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one hundred percent guarantee of an excruciating night of hot showers and pill-popping.
The deejays were already stretched thin and underpaid. If I lost any servers or bouncers, the remaining staff would have to work overtime, which I couldnt pay right now. That, or Id have to close one of the two levels of the club, which would piss off my clientele. The college kids liked to get wild on the louder, brighter first floor, while the thirty and up crowd preferred the lounge atmosphere of the second floor. The younger patrons drank gallons of cheap liquor and beer, but plenty of money flowed upstairs where the bartenders poured wine, microbrews, and top shelf Scotch. Raising prices might work in the short-term, but only if I wanted to lose some clientele, especially those who goodnaturedly—for now—ribbed my bartenders about the overpriced booze.
“Well figure it out,” I heard Rico saying a year and a half ago when things werent nearly this bad. “Dont worry, man. Well find a way.”
I let my gaze slide toward his vacant, paper-stacked desk.
Sure we will, Rico. Sure we will.
    I would. How, I didnt know, but damn it, I would. I just needed something to give. A cushion of a few hundred dollars a month, and maybe I could get my head above water. A bill that went down instead of up. Maybe Uncle Sam could back the fuck off instead of swooping in for his piece of the action whenever I almost got ahead.
    I rubbed my forehead. Wes just had to leave me saddled with the damned mortgage when I was already barely keeping the business going on my own. His credit was fucked all to hell, so what did he care if the bank foreclosed? So when he left me, he stopped contributing to the mortgage.
    My partner was gone. My business partner was gone. It was only a matter of time before I lost something else.
I was bound and determined not to close the club, declare bankruptcy, or let go of the house. I sure as hell wasnt doing all three. Fuck swallowing my pride and admitting defeat. Somehow Id find a way to keep my house, business, and credit.
And now my fucking head ached. From right between my eyes, a deep, relentless ache radiated up to my hairline and down into my eyes. Resting my elbows on my desk, I dug my thumbs into either side of the bridge of my nose, hoping some counter pressure might alleviate it. Or make my head explode, which would solve a few problems.
“Next time that happens?” Michaels voice echoed inside my throbbing skull. “Press the sides of your thumbs right here. Press in, and then pull them across like so. Do it three or four times, and it should diffuse some of the tension.”
I glanced at the closed door. There was no one around who could possibly see me, but I still felt like a bit of an idiot.
When I was absolutely certain I was alone, I pressed my thumbs between my eyebrows and moved them apart like Michael had demonstrated. It didnt help, but admittedly, it felt good, so I closed my eyes and did it again. A third time.
By the fourth time, I felt too much like a gullible idiot to do it again, so I sighed, lowered my hands, and looked at the bills in front of me.
And my head didnt hurt.
I blinked a few times. What the hell?
The ache in and behind my forehead was gone. A vague heaviness remained, reminding me that thered been pain there a moment ago, but the worst was definitely gone.
For that matter, my shoulder still didnt hurt, which was unusual when I was stressed. Cautiously, I rolled my shoulders. The muscles were tight, a little stiff, but most of the pain was MIA. Rolling my shoulders again, I closed my eyes and smiled to myself as I exhaled.
Maybe I was drowning in more problems than I needed, but if only for a little while, I wasnt in pain. I wasnt. In fucking. Pain .
And if only for a little while, I couldnt ask for anything more.
    * * *
    “Hey, hey, someones looking better,” Seth shouted over the upper levels music. We clasped hands in that handshake that looked more like we were about to start