biker bar out by Barr Lake. Yesterday, he called her and she called me and I was asked if I’d be interested in helping you out here.
” She smiles again. “I jumped at the chance to return the kindness. But don’t worry, he’s paying me, too. ”
Of course he’s already paying Sonia. Of course he’s one step ahead, knowing I’ll be impressed, that I’m going to say yes. And yet, the emotion swimming in Sonia’s eyes and her story about her sister makes me wonder again just who Grayson Ashborne really is.
Thirty minutes later, Grayson looks up from his laptop. The small smile at my expression is hopeful. “The deal’s back on? You’ll come with me to the event today?”
I nod. “Yes. But if we’re doing this, you start being honest with me.”
“I have been.” The smile fades. “But you don’t want to believe it. You have to start trusting me, Flic.”
“We start trusting each other,” I correct, sharper than I mean to be.
“Because half answers and strategic omissions aren’t honesty.
You say you bought the Stormhawks because they were in financial trouble and you wanted to feel part of something that matters, fine, but it’s not that simple.
You can’t buy love or loyalty or the passion you’re looking for.
You have to give yourself to it. You have to commit.
To believe. To fight for it. That’s when it starts to matter.
Not when you sign your name on a contract. ”
He holds my gaze for a long moment. “That’s fair.”
“And you listen this time,” I add.
There’s no hesitation in his reply. “I will.” He closes his laptop. “I’ll pick you up at three.” He turns for the door, then pauses. “Thank you.”
“Don’t make me regret this,” I say, already reaching for my notebook to figure out a schedule for Sonia.
But my eyes linger on the door swinging shut behind him before I open the Red Zone and scroll through hundreds of comments about Grayson.
The protests might have stopped for now, but that doesn’t mean fans are any less angry.
The task ahead still feels too big. If this deal is going to work—if the Stormhawks are going to survive—something has to give.
Maybe the fans won’t trust him unless I do first. And maybe there’s more to Grayson than I first thought.
But he’s still the man who tricked his way into my bar then bought it out from under me.
I don’t let people past my walls easily. And lowering them for Grayson Ashborne feels like an impossible play right now.