What the bloody hell is going on out there? Issac stood there thinking to himself. Flashbulbs popped and teenagers were screaming outside his bistro’s lobby. Another damn celebrity NOT coming to my business, he thought sourly. The Red Cube was not doing as well as he liked. His regulars were now becoming increasingly irregular or not even showing up.
Issac reached under the bar and pulled out a bottle of his private reserve, a twelve year old bottle of scotch from the old country. After pouring a generous two fingers worth he flopped down at one of the polished oak tables and gulped it in one swallow. He knew what was wrong, although his pride wouldn’t allow him to admit it. After his best barmaid walked out on him a few weeks ago he was left short-handed and business declined.
Standing on the verge of getting the entire bottle from the bar Issac’s eyes locked onto a woman seated at a table near the entrance. Startled for a bare second, he realized that it was Jessica and his expression darkened.
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