Page 2 of Mr. Brightside

Chapter 1

Jake

“Catchmeifyoucan, bro.”

My quads are on fire as I increase my pace. My speed is well beyond the recommended parameters, but if this is what it takes to smoke his ass, there’s no way I’m backing down now. I let out a whoop as I pass him on the leaderboard, but instantly regret expelling that bit of extra energy. Less than twenty seconds later, he overtakes me. Again.

I grind my teeth and push the pedals harder. His cardio game has always been stronger, but I got up way too early for this ride to let him win. I’m laser focused as the instructor counts us down.

My chest burns as sweat drips down my front like little rivers running along my abs. My lungs scream at me to slow down, back off, ease up. I’ll do no such thing.

I’m blackout-level exhausted by the time it’s over, so much so that I barely hear the cool-down instructions over my panting.

It’s not until I catch my breath and glance at the screen that I see my efforts were for nothing. My username may be listed above his, but we scored the same number of points. Our rankings are identical. We tied.

Fuckin’ A.

I’m getting way too old to push it this hard. Or to be up this early.

I do a quick cool-down ride, then unclip, wiping down the sweat-covered machine. Most days I’d lift or hit the heavy bag, too, but I’m physically spent from going so hard at the end of that ride. I also can’t overdo it, because I’ve got big orders to receive at the restaurant and the bar today.

Instead, I lie down on the mats in front of the mirrored wall in my home gym and do gentle stretches to loosen up my back and thighs. I’ve only been in a straddle stretch for a few seconds before my mind drifts back to work and, more specifically, to the issue that’s been looming over my head for the last forty-eight hours.

The moment Mike told me he had to sell, I knew I wanted to buy him out. Ithasto be me. No one else is better suited or more genuinely interested in owning Clinton’s and The Oak.

But he needs to move quickly, and we both know it wouldn’t take much effort to get an offer. There’s an abundance of rich pricks in this town; Hampton bleeds old money and disposable income. I’ve been low-key panicked over the last two days thinking about him listing either or both establishments for sale because I know they’ll be scooped up in an instant.

Not only do I loathe the idea of working for someone else, but I genuinely care about the staff I’ve personally hired and trained at both places. Clinton’s was my first home. The Oak is my pride and joy. I can’t remember the last time I wanted something this much.

I don’t fault Mike for needing to sell, and I know this is all happening out of necessity. But I’ll be damned if I let the two places I love most in this world be invaded by an outsider.

Not in my house. Not on my watch. It has to be me.

I sit up and reach for my phone, blowing out a long breath as I wait for the inevitable gloating text from my best friend.

Rhett: You almost had me that time. Almost.

I groan and shake my head. Rhett and I are both ridiculously competitive. The moment I bought this damn workout bike, he had to have one, too. Now we do a set schedule of live classes each week—something his wife, Tori, calls “bro bike dates.” There’s literally no one else I’d wake up at five a.m. for, but I’ve come to look forward to these rides together. It’s one way we can stay connected now that he’s not coming back and forth to Hampton like he used to.

I pound out my reply as I lie back and do a gentle spinal twist.

Jake: I DID have you that time, bro. Go check your screen again. My name’s on top of yours on the leaderboard.

Rhett: That’s because they’re listed alphabetically and you know it.

Jake: Tori always says you’re a sore loser.

I snicker as I send off the jab. I know the list is presented alphabetically with the same final output numbers, but he sealed his fate when he picked his boring-ass boardroom-inspired username. It’s not my fault that JakeNBake69 comes before NSTCEO.

I switch sides for a final stretch, then hop to my feet. One of the smartest things I ever did was convert the second bedroom of my condo into a gym. It saves me a ton of time in the mornings. I whistle to myself as I pass through the kitchen and flip on the coffeemaker to warm up. I’m gonna need a boatload of caffeine to get through this day.

Not only do I have to get to work early to receive the orders, but I have big plans this afternoon that will require a significant amount of energy.

But focusing on my plans and usual to-dos has been virtually impossible. If I’m honest, I haven’t stopped thinking about Clinton’s and The Oak since Mike broke the news to me on Saturday night.

I asked him to give me two days to figure my shit out. My deadline is today, and I still don’t know what I’m going to do.

In the end, this all boils down to two things. First, I need to get the final word from my personal lawyer confirming precisely what counts in relation to the language in my dad’s will. Second, I need to decide whether I’m really willing to do what needs to be done to unlock the ten million dollars and change I stand to inherit.