Deliciously Smooth (Naked Brews #1)

by K. B. Jacobs

  Anxious to see me? That didn’t sound right, but I wouldn’t call the sweet young thing a liar to her face. Instead, I just nodded. “Thanks, and it was nice to properly meet you, Melissa.”

  “You, too.”

  I paused halfway in turning to the door. Melissa had her hand in a candy jar of M&Ms, but something looked off. I tilted my head and nodded to the jar. “There aren’t any red ones.”

  Melissa looked at the jar as if she had no idea what I was talking about, but then her face lit up in a genuine smile. “Lake only eats the red ones. Something she’s done as long as I’ve known her.”

  I shrugged and walked out of the office. The mystery of Lake O’Brien continued.

  I pushed open the door to the brewing room. Like before, the noise from the machines took me by surprise. From the outside looking in, the room was quiet and peaceful with its huge steel drums, but the reality was so different.

  I wandered in and out of the tanks, looking for Lake. When I found her, her back was to me, so she didn’t see me. She stood with the man that I remembered as being her head brewer, Harlan, although I had only met him in passing when I visited before. They were both bent over a clipboard, flipping the pages and examining whatever was written there.

  “I like how the addition of the rye grains brings out the yeastiness, but the smoky notes still aren’t coming through enough for what I’m wanting.” Lake tapped a pen to the side of her face as she thought. “What if we upped the ratio of that apple-smoked malt and introduced a clean strain of lactobacillus?”

  Watching that motion brought my attention to the tattoo of stars trailing down the back of her neck. They started at her nape and dipped below her clothing to who knew where. I wanted to follow that path with my lips and tongue. Would I be able to convince her to let me?

  Standing here and watching the take-charge version of Lake in her professional capacity was so fucking hot I wasn’t sure what to do with myself. I hadn’t expected this side of her—confident and fully embracing her role as the woman in command. It was hotter than fuck.

  The two were deep in their discussion, and the longer I listened, the harder my dick got. I needed to get out of here and cool down. There was no way I’d be able to ease Lake into the idea that we could be hot together with my erection front and center, making me look like a creepy horn-dog.

  I slipped out of the brewing room and sat down in the corner of the pub. The bartender immediately came over. “What can I get you?”

  “Coffee?”

  He gave me a terse nod. “I’ll have it right up.”

  It was probably sacrilege to these people, but I just couldn’t drink beer this early in the day...not even the Smooth Moves Porter that Sawyer had introduced me to.

  When I had tried calling Damian earlier this morning, he hadn’t answered, so I dialed his number again.

  “Hey, Walsh,” Damian answered. “Sorry I missed you earlier. I was in the downstairs gym.”

  “No biggie. That’s what I figured. I’m back at the brewery today. Is there anything in particular you want me to check out?”

  “Yeah, find out what their distribution and production numbers look like. If we’re going to take over this operation, I need to know how big their process really is. Emily Ryan doesn’t have a clue. Dig into the books.”

  “Can do. Hey, if you get the chance, you should find some Naked Brews around there.”

  Damian had never been a beer drinker either, so I doubted he had the first clue about the company we were investing in. Only that it had been important to Ice, which made it important to us.

  “I’ve been trying their Smooth Moves Porter, and it’s really good. From what I understand, it’s Lake’s recipe, too. The more I find out about her from the community and from being here, the more I think we should do what we can to keep her on.”

  “You said she was sinking the brewery,” Damian said slowly, as if trying to understand this sudden shift, even if it hadn’t been sudden at all.

  Over the last few days, I had heard nothing but praise from the locals in town about both Lake and Pat O’Brien. The town loved them, and I thought we would have a tougher time running the brewery without Lake involved.

  “Oh yeah, there’s no doubt she’s a mess when it comes to running the place. From what I’ve seen, the front office is a disaster. She’d be better served cooking up the recipes. From what I understand, she has a certain touch that must come naturally to the process.”

  Everyone in town looked forward to Lake’s special brews. No one could pinpoint the difference in what she did versus the other many Rocky Mountain breweries, but they agreed that she could sense the slight undertones better because she was female and her senses more enhanced. I doubted that, but there was no doubt she was doing something right. She released several specialty brews a year in limited batches, and every single person I’d talked to had raved about her skills and unusual touches in creating them. It had to be something innate to her character after growing up surrounded by the process.

  “Okay, we’ll see what we can do,” Damian answered. “But Mrs. Ryan isn’t going to like that. She wants her daughter out of the brewery.”

  “Yeah, well sometimes a woman can’t get everything she wants no matter how much of a bitch she is about it.”

  “Yeah, I know that’s right.”

  I could hear the fatigue in Damian’s voice, and that made me wonder just how much of a trial Emily Ryan had become.

  “Listen, I almost forgot,” Damian said. “You got an odd phone call earlier.”

  I lived in Damian’s guesthouse, but we routed my phone calls to the main house whenever I was out of town.

  “Really? What was it?”

  Papers shuffled in the background on Damian’s side. He was probably searching for where he’d written it down. “A guy named Brad Degrassi called.”

  My head swam as all the blood drain from my face. I hadn’t heard that name in eleven years. Detective Degrassi had been part of the investigation that sent my parents to prison and almost ruined my life at the age of fifteen. His partner, Conrad Sheridan, had saved me and later became my foster father after my parents went to prison. Brad Degrassi hadn’t thought I was worth the trouble.

  Shortly after that, they’d split as partners on the police force. I had been pretty sure it had been tied to my case somehow and Conrad’s willingness to put his trust in a boy that hadn’t deserved it.

  Thinking about that period in my life made me feel physically ill. My parents had been horrible people, and I hated them for it. They didn’t deserve even a spare thought from me anymore.

  Damian had no idea how shocked just hearing that name was for me, so he kept talking. “He asked for Walsh Davidson. I told him he had the wrong number, but he was pretty insistent. I thought I should mention it.”

  Since my foster father died, only one person in my life knew the whole truth about my childhood—my foster mother, Jeannie Sheridan. Not even Damian knew those secrets. No one knew I’d legally changed my name to Walsh Brackens to avoid the fallout and the press over my parents’ conviction. They didn’t know how close I’d come to becoming a convicted felon before I was old enough to drive.

  “Yeah.” My voice cracked, and I cleared his throat. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it.”

  “So you do know the guy? Weird that he had your last name wrong, isn’t it?”

  “Um, yeah,” I said again, noncommittally.

  That was the problem with lies. They always caught up to you eventually.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Lake

  I headed into the office, confident that Harlan could get my beer up to par. Our customers had come to expect something special from Naked Brews, and it was up to me to give it to them. I tossed my clipboard on to the desk, startling Melissa out of her spreadsheet trance.

  She looked up and gave me a big goofy grin that would look ridiculous on anyone but her. “Soooooo...”

  “Soooooo...the
beer is almost there.” I shrugged at her. She’d never been interested in the actual brewing process before.

  “Sweet Jesus, forget the bloody beer.” She got up and came around the desk to sit on the edge. “How did it go with Walsh?”

  “What the hell are you talking about? I haven’t seen him in two days, thank god.”

  Melissa cocked her head to the side and scrunched up her nose in confusion. She couldn’t be more adorable if she tried. “But he was just here. I sent him into the back.”

  I turned around as if he would be behind me. “Wait. Walsh was here? Like here at the brewery, here?” My heart rate picked up speed as hot blood rushed through my body to places it had no business rushing. “Where is he?”

  “Maybe he went to the pub.” Melissa’s lips pressed together like she was trying to hold back an all-out shit-eating grin.

  I backed up and stuck my head out the door. Sure enough, the cocky bastard was sitting in the corner of my pub with a head full of wet hair, talking on the phone like it was perfectly normal.

  I pulled my head back inside the office. “I better go see what the jerk wants. Stop smiling at me like that.”

  Melissa hopped down off the desk and returned to her chair. “Whatever you say, boss.” She was still grinning from ear to ear.

  I shuffled out of the office, keeping a close eye on Walsh. He had his back to me, so I could watch him without notice for a minute. At least until I marched over there and demanded to know what the hell he was doing back in my brewery.

  He had traded his Mr. Millionaire uniform for jeans and a pair of rugged boots that looked brand new. He stood up and stretched, the phone still pressed to the side of his head. Damn him if his ass didn’t look even better in denim than it did in slacks. Not that I gave two shits what his ass looked like in or out of pants. Nope, I was absolutely not picturing him in nothing but a pair of boxer briefs that hugged every luscious— Dammit...yes I was.

  I crept a little closer to him. Maybe I wouldn’t kick him out, but I didn’t want him wandering around spying on me, either. If he planned to stay here, he’d need to be where I could see him. For security reasons. I took a few more steps so I could hear his side of the phone conversation.

  “Oh yeah, there’s no doubt she’s a mess when it comes to running the place. From what I’ve seen, the front office is a disaster. She’d be better served cooking up the recipes. From what I understand, she has a certain touch that must come naturally to the process.”

  Son of a flaming motherless whore. Where the hell did he get off suggesting I’d be better off cooking up lunch than brewing beer? Obviously this tasteless, moronic snob wouldn’t know good beer if it walked up and smacked him in his palate. He probably thought that watered-down, tasteless piss water they served at baseball games was the ultimate in hopped perfection.

  “Yeah, well sometimes, a woman can’t get everything she wants, no matter how much of a bitch she is about it.”

  If he thought I’d been a bitch so far, he hadn’t seen anything yet. He probably spent his life with a silver spoon in his mouth, surrounded by yes-men who walked around telling him his shit didn’t stink. He’d barely had a taste of Lake O’Brien bitch mode, but my father raised me not to take shit from anyone. And that included pretty rich boys, no matter how much I wanted to rip their clothes off and taste every inch of them.

  I slunk back behind the bar and out of sight so I could plot my revenge.

  “Hey, Lake, are we hooking up Dad’s Beer today?”

  I spun to find Eric looking at me, completely unaware that I was planning a campaign of carnage in my head. Switching modes, I flashed him a smile, nodded, and motioned for him to follow me back to the beer cooler. We both waved at Barb on our way through the kitchen, a place I most certainly did not belong.

  “Okay, this is it,” I said, flashing my hands down at the large silver canister. “I don’t have a label designed, so if it needs to be replaced, just look for the paper tags with DB. I’ve got one back up in here, and the rest of the kegs are in the back storage.”

  Eric nodded and checked the line to make sure the carbonation was hooked up properly. “Okay, looks good. What are we telling people about this beer?”

  I stared at the keg, hoping for the answer to call out to me. “I’m a little stuck on that one. It doesn’t really fit any of the traditional styles, though it definitely falls closer to a lager than anything else. But it’s not really a lager, either.”

  “Well.” Eric scratched his head. “Any flavor notes I can point out?”

  I took a slow breath and blew it up at my bangs. This is where I lost Harlan when explaining my brew plan. “It’s a combination. Um...it’s got hazelnut, anise, and some heat.”

  Eric settled large fists on his hips “Heat? What did you put in there, Lake?”

  “Hatch peppers.” It sounded crazier every time I said it.

  “With anise and hazelnut? What the hell?”

  “I know, I know.” I held my hands up to ward off the comments about how insane this recipe sounded. “But you knew Dad. He added hazelnut to his creamer every morning, and there was always a jar of black licorice on his desk, and Hatch peppers—”

  “Were a bit of an addiction.” Eric nodded, but his expression was still skeptical. “I get what you’re trying to do here, but honestly, it sounds awful. How am I supposed to sell this?”

  “I swear on everything my dad held holy that this beer is good. I wouldn’t let it go out if it wasn’t.” I patted the canister like it needed to hear my reassuring words. “Just tell the regulars it’s a combination of all of Pat’s favorite things. That’s all they’ll need to hear.”

  “And the out-of-towners?”

  I cringed inside. Strangers could never really appreciate this one. “Maybe we just don’t mention it.”

  Eric nodded again. He got it. This was never a beer meant for everyone else. Unless you knew Pat O’Brien, you’d never be able to appreciate all the unique notes and flavors that made him the most amazing man I’d ever had the great fortune to know. My dad was a true original, and this beer was the best eulogy I could give him.

  “You got it, Lake.”

  I dabbed at my eyes before any tears could make it out. We walked back out to the pub, and I left Eric to finish getting ready for the lunch crowd. Walsh still sat in the corner, drinking a cup of coffee. He wasn’t a stranger, but he wasn’t a regular either. He couldn’t handle Dad’s Beer. If he could, he’d understand exactly why I could never let him take Naked Brews.

  Chapter Twenty

  Walsh

  I rolled back the conversation with Damian over and over in my head. Why was Detective Degrassi calling me? Had something happened with my parents who were still both supposed to be rotting in prison?

  Up until he died suddenly two years ago, Conrad had always kept me informed when something was happening with one of them. I needed to call Detective Degrassi back, but even thinking about it sent an oily, sick feeling through my stomach.

  Fuck, I hated my birth parents. Talking to Degrassi would bring back horrible memories. Those days had been terror-filled. I had two choices back then, and neither one of them were good. I could be sent to adult prison at the age of fifteen because my parents had used me as the key ploy in their con-artist scheme, or I could have faced my father’s wrath and possible slow and painful death at his hands for betraying them to the cops.

  It wasn’t the same, but I could relate to Lake and her not wanting to deal with her mother. Emily wasn’t a hardened criminal, but it sounded like she was at least painfully difficult on a good day.

  “You need to leave.” Instead of angry despite the unfriendly words, Lake’s voice sounded subdued—almost sad—when addressing me.

  I wasn’t sure I could fight with her right then, but I had to try for Damian and Ice. “It’s a public place, Lake, and even if it wasn’t, I’ll own it soon, so just—” I rubbed my hand over my face, trying to regroup. “Can you give me five minutes? I
need to talk to you, and I really don’t want to fight. Not right now.”

  She heaved a big sigh, but instead of leaving, she slumped down in the barstool beside me. “I don’t want to fight, either. Don’t get me wrong...you’re still a Class-A bastard, but yeah...” It was like she’d simply run out of energy as her hands collapsed onto the bar.

  I felt a much stronger kinship with Lake than I had before. She might not realize it, but we had a lot in common.

  It had to be awful for her to know her own mother was working against her to steal her dream, and I still couldn’t figure out why Emily Ryan was doing it. Was she like my parents and so totally self-involved that she couldn’t see what she was doing to her own daughter?

  “When did your parents get divorced?” I asked.

  “No offense, but that’s none of your damn business.” There was no fight in her words, just a defeated sigh.

  “You’re right. Sorry. It’s just...I get it, you know? Fucked up childhoods really mess with your head.”

  “Are you telling me I’m screwed in the head?” She gave me a stink eye that told me I was probably seconds away from a hard, swift kick to the balls.

  “No,” I quickly corrected. I swallowed, remembering those nights when I had cracked ribs from my father and a stomach so empty it literally hurt because my parents had blown the money we’d stolen that day on booze and drugs instead of food. “I was actually talking about me. My parents—” I took a deep breath. “They weren’t nice, but I don’t have to deal with them anymore. You don’t have that luxury.”

  Her gaze softened, so I continued.

  “I’m just saying that I get it. We don’t get to choose our parents, and sometimes, that really sucks. I’m sorry Emily Ryan is such a bitch.”

  She tilted her head at me as if something had just occurred to her. “Who were you talking to on the phone earlier?”

  “My office in Denver.”

  “Are they having difficulties with her?”

  I wanted to laugh out loud. Difficulties? That was one way to put it. “Yeah, my assistant would like it if I dealt with the bitch personally rather than him having to deal with her.”