by Reese Ryan
“This will be a co-branded product, something we’ve never done before. A partnership that was brokered by Dixon’s lovely granddaughter, Quinn.” Duke gestured toward her. “She’s here in her capacity as an executive of Bazemore Farms, but she’s also a collaboration expert. We had a fine chat last week about some of her innovative ideas for quickly getting this venture to market. Quinn.”
“Thank you, Mr. Abbott.” Quinn stood, pulling a stack of presentations from her bag. She walked around the table, placing one in front of each person as she explained how she’d created lucrative partnerships between clients in the past.
“As a rep at one of Atlanta’s most prestigious PR firms for the past eight years, I...” Quinn stammered, unsettled by the jolt of heat that surged through her when Max’s eyes met hers as she handed him a copy of the presentation.
It was her nerves, not Max Abbott, that had caused her words to come out in a jumble.
Despite the silent outrage in the widened eyes framed by thick, neat brows, the man was still devastatingly handsome. He was a little older and his shoulders were a bit broader. But he looked essentially like the boy she’d fallen in love with that one passionate summer. The last she’d spent with her grandparents before going off to college. The summer Max had been an intern, living and working on the farm.
That was more than a decade ago. Time had treated him well.
“I’ve handled sensitive public relations campaigns for some of the biggest names in fintech,” she continued.
“We already have a PR person,” Parker interrupted, shoving his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
“You have a college student who handles social media, your newsletter, and the occasional press release.” Quinn maintained her warm smile. Duke had warned her Parker would be a tough nut to crack, and that Max and Zora might be insulted by the idea of bringing her on to execute the project that had been their baby. “But a project of this magnitude requires a dedicated, experienced professional who’ll get vendors and consumers excited about the new product line. Just as Savannah did for the company’s jubilee and the associated release of limited-edition moonshines a few years ago.”
Savannah smiled approvingly, and Parker nodded in agreement, silenced for the moment.
“If you’ll turn to page five, we can quickly review a rundown of how I’m proposing to help King’s Finest and Bazemore Farms make the most of this joint venture.”
“You’re bringing in someone else to execute our proposal?” Max ignored her completely, asking the question of his father instead. “Zora and I are fully capable of—”
“Speak for yourself, big brother.” Zora turned her chair toward him before their father could respond. “I have a lot on my plate. We’ve seen a real uptick in our international sales and domestic market share in regions outside of the South since the jubilee. I’m traveling extensively over the next few months. I can’t add another thing to my to-do list right now. Neither can my team. As long as we’re consulted regularly, I’m all for bringing someone else on to do the heavy lifting.”
Quinn exhaled quietly, and her racing heart slowed in response to Zora’s encouraging nod.
“And you’ve had your hands full with the expansion of our marketing efforts,” Duke reminded him. “So it would be better to have someone wholly dedicated to the project.”
Max’s nostrils flared, and a streak of red bloomed across his forehead and cheeks. He opened his mouth to object further, but his grandfather cut him off.
“Let Quinn finish her presentation, son. Then we can discuss any concerns privately and make our final decision.” Joseph Abbott nodded in her direction. “Please continue, Quinn.”
She smiled gratefully at the older man she’d always called Grandpa Joe, then inhaled deeply, smiled broadly and put on the presentation of her life.
She’d won over Joseph and Duke Abbott, the company’s founder and CEO. Zora and Savannah were also on board. Blake, she couldn’t quite read but Parker and Max definitely required convincing. So that was what she would do.
In this room, in this moment, Max Abbott wasn’t her first love, her first real kiss, her first...everything. He was a skeptical company executive, not unlike the dozens she’d encountered before in her career.
Despite whatever else Max might be feeling toward her—curiosity, animosity, maybe even attraction—he was a sensible individual. And like every other Abbott at the table, she knew he wanted what was best for King’s Finest.
She just needed to convince him that she was the best person for the job. And convince herself that working with her ex wasn’t her worst idea ever. Her entire future was riding on it.
Two
Max groaned quietly as Quinn finished her presentation. He’d sifted through her proposal and listened carefully, ready to poke holes in it and rip it apart. But the plan was solid, and Quinn had suggested useful partnerships he and Zora hadn’t considered.
Still, this project was his and Zora’s baby. They’d taken their grandfather’s request to add flavored brandies to the lineup seriously. Had worked with him to develop it. Worn their father down until he’d agreed to invest in the stills and bring in an expert brandy distiller. Revisited the topic at every damn quarterly meeting for the past two years. So for his father to just hand off the project to his ex of all the goddamned people on the face of God’s green earth... Yeah, it felt a hell of a lot like a solid knee in the nuts. Even if no one in the room besides him and Quinn were aware of their romantic history.
But his father was right. He and Zora had their hands full with all of the additional business King’s Finest was doing. Much of it could be credited to the efforts of his sister-in-law, Savannah, who’d become their de facto PR person since she’d joined the company three years ago. Savannah handled event management for both the distillery and the renovated barn on the edge of his parents’ property, which they rented out for weddings and other events.
The company’s event and tour business was booming now. But Savannah was six months pregnant with her and Blake’s second child, and their two-year-old son was already a handful. The last thing his sister-in-law needed was another project.
“Well, what do you think?” Grandpa Joseph beamed. Dixon and Quinn had been dispatched on an hour-long tour of the King’s Finest Distillery while the Abbotts formally debated the Bazemore Farms proposal. “That one’s a sharp cookie, eh?” His grandfather chuckled. “I remember the first time I met Quinn. She was about three years old and she had more questions than any kid that age I’d ever encountered besides Zora.” He grinned at his only granddaughter.
“I love the plan she put together for us.” Zora thumbed through the document Quinn had prepared. “Having her handle all of this is a godsend. And she’s got the right personality for the job. She didn’t skip a beat or get frustrated with Parker’s myriad questions or Max’s pushback.” Zora raised an eyebrow at him. “And I love her suggestions for finding new ways to partner with state and local vendors.”
“Excellent. Blake, how about you?” Duke asked Max’s eldest brother, the heir apparent to the King’s Finest CEO–ship.
“I love everything about the plan.” Blake tapped the cover of the presentation. “I like Quinn, and I know the distributors will like her, too. If she can do half of what she’s presented here, I’m sold.”
“Parker?” Duke turned to him, as if prepared for the worst.
Parker scanned the data again. “The numbers look good. If you’re sure we can do this without compromising our position in the bourbon market...” He shrugged. “I’m fine with moving forward on a trial basis. Say...six months once it goes to market. If sales are good, we can talk long-term.”
“Sounds fair.” Duke nodded, then turned to him. “And what say you, Max?”
Max released a quiet breath. Every eye in the room was focused on him. Quinn’s plan was flawless; he had no legitimate r
eason to object to it.
So what was he going to say?
That he didn’t want to work with her because it would be a constant reminder that he’d been a complete dick to her thirteen years ago?
“The plan is fine...okay, it’s good,” he amended in response to everyone’s guffaws and raised eyebrows. “It’s damn good. I’ll give you that. But this is our company.” He tapped the table with his index finger. “Our project. A project we’re doing in memory of Savannah’s grandfather Martin. Don’t you think we should be the ones to handle it rather than bringing in an outsider?”
Had that come off as spoiled and elitist as it sounded in his head?
God, I hope not.
“Seriously, dude? She’s not one of us,” Zora mimicked him in a whiny, low voice. “That’s the best you can do?”
Everyone at the table laughed.
“You gotta admit, that argument is weak sauce, bruh.” Blake chuckled. “Quinn is an experienced professional and she and Mr. B are good people.”
“And I know she’s not technically family, but I wouldn’t exactly call her an outsider, either,” Grandpa Joe added, sounding a little hurt by the dig. “I’ve always been quite fond of the girl. Considered her an honorary granddaughter.”
“I know, Gramps. And I didn’t mean anything by it.” Max sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face. “I guess what I’m saying is that I have a lot of time and energy invested in this project. So the idea of relinquishing complete control of it isn’t sitting well with me.”
“I can respect that, Max.” His father nodded sagely as he rubbed his whiskered chin. He leaned forward on one elbow. “What can we do to make you more comfortable with Quinn running point on the project?”
Translation: This is happening, son. You’ve been outvoted.
“I want to be the point person on this project internally,” Max said definitively. “And it should be clear that Quinn reports to me.”
“Done.” His father shrugged. “That’ll leave me more time to golf. Anything else?”
“I plan to be as involved in the project as my schedule permits.” Max folded his hands on the table in front of him. “And I need to have the option to terminate the agreement early should I find just cause.”
Duke stroked his chin as he silently contemplated Max’s request. He nodded begrudgingly. “Agreed, but I get the final say on such a drastic action.”
“Perfect.” Grandpa Joe slapped the table and chuckled. “Lianna, order us some lunch. We’ve got reason to celebrate. And make sure to break out the good mason jars so we can all sample a little of that brandy.”
Just peachy.
He’d be working closely with the one ex who had it out for him. The stiff smile she’d given him when he’d used her nickname made it obvious she was still harboring a grudge that would impede their working relationship. This project was too important to his grandfather and their company. He wouldn’t permit his past mistake to interfere with family business. He’d handle this the way he handled every other business problem: by facing it head-on.
That meant clearing the air with Quinn the first opportunity he got.
* * *
The Bazemores had returned to the conference room where a selection of pastas from a local Italian restaurant awaited them. They’d shared a meal with the Abbotts and sampled the peach, apple and cherry brandies. All of them were remarkably good.
Max’s father and grandfather had invited Dixon to join them for a celebratory round of golf and, doubtless, more drinking. Parker had left to walk Cricket—his fiancée Kayleigh Jemison’s golden retriever. That left Zora, Quinn, Blake and Savannah, who were seated at the table chatting after the meal.
Quinn was mooning over the adorable photos of Max’s nephew, Davis, on Blake’s phone.
Max had waited patiently, not actively joining in the conversation, instead staying engaged and nodding or chuckling whenever warranted. He needed a moment alone with Quinn.
He glanced at the text message that flashed on his watch: The league wants to talk sponsorship in an hour. We need to review notes.
For the past several months he’d been working on a sponsorship deal with the Memphis Marauders professional football team. Turning down the call wasn’t an option. But he didn’t want to put off clearing the air with Quinn, either.
If they were going to work together, they needed to start off with a clean slate.
Max stood abruptly and everyone in the room turned toward him. He cleared his throat. “Hey guys, I need to speak with Quinn for a moment...privately,” he added, for the benefit of his sister, who’d shrugged.
Blake and Savannah exchanged a puzzled look.
“Yeah, sure.” Blake stood, helping his wife up.
Savannah rubbed her growing belly. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Quinn. Lianna will give you my contact information. I’d love to meet for lunch later this week.”
Blake and Savannah left, hand in hand. Zora folded her arms.
“Zora.” Max gave her his I’m not bullshitting right now voice. A voice he’d had to employ often over the years with his little sister.
“Fine.” Zora stood, then looked at Quinn. “As long as you’re okay with this.”
“It’s fine, but thank you, Zora.” Quinn smiled politely as she stood, gathering her papers. A clear sign that she was leaving, too.
Zora shot Max a warning look and breezed out of the room.
As soon as the door closed behind his sister, Quinn turned to him and scowled. “Why would you give everyone the impression something is going on between us?”
He tried not to take her words personally, but damn if it didn’t feel like she’d kicked him in the teeth wearing a pair of steel toe boots.
There was a time when her greatest desire had been for them to go out on a proper date and let the world see them together. Rather than sneaking around and hooking up in his shabby little loft over the barn or in the bed of his truck, parked beneath the stars.
Heat stung his cheeks as he jammed his hands into his pockets. “They probably assume I want to talk about the project or catch up with an old friend.”
He pretended not to notice the way she pressed her lips together and furrowed her brows when he referred to them as friends.
Damn. Is there a draft in here?
The chilly vibe coming from his ex was all too real.
“And I really would love to catch up at some point. But first, I need to tell you just how sorry I am.”
“No.” She shook her head, her tousled beach waves swinging gently.
He curled the fingers still shoved into his pockets into tight fists. Max couldn’t help remembering how he’d sifted the soft strands through his fingers as she had lain in his arms. And the dreamy way she’d gazed up at him after they’d made love.
There was nothing remotely romantic about the frosty look Quinn cast in his direction from beneath her long, thick eyelashes.
“No, you won’t allow me to apologize to you, or no, you’re not willing to accept my sincere apology?” He sat on the edge of the conference table.
“Both.” Quinn folded her arms, her expression neutral. Despite the iciness that slid over his skin in response to her answer, her tone and expression betrayed no anger. “A—I don’t want your apology. B—There’s no need for it.”
Heat spanned his forehead. Max had imagined having this conversation with Quinn dozens of times. He’d envisioned anger, forgiveness and lots of incredibly hot makeup sex. What he hadn’t foreseen was Quinn standing here calm, callous and completely out of fucks to give.
Not that he didn’t deserve it.
“I appreciate you saying that, Quinn. But I’d feel better if—”
“No.” Her voice vibrated with thinly veiled anger this time and her eyes narrowed. “You don’t get to do this.”
“I
don’t get to do what? Apologize?” Max was genuinely stunned by her refusal.
“You don’t get to absolve yourself of guilt this way.” Quinn raked her fingers through her hair and tucked a few strands behind her ear. “It’s been thirteen years. If you didn’t see fit to apologize before now, I can’t imagine that your apology is sincere. So let’s not do this, please.”
The soft, pleading tone with which she ended her request reminded him of how she’d uttered his name during those sultry summer nights.
Max winced and swallowed hard. His hushed tone matched hers. “You have every right to be angry with me, Quinn.”
“I wasn’t angry, Max. I was hurt.” Her stony expression faltered momentarily. “By the end of that summer you’d proclaimed your undying love for me. Then as soon as you returned to campus you broke up with me via a one-sided, two-minute phone call. For months, I wondered what I’d done wrong. I finally realized that it wasn’t anything I’d done.” She shrugged, her smile returning. “You were just an ass. A handsome, charming one. But an ass nevertheless.”
“On that we can agree.” He sighed, folding his arms.
She flashed the triumphant half smile he remembered so well.
“If there’s nothing else, I should go.” She lifted her bag onto her shoulder. “We can meet in the morning to strategize, if that works for you.”
“Are you staying at the farm?” he asked.
“I am,” she said in a tone that made it clear she felt the question too personal. “Why?”
“You have nearly an hour drive to get here.” He walked her toward the door. “So you name the time.”
“Ten o’clock?”
“See you then.” His heart thudded as he watched her slip out the door.
He’d screwed up by walking away from Quinn the way he had. Now those chickens had come home to roost.
Max groaned quietly as he sank onto a nearby chair. He and Quinn would only need to work closely together at the outset of the project. After that, they could work together remotely, when necessary. He could certainly keep it together for a few months.
