“Anyway, the service engineer for Constance just arrived,” Jake said. “I’ll let you know what he says.” He was gone as quickly as he’d arrived.
Happy thoughts. Happy thoughts. Happy thoughts.
Instead of her usual memory of a family trip to the Adirondacks where she and her father had sat and watched the sunset one evening, Connor’s face came to mind. They’d messaged occasionally over the weekend. She’d been concerned on Saturday evening…he’d not seemed quite like his usual ebullient self. He’d assured her it was a work problem that was on his mind, and boy, did she know how that went.
Four hours later, she knew two things. The first was that Constance would be out of order for three more days due to the part required to fix her being unavailable. The second was that she had a meeting on Friday with the business manager at the bank to ask for a loan.
“I’m out,” Jake said, walking into her office and taking a seat.
“If you’re out, why are you sitting down?” Emerson replied.
Jake took his beanie off and ran his hand through his hair. Worry creased the corners of his eyes. “I wanted to see how you’re doing. Handling your old job, taking on Dad’s job. And I know a lot of it is new to you. Plus, Constance being off-line for so long. Are you doing okay?”
Emerson thought through the question before answering. “Not going to lie, I feel like I’ve bounced from task to task the last couple of months. I try to make a plan each morning, but by eleven it’s in the trash.”
Jake leaned back in the chair. “Do you remember what we agreed the day after the funeral?”
Memories of the three of them standing in their father’s living room, experiencing the silence that came after loss.
“We agreed that for six months, we’d just keep the company going, right?” Jake said.
Emerson shrugged slightly. “I know, but—”
“There is no but, Em. Anxiety and depression have swallowed Liv whole and spit out a shell of the girl she used to be. I don’t want to see that happen to you, too. The six months was for us to grieve. For us to take mental health days any time we needed them. Is it great that Dyer’s Medallion is doing so well? Yes. Will the distillery still be here next year if we have to turn down an order or two? Yes.”
Jake ran his hand through his hair again, something he’d done since he was little when he was worried. She wanted to reassure him. He hadn’t seen the books like she had, not in the detail she had. They were busting their butt, and yes, they were able to pay everyone’s salaries, and all the procurement orders, and all the bills, but the cash flow wasn’t there for their plans. So, no, the distillery might not be there next year, but she didn’t share any of that with him. Not when he was obviously worrying about her and Liv.
“You know, as younger brothers go, you do not suck,” she said softly.
“Well, as older sisters go, you’re not always a jerk. You will talk to me if it gets too much, right?”
Emerson nodded. “I will.”
Jake patted the desk and stood. “You going to be okay locking the place down?”
“I got it. You go home.”
About twenty minutes after Jake left, her phone buzzed.
I’m in the neighborhood. You still at work?
Connor.
Just a text from him had the power to brighten her day. It was ridiculous that a guy she hadn’t known two weeks ago could mean so much to her already.
I’m hoping to leave soon. Did you want to meet up? We don’t have to wait for our official date.
I’m glad you said that, he replied. I’m in Dyer’s visitor parking lot.
I’ll come down and let you in. Give me a minute.
A minute. What the hell. She needed at least five. She ran to the bathroom and quickly brushed her teeth, wishing she’d not had onions in her salad at lunch. After a long day at the distillery, she looked like she’d fought a battle with a hedge and lost. Running a brush through her hair took thirty seconds. A quick swipe of lip gloss took five.
She jogged to the visitor’s entrance and unlocked it. Connor, dressed impeccably in a dark gray suit with his white shirt unbuttoned at the neck, leaned against the brickwork of the entrance archway. He had his foot up against the wall and his head down in his phone. By his feet was a beautiful arrangement of bright gerbera daisies.
“Hi,” she said as he looked up. His eyes ran a trail up her body from her feet to her face, and she could feel the heat of his gaze.
“Is it cheesy if I said I really wanted to see you?” he asked, picking up the flowers and handing them to her.
She pressed her nose to them and inhaled deeply. “Thank you. And not cheesy at all. In fact, that’s very good verbalization of your emotions. I’m impressed.”
Connor placed his hand on her neck, his thumb on her cheek, and pulled her to him. His lips were tender when they met hers, his tongue playful as he kissed her deeply and all too briefly. Butterflies fluttered from her stomach to her toes and back again. “I’m so glad I caught you,” he said gruffly.
“Me too. Would you like a tour?” she asked, tipping her head in the direction of the production facility.
“I’d love one.” Connor stepped inside.
Emerson locked the door. “Precaution from intruders rather than an attempt to hold you hostage in here.”
Connor’s laugh echoed off the brick walls and concrete floor. “Funnily enough, that hadn’t crossed my mind until you put the thought there.”
She flicked the lights on to the main production floor and left the flowers on the stairs. “Thank you so much for the flowers. I can’t decide whether to take them home or leave them here on my desk, seeing as I spend most of my time there.”
“You’re welcome. I left work and was on my way back to my condo when I decided to take a detour. Don’t let me distract you, though, if you have things you need to be doing. I get that sometimes the work just has to get done.”
Emerson shook her head. While it was thoughtful of him to come by and bring flowers, it was even more considerate to realize she might not have time to see him.
“I’m pleased to see you,” she said, taking the hand he offered. “And I wouldn’t have offered to meet up if I couldn’t make it. I tend to be quite plain with what I’m thinking.”
Connor kissed her chastely, then grinned. “I’ve noticed that about you. Didn’t you call me Mr. Grumpy?”
Emerson laughed. “I only call it as I see it,” she said. “You want to see who’s being grumpy in here?” She led him toward the stills. “This is Constance. I would say this is where the magic happens, but Constance doesn’t have much magic in her at the moment.” Emerson ran her hand along the surface of the copper still affectionately.
“Is this the equipment you make Dyer’s Medallion on?” Connor asked, and she noticed he ran his hand across the still, too.
“We tend to, just because Constance is the most reliable and biggest. But we can swap and change between stills really easily.”
She walked him through the preparation area where lemons were hand peeled. The scent of lemon and juniper berries still lingered in the air, zesty and fresh. When they entered the bottling area, it became clear Connor knew his way through a liquor production plant. He asked about bottling rates and automated labelling equipment.
“As a distributor, you must have been through plenty of facilities like this,” she said, before leading him in the direction of the tasting rooms. “I’d love to pick your brain on what you’ve seen.”
“Any time. I’ve been through a fair few. With Medallion doing so well, do you intend to expand?”
Emerson laughed. “To answer that would take the rest of the night. Yes, I have plans. Right now, I don’t have the capital to back those plans up.”
“What are your estimates for the costs versus the yield improvement?”
Tired after hours of thinking about it, she needed a break from talking numbers. “It’s been a long day working out the very thing you are asking. I’d lo
ve to talk it through with you, and I’m really grateful you’re actually interested in all of this,” she said, waving her arm around her, “but if it’s alright with you, a really cute guy just showed up with flowers, and I want to fix him a drink and make him dinner.”
“Here?” Connor said, looking surprised.
“The tasting rooms are open every day. We do light lunches and flights of gin. We have cocktail classes, book clubs.” She pushed the door open to the tasting rooms. They were her favorite part of the distillery.
A long, rustic wood bar stood in the middle of the room with twelve chrome high-back stools in ivory leather flanking each side. One of the walls had been left as red brick, the others were smooth cream. The floor was a terracotta-colored tile, offset by low hanging lights with burnt orange blown glass shades. Floor-to-ceiling windows lined one wall, and the trees in the courtyard outside were hung with thousands of fairy lights, giving the whole place a magical feel.
She turned to Connor. “Take a seat, and let me take care of you.”
Lord, if she only knew just how willing he was to let her take care of him.
He wanted her hands on him, and his on her body. Seeing her, kissing her again, no matter how briefly, only fueled that.
From the moment Connor had pulled his dark gray Mercedes into the Dyer’s Gin Distillery parking lot and turned off the engine, he’d had to cool his heels.
He’d forced himself to study the sign on the wall of the distillery. In shades of sage, white, and gold, it gave the impression of something timeless, something traditional yet with a contemporary flair.
But even as he forced himself to absorb his first impression of a distillery he still considered a potential asset or investment, his mind had wandered to Emerson of the pretty brown eyes and soft hands, who appeared in his thoughts when he least expected it.
He’d thought of her when he was grocery shopping. Buying a steak for one had seemed almost pitiful when he could have been following his father’s retro Steak Diane recipe for two. He’d thought of her while he swam laps in an attempt to assuage some of the anger from his father’s announcement.
And it was the reason he was here. He’d spent the afternoon responding to his father’s bombshell seventy-two hours earlier. Cameron had lost his shit when Connor removed his access to Connor’s team of analysts. It was a petty but painful slap to Cameron, who ran his own P&L and had his own staff. If Cameron thought he was so smart, let him wrap up the quarter without any assistance from Connor’s team.
He’d cancelled his own attendance at any meeting his uncle was in, leading to his father’s intervention. In the end, he’d given his father two alternatives. Either it was okay for him and his uncle to never be in the same room again, or his father had four weeks to figure out whether he wanted to keep Cameron or Connor.
His father let the meeting cancellations stand.
At first, Connor had plans to go to the gym or the pool again to work the frustration out of his system. He’d even been on his way there. But then he’d thought of Emerson and his world had temporarily righted itself.
And watching Emerson as she slipped behind the bar and leaned toward him, he knew he’d made the right call. Her smile had already brightened his mood.
Her long hair fell over her shoulder. “Do you have to drive home? I can lock your car in the owners’ lot with mine.”
He reached forward and tucked it behind her ear, taking a moment to trail his fingers along the smooth expanse of skin. The rest of her skin would be that smooth, he knew it. The dip of her back, the valley between her breasts. And fuck, if the idea didn’t make his dick start to harden.
“Are you propositioning me?”
“Oh,” Emerson said, her cheeks going pink. “No. I just…well, alcohol and all that.”
Connor laughed. “I was just teasing, Emerson. I’m in no rush…for dinner or anything else. I’m happy to go with whatever pace you are at. Yes, I can leave my car.”
Her shoulders relaxed. “Phew. Okay. Good. Right, menu,” she said, pulling up a short menu attached to a brown clipboard. “What do you feel like? I can do pretty much anything on there, except the risotto.”
He scanned the list quickly, more interested in Emerson than his stomach. “How easy is the pizza?” Sure, it would fuck up his macros for a few days, but the idea of pizza and Emerson was the perfect combination for the mood he was in.
“Simple, give me twenty minutes to pop them in the oven and make a salad.”
“Can I come help?”
“Let me do this,” she said. “I’ll be back before you know it.”
He watched her as she walked toward what he assumed was the kitchen. The jeans she wore fitted her to perfection and watching her ass wasn’t going to do anything to ease the ache.
Instead, he focused on what she’d told him about the distillery and their need for investment. Usually it was easy for him to make a decision, to see a path. And he could certainly see several avenues the distillery could take to grow and be successful.
His brain told him a woman he’d only known for ten days shouldn’t even be in the equation. But the more he got to know her, the more his gut told him Dyer’s shouldn’t be involved in his acquisition plans at all if he wanted the two of them to work.
For once, he was conflicted by the morality of his thoughts.
And it didn’t sit well.
He’d always been a business-first guy. Hate the game, not the player. But the idea of doing something that affected Emerson curdled his gut. The idea that she could already be affecting him was equally unsettling, but when she reappeared from the kitchen twenty minutes later, he couldn’t deny it.
They ate their food, discussing innocuous things. And when the plates were cleared, Emerson resumed her place behind the bar.
“Do you always put ice in whiskey?” she asked as she pulled out a number of glasses and placed them in front of him.
The way she asked made him assume there was a correct answer, and his competitive streak wanted to get it right. “Mostly, yes. On the rocks.”
“Hmm. Okay. Do you ever drink gin neat, or always with a mixer?”
He’d obviously failed the first one. “A splash of mixer, unless I’m considering doing business with the producer. Then I’ll try samples without.”
Emerson bit her lip. “Okay.” The words were drawn out slowly…every syllable sounded out.
He reached for her hand and lifted it to his lips, kissing each of her fingertips. “You going to tell me where I’m going wrong?”
She studied where his lips touched her skin. He put the tip of her finger into his mouth and sucked on it, watching her bite her lip.
“Emerson?”
“Urgh, you’re distracting me. Focus, Finch.” She whipped her hand out of his and turned to select a gin. He could see her thought process as she worked, her fingers tapping, reaching for, and then discarding bottle after bottle before she settled on one.
“This is a classic London Dry Gin, which, as you probably already know, is a type of gin which originated in London but can be made anywhere. It’s all about the juniper berries. This glass,” she said, holding up the wide-bowled wine glass, “is a Copa de Balon-style glass from Spain.” She ran her fingers down the stem gently, and he could only imagine her caressing his dick in the same way. “It gives the gin room to simply be.”
He placed his fingers over hers and raised an eyebrow to let her know he knew she was teasing him. When she bit her lip in response, he almost tugged her over the bar so he could enjoy the taste of her again.
Emerson poured a splash of gin in each wine glass and offered a glass to him. “Swirl it gently and then put your nose to the glass. Sniff it, but don’t inhale aggressively. It’s easy to lose the differentiation of the scents with gin, so you need to breathe easy.”
Connor followed her lead. He’d been to tastings before, but not any conducted in the altogether sultry manner that Emerson was carrying out this one.
&n
bsp; She closed her eyes and inhaled gently, letting out a small moan of appreciation. Then her eyes snapped forward. “Go ahead,” she instructed, and Connor was suddenly aware that Emerson had mesmerized him into inaction.
He did as he’d been instructed, inhaling gently. The fresh piney, almost sappy scent of juniper hit him first. But with the slower, shorter inhale, he could pick out something else. “What’s the earthier scent?”
“Angelica. Juniper and angelica can often be difficult to separate, but we have a secret way of distilling them that allows both flavors to come through. Now the fun part. Take a sip, and before you swallow, let it roll right around your mouth. Over your tongue. Under it. Coat the inside of your mouth with it.”
Fuck. The words from her mouth, from those full lips. Swallowing. Tongues. Coating their mouths. She looked at him from beneath long eyelashes. Prolonged foreplay had never felt so damn satisfying.
Connor took a sip and let the bite of ethanol and burst of flavors swish around his mouth, watching as Emerson did the same.
Lemons, maybe…dear god, the way her lips pursed and cheeks moved…no, maybe orange, definitely citrus…and the moan she made when she swallowed.
He swallowed, too. The gin was great, the foreplay better.
Connor wished the bar wasn’t between them. He wanted to pull her into his arms, but he settled for leaning across the bar, sliding his hands into her hair, and pulling him to her. When they kissed, he could taste the gin on her lips. Her tongue met his as boldly as the gin had done, bursting with life and flavor.
Her hand went around his neck, tugging him toward her, and he had half a mind to take her on the bar. Only the recollection that they were in her workplace stopped him from acting upon it.
When they finally broke for air, Emerson grinned. “When I said let it roll over the tongue, I meant yours, not mine.”
“It tasted better on yours,” he said. “I needed a second opinion on the citrus.”
Emerson laughed, a sound he’d already come to adore. “You could have just asked. Citrus aurantium, bitter orange peel.”
“And where would the fun be in that?” He reached for her hand again, seemingly unable to stop touching her. “I look forward to doing that again many more times this evening.”
Love in Numbers: An Enemies to Lovers Romance (Love Distilled Book 1) Page 8
