Love in Numbers: An Enemies to Lovers Romance (Love Distilled Book 1)

by Scarlett Cole

  Emerson shook her head as Jake opened the box and pulled out a Boston cream.

  “Alright,” Emerson said. “Let’s take a seat and get started.”

  Once everyone was seated, doughnuts in hand, she began.

  “Before I get into the meat of this, if at any point this becomes more than you can deal with, Liv, you tell me to stop, and we’ll figure out how to take it from there, okay?”

  “Okay.” Olivia placed her doughnut on the table. “I said a version of this the other day at Dad’s, and I’ll say it again. It’s time we moved on from you all acting as though I’m going to fall apart. Just let me get on with it. I know my limits, and I have a plan for if I feel like I’m regressing. I’ll let you know if I need you.”

  “That’s fair. I’m sorry if we’ve been smothering you.” Emerson reached for her hand to give it a quick squeeze.

  Olivia squeezed her hand back, but then let go. “You have, but I get why. Now it’s time to stop. So, what do you need to talk to us about?”

  “The distillery is not in the shape we thought it was in. And to fix it, the actions taken by Dad might have made it worse.”

  Emerson explained from the beginning, the sequence of events from the storm, to the insurance, to the loan being recalled.

  When she was done, Jake and Olivia sat in silence.

  “I really screwed up, didn’t I…all those years ago when I thought I was helping out?” Olivia said, finally.

  Emerson shook her head. “Do you remember the first time Jake nearly blew up Patience, and she was off-line for a month? And we thought Dad was going to throw a fit?”

  Jake groaned. “Do we have to bring that up again?”

  “Yes, we do,” said Emerson. “Because Dad screwed up by not talking to us about the financial problems. I screwed up trying to do this on my own. My point is, we’ve all screwed up. And we are going to screw up again while running this place, I’m sure. The proof in this pudding will be what we do next.”

  “Do you have a plan?” Olivia asked. Jake turned her way, too. It suddenly hit her that she’d chosen the seat their father had always sat in, instead of the one next to Jake she usually took.

  “I do. It’s ugly, and it will take work on all our parts, including you, Liv.”

  Olivia smiled. “I’m ready.”

  “Me too,” said Jake.

  Emerson was boosted by the unmitigated support. “You guys don’t even know what it is yet.”

  “Fair enough,” said Jake. “Me too, as long as I get whatever botanicals I want for the next iteration of the Dyer’s Medallion.”

  Emerson shook her head. “I’ll set a cost per bottle, and you can have whatever botanicals you want within it.”

  Jake laid his head down on the table theatrically. “This is going to be worse than negotiating with Dad.” He lifted his head. “Fine. I agree.”

  Olivia laughed. “Go ahead, Em.”

  “First, we sell Dad’s house. Jake and I are willing to put our shares back into the distillery to ensure the loan gets repaid and the bank doesn’t come after us. We’ll need a quick sale, so the sooner we can get the house ready, the better.”

  “I want to put my share in,” Olivia said.

  “No,” said Jake. “You are the least financially secure of all of us. Em and I own our own places, and we can cover the mortgage and bills. You’re twenty-six and—”

  “I’m twenty-six, and I can save for a frigging deposit like you two did,” Olivia said firmly. “Getting a roommate in a rental for a couple of years is not going to kill me. Next item.”

  Olivia’s sass reassured Emerson that she really was back on track. “If that’s the case, the plan just got better. We pay back the loan and use the rest to renovate the actual distillery. It’s not enough to do everything we want, but we can change the layout of the main floor and buy a new efficient still. We hire a second distiller to work with Jake. We could even split production into two shifts. Earlies and lates, so the stills run for sixteen hours a day with breaks in between. The second distiller takes on our old lines, Dad’s recipes.”

  “We could call them Dyer’s Vintage. New packaging with new promotion behind them,” Liv said. “See if we can breathe some new life into them. The London dry style never goes out of fashion, but perhaps Jake could just tweak them a little…different juniper source or something.”

  Jake nodded thoughtfully. “I agree with the plan, I’m a little concerned with the execution. Check on the Dyer’s Vintage, we can definitely spruce that up, and it’s a great idea.”

  “Medallion is exceptional, Jake, and we need you to take it forward. Expand the range,” Emerson said.

  “I’ll give it some thought. I’m killing myself trying to get production out, but I’m loathe to hand it over to anyone else just now because quality is our superpower. I see what you’re trying to do, but let me think of a different way to do it. Perhaps promote someone and separate the preparation from production; have them start earlier. I don’t know. But I’ll get you the improvement you need.”

  “Liv, Jake will also need your help on Medallion, too. Let’s find a way to ride the momentum. Let’s issue press releases, let’s update our social media, let’s revisit how we use our tasting rooms.”

  Liv tapped her pen on her notebook. “One of the things I’d been thinking about was renting it out during the day for corporate events. We’ve focused on big events…like weddings. But there are lots of smaller conferences we could cash in on.”

  The idea felt solid to Emerson. “Whatever you’ve got. I’m going to tackle the costs, overheads, and pricing. Jake made a point that we should review our price positioning, given the success of the product, which I’ll do. I’m going to renegotiate everything from our utilities to the blessed seaweed you use that will cost us a fortune, Jake. Literally line item by line item.”

  Jake leaned forward. “We can’t compromise quality, Em. It’s why we won the Best in Class.”

  Emerson nodded. “Agreed. I wasn’t so much thinking about changing sources but renegotiating on the grounds that we need a higher quantity thanks to the extra volume the still will give us, and therefore deserve a better bulk price.”

  Olivia grinned. “I like it, Em. We’ll make more, sell more at a possibly higher price, and it will cost less to make.”

  “It means we’ll have to wait on the events hall. But with the increased production, we should be able to afford it before next year, or perhaps be in much better standing with the bank to take out a loan.”

  Emerson sat back in her chair and took a bite of her doughnut.

  “One hell of a plan, Em,” Jake said.

  It was.

  And she had Connor’s pep talk to thank for giving her the confidence to come talk to Jake and Liv. When they were done, she was going to go to Connor’s to update him and say thank you.

  And perhaps work out some of her excitement on him.

  Chapter Twelve

  Connor fiddled with his cuff link, then straightened the knot of his black tie that matched his black suit and black shirt. He caught sight of his reflection in the window of his apartment and sighed. Goddamn, he was actually nervous.

  Forcing himself to relax, he shook out his shoulders and arms.

  It’s just dinner.

  It had been his idea to celebrate the conversation she’d had with her siblings. To celebrate that no matter what the world threw at them, the Dyers were going to be just fine. What had possessed him to suggest they hit Maison Noir and dress the part, he wasn’t sure.

  Except he remembered how Emerson had looked when they’d met in the garden at the awards in San Francisco, and he wanted to give them both the opportunity to dress up and enjoy life a little.

  It had been her suggestion that they get ready separately when she had disappeared into the second bedroom two hours ago. Since then, he’d heard her listen to a country compilation, a food podcast discussing the history of pasta, and a meditation app. In the meantime, he’d swum
, worked out, gotten a haircut, caught up on the news, and showered. And it had been nice doing all those things wondering what exactly she was doing in the bedroom.

  Just as he was about to pour himself a drink, he heard the clip of heels on the wooden hallway. “Connor?”

  “I’m in the living room,” he said.

  When she stepped around the corner, he gaped. For sure, his jaw hit the floor.

  Emerson stood tall in a deep red dress that set off her tanned, smooth skin and dark hair. The fitted bodice accentuated her breasts as it did her waist. The wide skirt ended just below her knees.

  And she wore heels that matched the dress.

  Her hair was up in a messy updo that framed her face perfectly. And dear God, those red lips would be the end of him.

  “You’re perfect,” he said.

  Emerson laughed shyly and bobbed a little curtsy. “It’s all new. And I still suck at walking in heels.”

  Connor crossed the room and took her hand. “Heels. No heels. I love you just the way you are.” He pulled her close, as if they were dancing to some imaginary music.

  “You look incredibly handsome in this suit,” she said, running her fingertips along the ends of his hair. “I like your hair.”

  “Funny, I was just thinking how much I like yours. Up like it is now, or down when my fist is curled in it while we—”

  “Connor,” she said, cutting him off playfully. “If you behave, I might let you try that again later.”

  Connor laughed. “If I kiss you right now, am I going to ruin your lipstick?”

  Emerson shook her head. “Twenty-four-hour indestructible lipstick. At least, that’s what the label says.”

  He leaned forward, savoring the feel of her soft lips as they met his. Damn, he wanted to stay in and make out instead. He wrapped his hands around her, only to feel skin. Her back was totally exposed.

  “I like this dress even more,” he murmured, running his fingertips along her spine. “Are you sure I can’t convince you to stay in and order pizza?” Connor pulled her closer, hoping that she could feel exactly what she was doing to him. His dick was aching for her. “I can think of at least ten things I’d like to do with you while you’re wearing this dress.”

  Emerson grinned, slowly looked down at the growing tent in his pants, and then back up, pinning him with those eyes of hers that positively sparkled with excitement. “I’m certain pizza in bed with you would be incredible, as would be the ten things. But tonight, you promised me a wonderful dinner, so perhaps you can tell me about them en route. Let’s go.”

  Connor lifted Emerson’s hand to his lips. “Your wish is my command. Do you need a coat?”

  “My purse and wrap are by the door. And if I get too cold, you’ll give me your jacket, right?”

  As she turned to grab them, and he caught sight of the exceptionally low dip of her dress and the bow at the base of her back, he figured he’d give her just about anything she asked for.

  “Can one of the things I do to you in this dress start in the car?” Connor asked as he opened the door to their ride. “My tongue somewhere it shouldn’t be in public.”

  Emerson blushed. “Save it for later,” she said, looking around to see if they’d been overheard.

  Once at Maison Noir, the host seated them in one of the round booths and left them with their menus. The deep burgundy leather sofa, dark wood, and low lighting was perfect.

  Emerson groaned when she looked at the menu. “Don’t you just love it when you open a menu and immediately see so many dishes you’d like to try?”

  Connor leaned toward her. “Kind of like when I look at you and think about ten things I’d like to try?”

  Her eyes met his. “Tell me another,” she dared him.

  For a moment, he debated whether she meant it or not, but the way she looked at him, the way her lips were ever so slightly open, told him she did. He moved closer in the booth and whispered into her ear. “When we get home, I’d like for you to kneel on the edge of the bed in this dress while I take you from behind. I might even take a fistful of this glorious hair of yours…hold you in place while you come.” He ran his fingers gently down her spine.

  “Is that before or after I wrap my lips around your—”

  “Welcome to Maison Noir,” a female voice said. “Can I get you an aperitif while you look at the menu?”

  Emerson blushed, while Connor moved slightly away from her, but threw an arm around the leather seat behind her. He’d never been less happy to get service, no matter how crisp the woman’s black uniform and attitude were.

  He wanted Emerson to finish that sentence more than anything else in the world.

  “Could I get a French 75, please?” she asked, without glancing down at the cocktail menu.

  Connor grinned. “I’ll take a gin and tonic. Dyer’s Medallion if you have it.”

  “We do. It’s my current favorite,” the woman said.

  “I like the taste of Dyer’s, too,” he said, winking in Emerson’s direction.

  When the server disappeared, Emerson turned to him. “Oh my god, do you think she heard?”

  Connor tipped her chin and pressed a brief but intimate kiss to her lips. “I doubt it, but honestly, I don’t care. She probably doesn’t give a rat’s ass that we were flirting. She’s probably thinking about how many of the specials there are left and whether she gets next Tuesday off on the staff rotation. Anyway, I want to hear what of mine you were considering wrapping your lips around.”

  Emerson grinned as she shook her head. “You are incorrigible.”

  “Only when I’m aroused,” Connor replied.

  She lifted the menu to hide her face from his. “I’m thinking oysters,” she said.

  He pressed down on the top of the menu with two fingers so he could just see her eyes. “Nature’s aphrodisiac? I approve.”

  Their drinks came, and they placed their orders. Oysters and the seared snapper for Emerson and the Wagyu beef tartare and the short rib for him. With a light Beaujolais cru to dance between the lightness of Emerson’s seafood and his own meat choices.

  “I’m glad things went well with Jake and Liv,” he said over their appetizers. “I’m glad they were reasonable.”

  Emerson nodded. “Me too. I’d never really thought about what Dad would leave us, beyond the distillery. And so, the fact we get to use his estate to keep the distillery is a bonus.”

  In between courses, Connor resumed his teasing of Emerson, offering her more suggestions on the ten things he wanted to do to her. By her reaction to number six—in his arms up against the wall—and number eight—seated on one of the stools in the kitchen with him standing in front of her—they already had an outline of how exactly their return to the condo was going to go.

  By the time he hit suggestion ten, they were just waiting for the bill.

  “I don’t know if it was your plan all along,” Emerson said, quietly, her voice husky. “But I’m so turned on right now that I might spontaneously combust.”

  She bit her lip as she looked at him, and he’d seen the look in her eyes before. The look that told him that she was on the edge before she lost control. It left her looking just a little wild and reckless.

  Connor reached out and placed his palm against her cheek. “I’ve been hard as a rock since you appeared in the condo wearing that dress and lipstick. When I race, it’s important to not go out too early. You have to know your pace. Steady, letting it build. And you need to save some energy for that final burst at the end, savoring the anticipation of crossing the line rather than just hurtling toward it. Savoring the anticipation of you tonight has been fucking glorious.”

  When the bill arrived, he paid, refusing Emerson’s offer to split it. He used the time to cool his thoughts. Jumping into borderline frozen rivers, running at five in the morning in the snow. Anything to ensure he could do all the things he wanted to with Emerson when they got home.

  It felt as though the oxygen had been sucked out of the
car. Connor’s hand edged its way along her leg from her knee. His fingertips trailed her inner thigh, her skirt bunching up as he moved higher.

  Emerson glanced in the direction of the driver, half expecting his eyes to be glued to the rearview mirror, watching as Connor began to undo her, to make good on the promises he’d whispered in her ear over dinner. Relieved, she found his eyes focused on the road in front of them.

  Connor leaned his elbow on the window, hand in his hair as he studied her, his gaze intense. It was a wonder there weren’t physical sparks flickering between the two of them, igniting the seat.

  Neither of them said a word.

  Emerson answered the question of how far she’d let him go almost as soon as she’d thought it.

  As far as he wanted to.

  The tip of his finger brushed against her red lace underwear, making her gasp and her stomach muscles clench. She wanted more immediately, but his hand never ventured quite far enough to allow him to apply any pressure.

  The side of Connor’s mouth tilted in a smirk. He knew exactly what he was doing to her, or in this case, what he wasn’t doing to her.

  She squinted in a mock frown.

  Soon, he mouthed.

  Emerson let her head fall back on the headrest as she heard Connor chuckle. He moved his hand, the loss of connection immediate. Once he’d straightened her skirt back down, he lifted her hand and brought her knuckles to his lips. He kissed them gently and then lowered her hand to his hard erection where he flattened her palm against it. He laid his hand over hers to ensure she didn’t grip it, rocking once, then twice against her.

  Okay, so she was doing to him what he was doing to her.

  Fair was fair.

  This time, she smiled and prayed the driver stepped on the gas.

  When they pulled up outside Connor’s apartment building, she reached for the door.

  “Wait,” Connor said, pulling a twenty out of his wallet before telling the driver to keep the change. He stepped out of the cab, and Emerson bit her lip as he discretely adjusted himself before walking to her door.