Whiskey and Moonshine

by Elizabeth Noble

  A few more men left, grumbling under their breath. Bodyguard guy rolled his eyes and stared at the ceiling for a few seconds, shaking his head. Colt inched toward the next man but stopped in his tracks when the bodyguard turned and glared at him, then crooked his finger, indicating for Colt to approach him. Colt twisted and looked behind him, then pointed to his own chest and mouthed the word, “Me?”

  The man nodded and stepped around the other applicants to Colt. “Come with me.” He took firm hold of Colt’s arm.

  He was sure he was going to be marched out of the building, but instead they crossed Audrey’s office and went up the stairs to the conference rooms. The bodyguard took a set of keys, unlocked one of the doors, and waved Colt ahead of him into the room. Colt barely had time to wonder why this man would have keys to the private conference rooms before he was face-to-face with Audrey, Billy Krems, and another man he’d seen around the distillery but whose name he didn’t know.

  Audrey was reading something from a tablet in her hand. When she glanced up, she blinked at Colt a few times before surprise registered all over her face. “Colt? What…?”

  “You know this kid?” Bodyguard waved in Colt’s direction.

  Nodding, Audrey said, “Yes. He’s an employee here. A very good one.” She glanced from the bodyguard to Colt. “What are you doing here?”

  Colt opened his mouth, but the bodyguard beat him to an explanation. “He was downstairs scaring away the men here for the interviews. Apparently he had a—how to put this? A very creative version of the agreement between the potential applicant and the company.”

  “You what?” Audrey asked. He could tell she was shocked since she forgot to use her Miss Manager voice.

  “It took us weeks to arrange all this,” the unnamed man sputtered. He got up and began pacing around the room. “Do you realize what you’ve done?”

  “Yeah, I do. I saved you from mucking your plan up,” Colt said. Holding up the papers, he put on his most pleading expression and continued, “Five minutes. That’s all I’m asking you to give me. Five minutes, and I’ll show you a much better plan. If you don’t like what I have to say, then I’ll personally go round up all those other guys and bring them back.” He paused and gave the group a visual once-over. “But I won’t have to.”

  “I should have you arrested!” the pacing man sputtered.

  “Jeffery, sit down,” Bodyguard said. His voice, like his stance, was stern.

  “But—” Jeffery started.

  Bodyguard walked to the middle of the room. “I want to hear what he has to say.”

  “So do I,” Audrey chimed in, and Mr. Krems nodded his agreement.

  Hurrying to the table, Colt motioned to it with the papers he held. He licked his lips. Couldn’t get cold feet now. “May I?” He was greeted with a collective nod. Spreading the papers out like giant playing cards, he talked as he worked. “I worked in Kensington’s Place Saturday night and had the chance to talk with a number of customers who were in town for an interview here. Except these guys usually go to auditions.” Colt stopped and looked around at their stunned faces. “You invited a bunch of guys in their twenties who live off their looks to a distillery. And gave them free drinks. They drink, they talk. What did you expect would happen?”

  “He’s got a point,” Mr. Krems said. “Why didn’t we think of that?”

  “Because you’re honest people,” Colt said softly.

  “And you’re not?” Jeffery snapped.

  “No, sir, I’m honest. But as Miss Hollan already knows, I’ve lived on the streets since I was fifteen. You learn a thing or two and have a different perspective on some things.”

  “Go on,” Bodyguard said. He was standing very close to Colt, and the heat he gave off was distracting.

  “They told me their names, some of the other jobs they’d held, things like that. I remembered the details, and yesterday I went to the library and looked them up. A few of them I found simply by remembering what they looked like and searching through pictures. You put out a call for actors to play the face of this company.” Colt moved some of the papers around. “The problem is, anyone looking any of these men up will find them on databases and in write-ups. These are men looking for work in a specific field. They’re out there. Pictures, resumes, everything. This guy here was in a soap opera.” He pointed to another page. “This one did a car commercial. And that one has done Shakespeare in the Park. They’re going to come across as an actor hired to play a part.”

  “He’s got a point,” Mr. Krems said. “And I take it you’re suggesting you are our solution?”

  You can do this. Colt nodded. “Go ahead and try to find me. I don’t have a Twitter or Facebook account or an agent, and I’ve never been in a play or movie or anything unless you count middle-school drama class.” He looked around at them. “But I do work for this company already. I know a little bit about it and genuinely care for this place, and I love this part of the country. I wouldn’t be acting. I’d be speaking from my heart.” He put one palm over his chest. “People will sense that my feelings are real.”

  “Standardly we do a social media search on all applicants. I’d already given Colt his job here first, but I did do it later, and he’s telling the truth.” Audrey smiled at him. He had the feeling she approved of what he was doing.

  “You did say if I was interested in another position here to talk to you,” Colt said and gave her a lopsided grin.

  Bodyguard was studying the papers scattered across the table. “I like him.”

  “You’ve worked here for how long?” Mr. Grice asked.

  “Almost six weeks, sir.” Colt motioned to the pieces of paper. “I know it hasn’t been long, but it’s longer than any of these guys.”

  “I really like this one,” Bodyguard said. Colt glanced at him, wondering why on earth he’d have an opinion. “He’s someone who shows initiative, and I saw downstairs how he thinks. Let me ask you something, Colt.”

  Colt nodded. This guy probably wasn’t a bodyguard. “Sure.”

  “Why do you want this position?”

  Colt opened his mouth and shut it again. Bodyguard tilted his head and scrutinized Colt. “I don’t have a fancy degree, but I want a good job. I want to earn my way without hurting people.” He shrugged. “It sounds like a challenge and sorta fun. Most importantly, the first time I saw this place, I fell in love with it. I want to be a part of it.”

  Bodyguard nodded slowly and looked around at the others. He looked Colt in the eye. “You’re hired.” He held up one hand and focused on Jeffery when he opened his mouth, no doubt to protest. “I like this one, and he’s who is going to, as you put it, be the fresh face of Kensington Distillery and Still House. It’s obvious he can think outside the box and on his feet. We need that. He did a great job of getting rid of the competition, which is always a goal.” He winked at Colt. “My personal favorite was the leeches.”

  Jeffery slumped back in his chair, and Colt would’ve sworn he was pouting.

  Audrey crossed the room to Colt and put one hand on his shoulder. “Colt, let me introduce Malone Curtis Kensington.”

  Chapter Three

  “THE hair has to go,” Philippe, Mr. Kensington’s personal stylist, said.

  “And it’s much too dark. He doesn’t fill out a suit the same way Mr. Kensington does, that’s for sure,” added Gwendolyn. Audrey called her the mistress of the wardrobe. Colt had no idea if that was a real thing or simply Audrey’s description of what Gwendolyn did. She’d warned Colt never to use the shortened version of her name—Gwen—however.

  The two of them talked as if Colt were in some fancy salon, rather than in Mr. Kensington’s house. He wondered if it was customary for rich people to have rooms of their homes devoted to their wardrobes and hairstyles. This room was beside an office and had ample space for a barber chair, television, and a wide stool and armchairs. A second room across the hall had dressers, changing screens, a free-standing clothes rack, three-paneled mirror, and
more armchairs.

  “You would notice that.” Philippe pulled up a chunk of Colt’s hair and let it fall from his fingers slowly.

  Gwendolyn snorted. “As if you didn’t.” She poked at Colt’s shoulder. “Stand straight.” She was a little taller than the average woman, with a very full figure and a bright, sunny smile. Colt judged her to be about his age, maybe a few years older. Everything about her matched. He could tell right away she was one of those people with such inner beauty it radiated outward, and she would have looked glamorous in a burlap sack.

  “His coloring is all wrong for light hair,” Philippe mumbled.

  Colt grabbed his hair and pulled it to the side. “Why does my hair have to go?”

  Up until now, Mr. Kensington had been standing quietly to the side. He barked a short laugh but didn’t add any of his own thoughts. Colt had a moment of fright. Maybe Mr. Kensington had changed his mind about Colt or thought a street kid wasn’t the right type. Colt tried to quiet his mind and settle his nerves.

  “Not all of it, of course.” Philippe yanked Colt’s hair from his hands and fanned it out again. “But this is not Mr. Kensington’s style at all.”

  Colt looked at Audrey, hoping for some help. “I thought the point was a younger, hipper style for the distillery.” He inched away from Philippe. “I don’t have to look like a duplicate of him.”

  Gwendolyn held different color swatches of what Colt hoped was fake hair against Colt’s face. She and Philippe were arguing—and getting louder—about how best to cut Colt’s hair.

  “Couldn’t I just wear it like this?” Colt pulled his hair back and wound it around itself into a bun.

  “The man bun is fine for some sweaty athlete or common model, not for Mr. Kensington’s public representative,” Philippe declared.

  “I thought you enjoyed the look since you have an entire Pinterest board devoted to those men,” Gwendolyn teased.

  Philippe snorted. “We won’t discuss what your Pinterest boards are.”

  “Those are purely for professional references.”

  “Uh-huh,” Philippe muttered.

  Colt wondered if their rivalry was more of a friendly thing than first appearances led others to believe.

  Audrey was leaning against the back of an armchair, flipping through a magazine. “What about a style like this?” She held the magazine up for them to see.

  All of them looked first at the magazine, then Colt, then repeated the process.

  “May I see?” Mr. Kensington asked. Audrey handed over the periodical, and Mr. Kensington spent another minute or two flipping through the pages. Every few seconds he’d stop, hold the magazine up, and focus on Colt before continuing. It wasn’t long before Mr. Kensington’s gaze met Colt’s. Offering a small, shy smile, Colt ducked his head after a few beats and bit his lip as he felt his cheeks warm.

  The voices around Colt dulled. He mentally gave himself a shake, but the kindness and what he could only describe as kinship he’d seen a glimpse of in Mr. Kensington’s eyes settled and warmed him. A brief slip of time where it seemed to be just the two of them in the room. Colt never really believed in that sort of thing. It happened in books and movies, not real life, so he dismissed it as his imagination and maybe a bit of being overwhelmed at the moment. Nevertheless he returned the smile and was rewarded with one slight nod Colt had the distinct feeling was assurance and approval.

  “I like this one.” Mr. Kensington held the magazine out to Colt. “I think it would look nice on you.” He shrugged and winked at Colt. “It’s hair. If you don’t like it, it’ll grow back. You’re not stuck with it forever.” His voice was soft and steady, giving the impression he didn’t regret his decision to hire Colt.

  Philippe swooped in, snatched the magazine, and held it beside Colt’s head. “He’s got lovely high cheekbones and facial features.” Nodding, he moved from one side to the other. “Yes, yes, this is a very nice style.”

  “Can I—” Colt reached for the magazine, but Gwendolyn yanked it away.

  “It’s still too long,” Gwendolyn said.

  “Gwen,” Mr. Kensington said softly and held out his hand. Gwendolyn rolled her eyes and turned the magazine over. He stepped beside Colt, put one hand between his shoulder blades, and leaned over his other shoulder. “I think it’s a very nice cut. You’ve got thick hair with just enough of a wave that this will look nice on you.” Holding the magazine in his free hand, Mr. Kensington showed Colt the picture.

  “It’s very chic,” Audrey added.

  “And looks nothing like Mr. Kensington,” Gwendolyn protested.

  “Gwen, it doesn’t matter. He’s to represent me in public, not take over my identity.”

  Colt looked up at Mr. Kensington and smiled when he winked at Colt. “If I don’t like it, I can grow it out and try another style?”

  “Of course,” Mr. Kensington said.

  “I bet you’ve had your hair the same way for fifteen years,” Audrey said. “Good for you, Colt, for trying something new.”

  Mr. Kensington patted Colt’s shoulder before he nodded at Philippe and moved away. “Work your magic.”

  Philippe unfolded a large tarp and let it flutter to the floor before motioning between Colt and the barber chair. “Have a seat.”

  Once Colt was settled, Phillipe swung a large plastic cape around Colt’s chest and shoulders and tied it at the back of his neck. Philippe took what looked like a fishing-tackle box and a small folding table from the closet. He set the table up beside Colt and arranged the contents of the box across it. As Colt watched his hair fall to the tarp, he realized this was something that probably went on regularly in this room. Colt hadn’t seen the inside of a cheap barbershop in years, let alone been treated like this. He felt like royalty.

  When Colt was trying to convince them he was the perfect choice, it all seemed like a great idea. However, he’d never been around this much wealth, and except for what he’d picked up these past weeks since he’d been here, he knew very little about the production of spirits.

  Maybe he was out of his league.

  “Should he use an accent similar to mine?” Mr. Kensington asked. He, like Audrey, had a soft Southern accent.

  “Your voice is deeper. It’s nice,” Colt observed.

  Mr. Kensington smiled softly at him. “Thank you.”

  “I don’t think so. Unless someone has a very exotic accent, I’m not sure people pay much attention,” Mr. Grice pointed out. “Pretending he’s from this area will likely backfire on us at some point. It’s better to avoid something like that from the beginning.”

  “He will need a new wardrobe,” Audrey added. “Gwendolyn will need Colt’s measurements so she can do some shopping for him.”

  Gwendolyn nodded. “I need to get a few things. I’ll be back before Phillipe is finished with his hair.” She hurried from the room.

  More of Colt’s dark hair fell to the floor. It had a nice shine in the light, and the individual hairs were on the thicker side with a little wave. Phillipe took a spray bottle and spritzed Colt’s hair, then cut more. He worked from back to front. After a few minutes, he stood in front of Colt, lifted his chin, spritzed again, and combed Colt’s hair down to cover his face before Colt heard the gentle clip of scissors.

  The strands that fell to the floor weren’t nearly as long as the ones Phillipe cut from the back of Colt’s head. It didn’t take long before Phillipe was turning Colt’s head again. Audrey and Mr. Kensington moved around so they stood in front of them. Audrey put her tablet down and stood staring with Mr. Kensington, who crossed one arm across his middle and braced his other elbow against it with his chin in his palm, watching.

  When Philippe blow-dried Colt’s hair, using a brush to flip his hair around, Audrey gasped, and Mr. Kensington’s eyes widened.

  Colt put both hands on his head and felt his hair as Philippe stepped back. He pulled a mirror from his supply box and held it out to Colt. “Hair can be an art form by itself, and on you, it certainly
is.” He turned to the others, smiling broadly. “I think I outdid myself this time.”

  “Holy crap, yes.” Mr. Kensington leaned to one side, then the other, looking Colt up and down. “Your eyes are gorgeous.”

  Colt took the mirror and stared at himself. His dark hair that was once straight and one length was now layered so his waves made it fluffy and appear fuller. He had bangs, long and with enough curl they flipped up. He’d seen his reflection plenty of times, but never had he looked like this. The style of the haircut accented his cheekbones and the shape of his eyes.

  His dark amber eyes were flecked with green, and Colt couldn’t stop staring at them. He’d never noticed their pleasing almond shape framed with thick lashes. His entire face looked different. Holding the mirror in one hand, he reached out and used one shaking finger to trace the line of his jaw, then his eyebrows.

  “I… don’t…. It’s like it’s not even me,” Colt said softly.

  Philippe bowed grandly and turned to the others. “My work here is done.” He smiled at Colt. “It’s amazing how different a haircut can make you look, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” Colt agreed. Astounding is what it was.

  Gwendolyn hurried into the room. “Oh my. You look so different. Really, really nice.” She waved with one hand for Colt to stand up. “Now let’s get started on some clothes.”

  Philippe brushed the hair from Colt’s shoulders, then untied the cape and shook that out so all the hair was on the tarp on the floor.

  Colt watched Philippe sweep up the hair and clean and store his supplies. Gwendolyn was moving around, and when Colt twisted to see her, she poked at his shoulder. “Stand still.” She whisked open a tape measure and stretched it across his back. “Lift up,” she said and tapped at his arms, then ran the tape from one wrist to the other. Next she measured his back from neck to groin.