The Write Off

Rhiannon's POV

Rhiannon unlocked the thin black door and drug herself inside the apartment, dreading the moving boxes she knew she desperately needed to unpack. It seemed like unpacking made it official, Wallace Publishers had rejected her application and she was forced to take the next best option—bartending in her hometown.

It was a nice apartment, and it was conveniently located. You can't get a shorter commute than walking downstairs. She had balked when Richard had first offered her the apartment over the bar. When Rhiannon realized her only other option was moving in with her dad and stepmother, she knew she had to accept.

Huntsville, Alabama seemed covered over in cute little apartments, townhomes, and rental houses. Places that a girl right out of college would be able to afford if she had used her f*cking degree to get a real job. But she had been rejected from Wallace, and two other "adult" jobs she had applied to. The rejection started to take a toll on her. So, when one of her dad's best friends offered her a job bartending, and cheap rent for the apartment upstairs, she realized she couldn't say no.

She was supposed to be a writer. Her professors had fawned over her poetry, celebrated her prose. The novel she had poured her heart and soul into had brought her creative writing instructor to tears. But no literary agents wanted to take her on. Not only had she been rejected from working for any publishers, none of them were willing to take a chance on her book, either.

So here she was, standing in an apartment full of moving boxes. She tossed her wallet on the floor and pulled off her shoes. It was three in the morning. She was exhausted.

The one thing she had made sure got moved in and unpacked was her queen bed and her plush white comforter. Six pillows littered her bed, and she stripped down and flopped into them. Rhiannon nestled under the comforter and drifted to sleep.

Noon was the new six in the morning, that was a fact. Never mind it meant she had slept for nine hours, it just felt so d*mn early. She drug herself from the bed and slunk to the refrigerator. She found some meager leftovers to microwave. It was nice to pretend to be a starving artist.

Rhiannon loved taking her time to get ready. She luxuriated in a shower so hot it left red streaks on her skin. It seemed like it took an hour just to pick out an outfit. She settled on a green plaid pleated skirt and a black bralette with straps that crossed her chest. She could already count the tips that would flow in with an outfit like this. She had a pair of knock-off Doc Martens to pair with it.

Putting on makeup was an art for Rhiannon. Careful eyes picked colors of eye shadow to accent her rich green eyes, skilled hands lined her eyes in black, practiced strokes filled in her black brows. Rhiannon took extra care to properly shape and fill in around the little slit she had cut in one eyebrow. She dusted a light blush across her cheeks. Brushing her dark brown hair back into a high ponytail, she surveyed her handiwork. It would do the job at least.

By the time she was finished getting ready, she needed to get down to the bar to start work. Richard liked for her to be there early to organize bottles and glasses, do a quick clean of the bar, and let him know if there was anything she needed. He was a good boss, though she wasn't sure if it was because he was a friend of her dad's or if he was just genuinely a kindhearted man. According to Lauren, he was a "saint," so she had to assume her father kept good company.

Rhiannon was carrying a crate of glasses behind the bar when Lauren came sweeping in. She was a tall, willowy blonde, with the essence of a hurricane. She had striking blue eyes and always wore her signature red lip that had men falling all over themselves. She never went home alone, and always came in rushing with a story from the night before.

"How was it?" Rhiannon called as she plunked the glasses down on the shelf under the bar.

"Ugh, can you believe he left without even saying goodbye? Honestly, I haven't been with anyone that rude since the Smith twins," she scoffed.

Rhiannon couldn't hold back her grin. "You're late," she chided.

"As if you care," Lauren laughed.

It was early in the evening for drama. Rhiannon had kept an eye on the couple since they had made their way into the bar. She recognized the man instantly, a friend of her father's. His ice blue eyes and silver hair gave him away instantly. John Hartley was the third in her dad's group of friends from college. She hadn't seen him since before she graduated high school.

John had a commanding presence, filling a room just by walking in. He was a solid half a head taller than Rhiannon and built like a man who worked hard for a living.

She had watched him parade a series of blondes with fake tits through her living room all through her childhood. She understood him to be some kind of investment banker, but that kind of thing bored her, and she hadn't taken to caring much at all.

Lauren nudged her with an elbow. "Isn't that the girl from that music video? Jessica whatever?"

"Oh my gosh, you're so right! Oh, what is that girl's name?"

Lauren shrugged. "I hoped you'd remember. I've been racking my brain since she walked in."

"Beats me. I can't believe that girl graduated with us. When did John get back from Birmingham?"

Lauren lifted an eyebrow. "Why do you care? Finally realized what a silver fox he is?" she giggled.

Rhiannon mimicked a retch. "You're foul."

Rhiannon's head snapped towards the sound of raised voices. It was John and Jessica-What's-Her-Name. Bless his heart, the man couldn't keep a woman to save his life. It seemed like he didn't want to. The woman was shouting now, something about commitment. Rhiannon snickered to herself. Not John Hartley.

Lauren smacked Rhiannon on the arm. "She's reaching for the drink, she's reaching for the drink."

"Should we not do something about it?" Rhiannon whined.

"Oh, no, I'm staying out of it. I live for the drama, remember?"

Rhiannon barked a laugh. It just so happened to be the exact same moment the blonde tossed her vodka cranberry into John's face.

"Enough!" Rhiannon snapped at the woman. She stepped closer to her, just the bar between the two of them. "Listen, I get it, men are dogs. You gotta let him go, babe."

The blonde slapped her clean across the right cheek. Rhiannon had to hand it to her, it was a solid slap. Rhiannon's eyes lifted to meet John's gaze. She licked at the blood dribbling out of the new split in her lip, then turned her head back to the woman. "Out, get out now. I don't want to see you back in here."

The woman huffed, but Rhiannon could hear the clack of her heels as she stormed out.

John started to lift his hands, a sinner in supplication, but Rhiannon cut him off. "You too, out of my bar," she ordered as she jammed her finger towards the door.

He cocked his head, lifting an eyebrow. "Your bar? I didn't realize I got bought out." He smirked.

She hadn't realized Rich and John were in business together. She should have known. "Should I grovel for trying to throw out my boss?"

Lauren tossed a towel to him. "Forgive her, John, she's too busy moping about having to come back to dumb ol' Alabama to keep up with the local business news."

He took the towel and swiped it across his face.

Rhiannon cut her eyes to Lauren. "You knew?" she hissed.

Lauren frowned and furrowed her brow in a sarcastic frown. "You didn't ask, and certainly didn't give me time to tell you before you started throwing people out."

Rhiannon rolled her eyes.

"Your lip is still bleeding. Go home, clean your lip, and chill out. The bar's slow tonight, I've got it handled." Lauren turned to a couple of very handsome men at the bar.

Rhiannon recognized Lauren's offer for what it was—she wanted her to take her sullen attitude out of the bar and stop dampening her chances at taking one of them home. Fine.

She slipped back to Richard's office. "Hey, Rich. I'm headed out for the night, Lauren wants to close up herself tonight."

Richard Prater looked up from whatever he was doing on his laptop with a soft smile. "Yeah, that's fine. Have a good evening!"

"Thanks," she called over her shoulder as she made her way to the back door.

She slipped out the door towards the stairs to her apartment. She never heard the door click back closed. Before she could process that fact, she felt a hand on her shoulder. She whirled on her heels, a fist already pulled back ready to strike.

"Easy, Jackie Chan. I just wanted to apologize for the dramatics earlier."

Oh. Just John. "Don't worry about it. It happens more often than you would think." Rhiannon offered a casual chuckle and started to turn back towards the stairs.

He reached out a hand to stop her from leaving but didn't touch her again. Cautious.

When she turned back to him, his gaze had turned heated. "Listen, I'd like to make it up to you sometime. I didn't realize she was a striker. Maybe dinner?"

Her head cocked to one side almost imperceptibly, eyebrows lifted in surprise. Her dad's best friend wants to take her to dinner. When his eyes darted to her chest and back to her eyes, she realized it wasn't just an apology dinner.

"And where would you like to eat, John Hartley?"

A flash of surprise crossed his face. "I thought you didn't know who I was."

"Lauren filled me in."

He didn't recognize her. This man didn't realize he had known her for the past twenty-one years. Apparently, she had done a lot of growing up since she was seventeen, or the past five years had changed her more than she thought. She couldn't stop one corner of her mouth from lifting into a half smile.

He narrowed his eyes for a moment, but his face went back to a playful grin. "Well, what do you like to eat?"

"Beef," she answered. "You can get me a steak dinner. Make up for the blood." She swiped a thumb across her bottom lip.

His eyes darted to her mouth, then back to her eyes. His heated gaze turned nearly smoldering. "Do you like Ruth's Chris?"

Rhiannon tipped back her head and laughed. "You think that's the kind of money I have lying around? I'd rather have Hadley's. You can pick me up here. Not this weekend, next Friday?"

John grinned. "Deal. Next Friday, I'll pick you up here at six."

Rhiannon flicked her tongue against the inside of her cheek. This fool really didn't recognize her. She thought she might let her feelings get hurt, but a lot could change in five years. A memory of his gentle words as he comforted her after some high school heartbreak tugged at her.

He, however, had not changed at all, other than forgetting who she was. Rhiannon did her best to keep her eyes from wandering over his muscled frame. He was still just as ruggedly handsome.

Her boots thudded on the metal steps as she heard him call up to her. "I didn't catch your name."

She laughed and slipped into the apartment.