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  Stay or Go

  Regan Harris Series, Volume 0

  Kelly Wood

  Published by 210 Publishing, LLC, 2018.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  STAY OR GO

  First edition. October 1, 2018.

  Copyright © 2018 Kelly Wood.

  ISBN: 978-1386313489

  Written by Kelly Wood.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

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  Further Reading: Profit and Loss

  Also By Kelly Wood

  About the Author

  Joy and Steve -

  Thank you. Thank you for the support and for listening, hours on end sometimes, about editing or writing. Or, my latest adventure. I appreciate all it.

  Although, I will always dominate at push rummy. It's in writing now so, it makes it official! Love you both!

  Chapter One

  7:04 A.M.

  Gray Thomas stood before me with his hand out, holding the ticket to my future.

  Literally.

  I hesitated before reaching out and taking the piece of paper from him. Emotions warred within me. Fear and excitement caused my heart to race and my palms to sweat. I unfolded it to read the information. Regan Harris was scheduled to fly to Costa Rica tonight at seven. A round-trip, first-class ticket. I read over the itinerary again before looking up at Gray.

  “What am I supposed to do with this?”

  A cocky grin split his face.

  “Join me.”

  “In Costa Rica?” I searched the ticket again, quickly scanning the document. “For three months?”

  “I was thinking more of indefinitely.”

  “What? Like just leave my life behind?” Tingles raced up my spine at the possibility of the adventure, but fear made my stomach churn. “And, do what?”

  My fingertips clutched the edge of the paper. Fear kept me from holding the ticket securely so it dangled down and fluttered in the air.

  “Whatever you want. You can write. You can hike. You can swim in the ocean every day before breakfast. Learn to surf.” Gray leaned down closer to me before continuing. Towering well over six-feet tall meant he looked down on most people. Me included. “Anything. Everything.”

  “I . . . I have an apartment here and a job. Family, friends. I’m just supposed to leave them?”

  “You’re not leaving them, Regan. You’re just finding your path, doing something only for you.”

  “And you.”

  “I’ll be there with you, but this is for you,” Gray said.

  “I’ve only known you two weeks.” I threw out each excuse as they crossed my mind. Two weeks wasn’t really long enough to know if someone was a serial killer, or if they were a slob and left their dirty socks all over the floor. Who knew which would be worse?

  “We’ll get separate rooms.”

  “I can’t . . . I’m not . . . I just . . .” I stomped my foot in frustration as the words wouldn’t come. Gray took the two remaining steps to me, closing the distance. His hands clasped my shoulders, giving me a little shake to center myself.

  “Look, Regan, I’m not asking you to run away, change your name, and never come back. I’m asking you to take a chance on me. You can come back at any time. The return date can be changed. Stay a week? Two? Just give it a chance.” Gray placed one finger under my chin and raised it until my eyes met his. “You have twelve hours until the plane leaves. I hope to see you there.”

  Gray touched his lips to mine and turned to walk away. At the door, he paused to look back at me before pushing through it and disappearing into the crowds of Chicago. My breath hitched when I lost sight of him. The thought of running off with him was exciting, thrilling. I wanted to run after him and beg for a little more time to decide, or to ask him to stay. I wanted to shred the ticket in anger because he was making me choose. I settled for shoving it in my notebook and slamming it shut. His cell service was already cut off since he was originally going to leave yesterday. I had no way to contact him and tell him goodbye or to wait. Watching him fade into the crowd was the last time I would see him unless I met him at the airport.

  And, that wasn’t going to happen. Was he crazy? Who just runs off on a whim? Not me, that was for sure.

  I dropped my notebook on the bar with a thud and covered it with my inventory sheets. Out of sight, out of mind. I picked up my pen and walked back behind the bar, intent on finishing the liquor inventory after Gray’s interruption. I tapped the pen against my lips, trying to remember where I’d left off.

  Here I was again, with a man I had strong feelings for, leaving me for another country. How did I manage it? Regan Harris, lover extraordinaire. A twenty-three-year-old college dropout, working and living in Chicago, just struggling to get by. I managed a restaurant full-time and bartended part-time for my friend Peter. My tiny, one-bedroom apartment in Wrigleyville was smaller than most hotel rooms and definitely more expensive. Most of my clothes consisted of garage-sale finds and knock-offs. I was living the dream. Big-city girl on a small-town budget.

  Truth be told, I’d been feeling a little funky lately, like I needed a change. I’d been playing around with restocking my wardrobe, trying out a new restaurant, or a cheap weekend away with some friends. No matter what I batted around inside my head, nothing seemed to be the answer. I opened my notebook and glanced at the ticket again. I ran my finger along my printed name. I slammed the book shut, shook all the thoughts out of my head and returned to my job. I didn’t have time to focus on this craziness.

  Counting liquor inventory was like watching paint dry. You could zone out in the process, but it was still tedious and mind-numbing. I slowly worked my way through the bottles one at a time, dutifully marking each category on my sheet. I would’ve liked to pretend my focus stayed true and on task, but I would be lying. I often found myself daydreaming about living on a beach in Costa Rica. I could get up every morning and run along the sand, the waves lapping up on the shore, barely missing my tennis shoes. I closed my eyes to the salt water misting against my face. The soft breeze cooled my skin as I entered the last mile of my run. In my vision, I spotted Gray standing on our little porch, a coffee cup in hand. He raised his hand in greeting as I slowed to a walk. The monkeys greeted me with shrieks of delight as I neared the tree line.

  The solid wood bar below me was replaced with a hand-carved wooden table. Gray and I flirted over our breakfast of fresh eggs, coffee and juice. I leaned toward him, eager for a quick kiss. My forehead knocked his.

  My eyes flew open to find Peter staring at me. I yelped and jumped back. My skin crawled from the shock. I put my hand over my beating heart to stop it from racing out of my chest.

  “What are you doing?” I asked. I smoothed my long, dark hair behind my ears, hoping to hide the nervousness I felt.

  “You looked awfully cozy daydreaming, I thought I’d join you.” Peter’s face split in a cheeky grin.

  “You scared me,” I admitted sheepishly.

  “I see that. Care to share? Where were you?” Peter tapped my head with his finger before plopping down onto one of the bar stools, his rear barely balancing on the edge of
the seat. He was primed to run off at a moment’s notice if the excitement with me waned.

  “You know, just wandering.” I shuffled around some of my papers, trying to look busy so he wouldn’t realize I wouldn’t look at him.

  “Were you wandering around with a tall, dark and handsome stranger who has been occupying all of your free time lately?”

  The blush crept up my cheeks before I could turn away and hide it. I chose to ignore it and the question. I picked up my inventory sheets and straightened them on the bar. “Our liquor counts seem to be off again.”

  “There’s no way. I’ve been watching the liquor storage like a hawk.” Peter jerked the papers from my hand. I let them go without a fight, trying to prevent death by paper cuts. I leaned over the bar, using my pen as a pointer while I spoke.

  “Right here.” I tapped the paper, pointing to the vodka. “I ordered three bottles of Grey Goose last week. Based on what we rang up, we should have two full ones left in storage, but we don’t. I checked in that order myself. I know we had them.”

  “We could’ve sold it all?” Peter threw out even though I’d just said it wasn’t sold.

  I blinked slowly at the absurdity of the statement. “Peter, we’ve been a ghost town. You can’t keep ignoring it.”

  “Maybe the staff drank a lot of vodka this week.”

  “Nobody that works here drinks Grey Goose.”

  “It’ll turn around. It always does.” Peter tossed down the sheets, readily ignoring all bad news. To keep his hands busy, he started to play with my notebook. He opened it to the back and fanned the pages with his thumb and first finger. He repeated the process once he ran out of pages.

  “Peter—”

  “It always does, Regan.” His tone left no room for objections.

  The plane ticket shone like a beacon to me every time the pages fluttered past it. I feared Peter would pick up on my nervousness and go searching for the cause, so I changed the subject. I racked my brain on how to take the book away from him without being obvious about it.

  “Who are we working with today?” I asked. I picked up a bar rag and started to wipe down the bar top around Peter. I slowly worked my way closer to the notebook.

  “I need you to pull double duty and bartend, too, to cut down on labor costs. I think Seth is scheduled as the server today.”

  “Only two of us? Even in this weather?” The temperature was slowly climbing. It was still too chilly to sit outside, but once the weather lightened up, the locals would be out walking around and crowding the local dining establishments. This place, Patrick O’Kelly’s, used to be one of the busiest.

  “Yep.” Peter fanned the pages again. I worked closer to him, continuing to wipe down the bar top as I went. I reached for my notebook to move it out of the way but I wasn’t quick enough. Peter stopped me by wrapping his hand around my wrist.

  “What’s this?” Peter asked.

  “My notebook. You know I always carry one.” Peter’s eyes watched me. He never even blinked as the time dragged on. Without taking his eyes off mine, he plucked the folded sheet of paper out with his fingertips.

  “I was talking about this.” Peter waved it in front of my face. I snatched at it but missed each time.

  “It’s nothing.” I grabbed at it again, but Peter pulled it out of reach before I made contact. I changed my game plan and walked around the bar to his side. Peter stood taller than me, topping six feet to my five feet, nine inches. He held the ticket over his head playing keep-away with me. I climbed up his body, desperately reaching for the ticket. Laugher mixed with grunts as we wrestled for control of the paper.

  No matter how hard I strained, it was always just out of my grasp. I stepped on the bottom rung of the bar stool and lunged upward, urging my arm higher. The movement shifted our weight in the chair, sending us toppling backward. Peter took the brunt of the fall with me landing on top of him. He grunted again as I scrambled over him and grabbed the ticket before he realized my plan. With the prize clutched in my hand, I stalked off to the office.

  “This isn’t over, Regan,” Peter yelled at me before laughing again.

  Chapter Two

  9:18 A.M.

  I finished entering the inventory numbers and pushed print for the report. The printer whirred to life, and after a moment the pages started to spit out of the machine. I scratched my stomach where the ticket rubbed against my skin. The paper crinkled as I moved, held against me by my tank top. I patted it back into place before pulling the report from the printer.

  I glanced at the numbers for each department. Labor, food and retail costs were all within an acceptable margin, but I was right on the liquor inventory. We were missing hundreds of dollars of the product since the last inventory count two weeks before. I snagged a highlighter from the desk drawer and started marking each item that was more than one full bottle off.

  Fresh air came in through the door, propped open with the garbage can. The small office space ran hot and stuffy since it was wedged off the kitchen. Voices carried from the bar area as the kitchen staff started to arrive for their shifts. I finished highlighting the items I needed to double-check and headed for the bar.

  Anais, Peter’s mother, sat with him at a bar table. Their heads were bent together to keep their conversation private. I glanced down at the report I held. The first line showed our sales for the last four weeks. They were dismal, to say the least. We’d be lucky to break even this month. I hid my concern with a big smile.

  “Good morning, Anais. You look lovely.” I kissed her cheek in greeting. Anais was pushing seventy but didn’t look a day over fifty. The woman never aged. Her hair was pulled back in its customary chignon. Her black A-line dress hugged her curves without clinging. She looked ready to attend a funeral or stomp down a runway in Paris.

  “Good morning.” Anais nodded her head in greeting. I sat down at the table next to Peter, placing the report on the table face down. I didn’t want to upset Anais with our low sales. O’Kelly Pub was originally owned by Anais and her husband, Patrick. Patrick passed on last year, leaving the bar to Peter to run. Since then, the sales had dwindled regularly. Without Patrick, the bar seemed to lose its liveliness.

  “Are you willing to share what you are hiding yet?” Peter asked. He leaned against the table invading my personal space. The ticket tickled against my skin, reminding me what Peter was really referring to.

  “I was right about the Grey Goose,” I answered instead.

  “We’ll find it.” Peter waved off my concern.

  “It’s not a matter of ‘finding it.’ We’re missing two whole bottles. And, that’s not all.” I tapped the papers in front of me.

  “Later. Let’s talk about you, darling.” Peter mimicked his mother’s French accent.

  “There’s nothing to talk about.”

  “That translates to a man,” Anais said. I looked up at her. “Some languages are universal, dear.”

  “Well, Mother, this morning I came across a very tall, dark and handsome fellow leaving behind a very flustered Regan. I wonder what it could be about.” Peter fluttered his eyelashes at me. I rolled my eyes at his fake innocence.

  “We have work to do, Peter,” I said.

  “All work and no play makes for a dull Regan.” Peter waved his finger in front of my face. “Don’t you agree, Mother?”

  “Let her be, Peter. You should be more concerned about the missing inventory. Excuse me.” Anais stood from the table and headed toward the bathroom.

  “I believe this is yours.” Peter picked up my purse from the floor beside him.

  “What is this doing out here? I had it in the closet.”

  “I needed lip balm.” Peter shrugged his shoulders and smacked his lips together.

  “You mean you needed to snoop.”

  “Maybe. I checked your purse, your desk drawer, behind the bar. All zilch. That only leaves one other place.”

  “Dare I ask?” I tapped my fingers against the tabletop, showing how bore
d I was with the conversation.

  “Your body.”

  I tried to keep a straight face as I stared back at him blankly, although my heart did stutter.

  “My body?” I made a ploy of checking my pants pockets. “See? Empty. It was just trash, Peter. I threw it away.”

  “Threw it away? Hmm.” Peter tapped his index finger against his nose. “I don’t buy it.”

  “You looked in the garbage cans, too, didn’t you?”

  Peter didn’t confirm or deny it.

  “What was it? A love letter from the stud? A long goodbye note? Come on. Let me live vicariously through you. My love life is dryer than the Sahara lately.” Peter tugged on my arm. “I know how to get it out of you.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really. Food.” To emphasize the point, Peter poked me in the stomach, the tell-tale crunch of paper giving my hiding place away. Our eyes locked. Our movements stopped. We faced each other like statues. The slamming of the restroom door broke us from our stance.

  I turned to run, but Peter was faster than me. He grabbed me around the waist, tickling my sides. I screeched in laughter and tried to pry his fingers away from me. I pivoted and planted my left foot behind his right. I pushed against his chest hoping he’d stumble and fall. My plan half worked. He stumbled but didn’t let go of me. For the second time today, I fell on top of him. I landed on his chest, pushing the air out of his lungs with a “humph.” I took his distraction as an advantage and tried to crawl away. I’d made it off of him. I used my hands to help center myself and pushed off in a run like a wobbly sprinter.

  Peter grabbed my ankle and brought me down. I tried to ignore the fact I was rolling around on the dirty bar floor. Peter continued to tickle me. If anyone were watching, it would look like a silly game between us, but I was fighting for my life. He was determined to find out what I was hiding while I was set to keep it hidden. Laughter and angry grunts flew from me as he pulled my tank loose from my pants. I kicked my legs to get away from him and one of my shoes flew off.