by Inara Scott
He blinked a few times, then cleared his throat. “Here’s the weird thing. I can only think of one guy that we both know that happens to be a bit of an expert about all three of those topics.”
“Really?” She refused to meet his gaze. Luke was her business partner and friend, and she’d never lied to him. Even coming close made her gut twist. But she and Connor had agreed to keep this quiet.
“Yeah.” He waited for a moment, then added. “You know who?”
She waved her pen absently and then made a scribble on her pad. Damn it, her face was getting hot. “Who?”
“Connor Ashton.”
She made a tiny sound of surprise but otherwise did not respond.
“But that’s obviously irrelevant,” he continued, “because you’d tell me if you were hanging out with Connor. In fact, you’d probably invite me along, knowing how much I enjoy talking about sports.”
“You only like sports that carry the possibility of death,” she said, hoping to change the subject.
“That’s not true. I play basketball, and it’s not the least bit deadly. In fact, as you may recall, I was just playing basketball with Connor on Saturday. He played the worst game I’ve ever seen him play. I wondered if something had happened, but he said he just hadn’t slept well the night before.”
“Is that right?” She couldn’t help but glance up at that piece of information, and when she did, she knew she’d revealed too much.
“Zoe, you’re not…”
Not what? Not interested in Connor? Not losing her mind with the sexual tension that had suddenly erupted between them at his place on Sunday afternoon? Not fanning the flames by meeting him at a whiskey bar she’d never heard of that was definitely not one of their usual hangouts? Not thinking about the way his gaze had made her shiver?
She set down the pad and gave Luke a determinedly cheerful smile. “So, to answer your question, of course I’ve got a plan. Now, anything else we need to cover this morning?”
“Connor’s a great guy,” Luke said.
“Yes.”
“And a great friend,” he added.
“Yes.”
“And a great client.”
She fixed him with her best leave it alone stare. “None of this is news to me.”
He stood and wandered over to the wooden filing cabinet that held the only framed picture she had in her office—it was of herself, Luke, and Rafe, smiling as they celebrated their one-year anniversary of starting the firm. He tugged his chin as he stared at it. “Here’s the thing. I’ve seen you date a lot of guys, and there’s one thing they all had in common.”
“What’s that?”
“They were all jerks. Every last one. Especially that Chad guy. I hated him. He didn’t treat you well, and I never understood why you put up with it.”
She drew back in surprise. “You’re just telling me this now?”
“What was I supposed to say?”
“How about, ‘Hey Zoe, that guy you’re dating is an asshole’?”
“You know what you’d do if I said that? You’d make that stubborn Zoe face and tell me to shut the hell up and mind my own business.”
The corner of her mouth twitched. “That may be correct.”
“Oh, I know it’s correct. You have a very low tolerance for being told what to do. Besides, I assumed you’d figure it out. Eventually you do seem to break up with them. I just hate watching you go through it.”
Breaking up wasn’t entirely accurate. She hadn’t returned Chad’s last call, more because she was wondering if he’d notice than because she was trying to break up with him. And since it had been over a month and he hadn’t called back, she figured she was right.
She sighed. “What you are trying to say, Luke?”
“You deserve better than those guys. And I should have said it before, but I’m saying it now.”
She pressed her fingers against her temples. “And why, exactly, are you saying it now?”
“Because you’re one of my best friends,” he said. “And so is Connor. But he’s not exactly great dating material. He’s not an asshole or anything, but relationships are definitely not his thing.”
“Then I suppose it’s a good thing we aren’t dating.”
“I mean, he’s better than Chad,” Luke continued. “Don’t get me wrong. But if things go south, Zoe, and he does that Connor thing that manages to piss off every woman he’s ever dated, where do you go from there? You can walk away from Chad.”
But what if it didn’t go south? What then?
Of course, the very fact that she was considering it was proof that it would go south, because, as Luke had just helpfully pointed out, when it came to dating, she had the worst instincts of any person ever.
She stared at him mutely.
“Of course, I don’t have to bring up the fact that the professional rules forbid sexual relationships with clients.”
“No. You don’t.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Now, was there anything else you wanted to apologize about?”
He sighed. “I’m getting the feeling you don’t want to talk about this.”
She resisted the urge to lay her head down on her desk and confess everything. Of course she wanted to talk about it. If there were ever a time she needed advice, this was it.
She’d left Connor’s apartment with a racing heart and every conflicted emotion in the book. It had become impossible to ignore the tension between them. Whatever was in his eyes when he held her hand wasn’t just friendship, and whatever had sent her practically falling into his arms wasn’t just friendship, either. There was a growing, unresolved tension between them, and she was damned if she knew what to do about it.
Logic provided an obvious answer: ignore it. Push it away. Figure out how to get back to the way they were. They were going to have to work together, and adding some kind of secret, sure-to-end-badly fling to their relationship was an obvious mistake.
And yet…
Luke nodded and started toward the door, pulling it halfway open before he stopped and turned back toward her. “Just be careful, okay?”
She gave him her best confident smile. “You don’t need to ask that, do you?”
“I hope not.” Luke’s forehead wrinkled with concern. “I really hope not.”
Chapter Nine
Zoe adjusted her purse over her sling as she made her way out of the car. “Thanks for the ride,” she said to the driver, an older man with a thick accent and a head of salt-and-pepper hair who had hastily thrown the car into park and run around to open her door.
“No problem. You be safe now,” he said, casting a doubtful look at the bar. “I’ll be in this area all night if you need someone.”
She nodded. It was hard not to like a protective Uber driver who was apparently looking for someone to parent. The bar Connor had directed her to was close to Little Italy, not far from her office but on a slightly gritty block off the main strip without the hustle and bustle of shops and restaurants.
“Thank you. I appreciate that.” She waved goodbye with her good hand and then turned and took a deep breath. The bar was skinny, tucked between a hair salon and a run-down apartment building. The lettering over the door was faded, proclaiming the name, Temptation, and nothing else.
Great. Like she needed a sign to tell her that fooling around with Connor was a bad idea. Next thing you knew he’d greet her carrying an apple.
She stopped for a moment just inside the door to let her eyes adjust to the dim interior. A polished wooden bar ran about half the length of the room, while the back was filled with low booths, most of which were empty. Connor was standing at the bar, chatting with the bartender. He must have come straight from work, because he wore suit pants with a white Oxford shirt, but his shirtsleeves were rolled up, and the top of his shirt was unbuttoned. He looked a little rumpled and less formal than Zoe was used to seeing.
She liked it.
A lot.
He was laughing at something the bartender had said, an
d something in his posture suggested this was not his first time here. When noticed her approaching, he smiled and waved her over.
“You ready for this?” he asked.
“You might have to roll me out on a stretcher,” she said. “But I’m ready.”
Or, you know, totally not ready. In fact, she had absolutely no idea how to proceed, which was not how Zoe liked to operate. She liked systems, plans, and strategies. She didn’t ask questions she didn’t know the answers to, and she didn’t make a move unless she’d thought about the next one. Yet every five minutes it seemed she devised an entirely different outline for the evening.
Plan one: Firmly establish boundaries.
Plan two: Ignore boundaries.
Plan three: Give him a no-nonsense talk about clients and lawyers.
Plan four: Abandon all good sense and let the evening go where it would.
“Don’t worry,” he promised. “We’ll take care of you.” He extended a hand toward the guy behind the bar. “Josh, this is Zoe Riva, our fledgling whiskey drinker.”
The bartender, a black man with close-cropped hair and dark tattoos on his arm, extended his hand for Zoe to shake. “Nice to meet you, fledgling.”
“I’m not sure if that’s insulting or charming,” Zoe said with a smile.
“Definitely charming,” Josh said. He turned to Connor. “You want to grab a booth, and I’ll set you up with the first flight?”
“Sounds great.” Connor touched her elbow to steer her toward the back of the room.
The booth was dark and intimate, with a single candle providing light. The walls in the back were whitewashed brick, the floor a polished concrete. It was industrial but not cold. The seats of the booth were smooth and worn, and the air smelled like a combination of polished wood and leather.
“I’m guessing this isn’t your first time here,” she said as they slid into the booth. “How’d you find this place? It doesn’t feel quite like the Aspen.”
The Aspen was the restaurant and bar their group hung out at a couple of times a month. It was trendy and upscale, filled with hip young professionals. The crowd here was different—more jeans and less chinos. More T-shirts and fewer button-downs.
“The owner had a kid on one of my basketball teams a couple of seasons ago. We got to talking about whiskey at our end-of-the-year party. Turns out, they’ve got one of the best selections in the city.”
“How come you’ve never suggested we all come here one night?”
He shrugged. “Everyone likes the Aspen.”
“But you’re more comfortable here?”
“Not necessarily. It’s just a different crowd.”
Zoe had to admit to being fascinated—Connor had always been the quiet one of the group, and she’d known there were a lot of things about his life he kept private. She just hadn’t expected a dark, slightly edgy whiskey bar to be one of those things.
“Do you bring the guys here?”
“No.” He handed her a heavy, leather-bound menu. “Have you ever done a whiskey tasting before? You’re welcome to pick some varieties if you want, but I figured I’d start us off with some of the basics.”
Recognizing that he wasn’t planning to explain himself further, Zoe opened the menu and pretended to review the contents. “That sounds like a good plan. By the way, you don’t expect me to learn bridge after sampling the whiskey, do you?”
He smiled. “Absolutely not. I should clarify that I don’t actually play bridge, either.”
“Okay,” she said. “That’s interesting. So is it time for me to learn what the bridge thing is all about?”
He slouched down a few inches into the leather seat. “Any chance you want to start drinking first?”
“If you have to ask that question, I should probably say no.”
“Well…” He trailed off, then rubbed his chin. He appeared to be struggling for words. Finally, he said, “Did you ever see the movie Back to the Future?”
Zoe cocked her head. “What? Connor, if you’re trying to change the subject, that wasn’t exactly subtle.”
“Actually, I’m not. It’ll make sense in a minute. Trust me. Have you seen it?”
“You mean the old one, with Michael J. Fox and the crazy scientist guy who invents a time machine…”
“…out of a DeLorean?” Connor nodded as he finished her statement. “That’s the one.”
She turned over the vague memories she had of the movie. “I guess so. I can’t remember much of it, to be honest.”
“Just imagine a crazy genius doing dangerous things in their garage that may or may not be legal, ethical, or wise, but could also change the world.” He adjusted his glasses and sighed. “That’s my mom. But with much better hair.”
“Oh.” Zoe processed that information. She wanted to smile, but Connor seemed deadly serious.
“She worked on a new class of electrode materials back in 2001 that completely changed the way we produce lithium-ion batteries,” he said. “She paved the way for cell phones and laptops.”
“That was your mother?” Zoe blinked in surprise. “She created NMCs?”
“Not just her, but she was part of the team,” he said. “And a few years later, she also set her house on fire and almost killed herself while setting up a lab in her garage because she didn’t trust her assistants not to steal her ideas.”
“That sounds…” She didn’t know exactly how to say nuts without it coming out the wrong way, so instead she just said, “Is she still doing research?”
“Yes. But on what, I’m not entirely sure.”
“I see.” Zoe set down the menu. “And what exactly does this have to do with bridge?”
“My mother has a group of friends she plays bridge with, and Shirley, one of the three of them, is having cataract surgery, so she can’t play in their upcoming tournament. Which means they need a substitute.”
“Okay.” She knit her brows curiously. “But why would they want me? Surely there’s someone from a local club that could fill in.”
He shifted in his seat. “They’re worried the other members of the club are jealous of them and would try to steal their strategies or throw the game.”
Zoe had to wait a moment to see if he was going to laugh it off as a joke. Instead, he simply looked a little embarrassed. “I know bridge can be super competitive, but that’s intense,” she said. “Do you think they’re right?”
“Hard to say. To be honest, my mother isn’t the only flamboyant one in the group. I wouldn’t put it past them to have made a few enemies.”
Zoe had a brief image of a somewhat paranoid Christopher Lloyd on the set with the Golden Girls. “But surely they could find someone else who knows how to play bridge? I mean, did you even ask them whether they’d want me?”
He glanced away. “I haven’t actually talked to them yet. I’m thinking I will probably just tell them it’s been a while since you’ve played. That’s true, right? You said you’d played in high school?”
“Actually, I said I didn’t play at all.” Zoe’s suspicion at his uncomfortable look increased. “Connor, is there something you aren’t telling me?”
Josh appeared then with a carafe of water and a wooden platter that held five small whiskey glasses, each filled partway with amber liquor of various shades. “Okay, here’s the first flight.” He pulled a card from his apron and set it on the table next to the drinks. “You’ll see there’s a number by each of the glasses on the tray. That corresponds to the numbers on the sheet. You’ll want to taste them in order—I’ve got them arranged from the lightest to the deepest flavors. Connor knows these just about as well as I do, but feel free to ask me any questions you might have.”
“Thanks, Josh,” Connor said. “I’ll let you know when we’re ready for more.”
Zoe waited until he had left the table to pin her gaze back on Connor. “As you were saying?”
“Was I saying something?” he asked innocently.
“You were telling me why you w
ant to trick these poor women into thinking that I play bridge.”
He winced. “I don’t think ‘trick’ is the right word. More like you would provide them with targeted and strategic information.”
“You are sounding way too much like a lawyer, Connor, and it’s making me nervous.”
He took the card Josh had set down and reviewed it. “Let’s drink some whiskey, shall we?”
She snorted. “Fine. Give me your best whiskey lecture and let’s start tasting. But don’t think I’m going to forget about this conversation.”
“That’s fair.” He pointed to the first glass. “Let’s start with the basics. There are three words that you must never confuse: whiskey, bourbon, and scotch. ‘Whiskey’ is a generic term for alcohol made from fermented grains, including rye, barley, and corn. Bourbon is a kind of American whiskey that is made from at least fifty-one percent corn.”
“So every bourbon is a whiskey, but not every whiskey is a bourbon?”
“Right. There are a few other specifics for bourbon, but we’ll leave it there for now. Canadian whisky, of course, is made in Canada. It used to be made primarily from rye, but there’s quite a bit of variety in Canadian whiskys these days.
“And scotch?”
“That one’s easy. It’s only scotch if it’s made in Scotland. We’ll try some scotch in the next round. It has a pretty distinctive taste that can be a bit harder to enjoy when you’re starting out.”
She smiled. “So you want me a little drunk before I try it?”
“It wouldn’t hurt.” He handed her the first glass. “This is a Canadian whisky. It’s a little lighter and sweeter than the others we’ll try. When you take a drink, swirl it around your mouth, starting at the front, to really get the flavor.”
She took a small sip and did as instructed. He then had her try three more glasses, describing the flavor profile, origin, and distilling process for each. By the fourth drink, the alcohol had started to go to her head. Warm, her face flushed, she interrupted one of his lectures with a raised hand.
“Okay, I think I need a break. Any chance we can get back to that bridge thing? The story about your mom and her friends?” She leaned back in the booth to study him.
