by Jenna Sutton
“I hope to hell you’re doin’ more than kissin’,” Ellis shot back.
Beck wasn’t about to admit Ellis got more action than he did. He hadn’t been on a date in … Shit, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been on a date. Maybe last fall?
Unfortunately, he had no trouble remembering the last time he’d gotten laid. It had been more than a year ago, shortly before he and Olivia broke up.
“I know you’ve been workin’ hard … tryin’ to get Trinity off the ground,” Ellis said, “but there’s more to life than makin’ bourbon.”
“I’m surprised to hear you say that since you’ve dedicated your life to it,” Beck replied dryly.
Without question, Ellis was the best master distiller in the nation, maybe the best in the world. He’d spent more than thirty years as the master distiller for Jonah Beck Distillery, and while he had worked there, he won Master Distiller of the Year five times.
Beck lured Ellis out of retirement six years ago to take over the master distiller job at Trinity. He had no doubt the old man was the reason Trinity found success when other craft distilleries failed.
“You know, women are like bourbon,” Ellis said.
Beck laughed. “I think the saying is, ‘Women are like fine wine. They only get better with age.’”
Ellis shook his head. “No, they’re like bourbon,” he insisted.
“How so?”
“A good one is warm and smooth and just a little sweet. But she’s got some kick to her … a bite that makes you flinch. She makes your throat burn and your chest tight, and then she settles in your belly and glows like an ember.” Ellis eyed Beck for a moment, a smile playing around his lips. “You ever met a woman like that?”
“Not yet.”
“Or maybe you just weren’t payin’ attention.” Ellis tilted his head toward the door. “You better hightail it. You don’t wanna be late for your meetin’.”
Beck checked his watch, a vintage Tag Heuer his dad had given him. Realizing the meeting started in five minutes, he patted Ellis on the back. “See you later, old man.”
As he jogged toward the stairs, he heard Ellis yell, “Damn it, boy, be careful! You’re gonna break somethin’!”
Once Beck was outside he took a moment to smooth his hair and check his clothes for stains. Today, he wore a beige vintage-style T-shirt with brown-and-orange cursive lettering on the front that said, Hello, bourbon, my old friend. I’ve come to talk with you again.
His faded jeans had worn spots on both knees. The bottoms were frayed, and one of the side seams was split over his brown leather work boot.
He’d thought about dressing up for today’s meeting, but decided against it. He didn’t sit behind a desk all day. He got his hands dirty.
And now he was going to get his hands dirty with Ava Grace Landy.
CHAPTER FOUR
When Beck walked inside the cavernous warehouse that housed Trinity’s office Ava Grace and her manager were already there. They stood in a small cluster with Gabe and Ren.
“Beck is checking the mash,” Gabe said. “He’ll be here soon.”
“I’m here,” he called out.
Everyone turned toward him. As he hurried over to the little group, he zeroed in on Ava Grace. Sunshine filtered through the wide windows and slanted across her face. Her skin looked like silk, not a single blemish to mar its smooth surface.
As he came to a stop next to his partners, he met Ava Grace’s hazel gaze. Her eyes glimmered with flecks of green and gold.
“Hello. It’s good to see you again.”
“Hello, Beck.”
The husky rasp of her voice skipped down Beck’s spine. It sounded even better in person than it did on the radio or TV.
Ava Grace’s unique voice, along with her Texas twang, stunning good looks, and tall, willowy body, enthralled the entire nation when she competed on American Star several years ago. Not a week went by that she didn’t show up on TV or the cover of a magazine.
The media, both legit and paparazzi, had a huge hard-on for Ava Grace. And in that respect, Beck and the media had a lot in common.
Beck couldn’t imagine living his life under a microscope the way she did. It’d make him crazy.
He’d had enough of that when his dad was accused of embezzling twenty-five million dollars. Reporters descended on his hometown like a plague of locusts. Even though Jonah Beck Distillery was a private, family-held company, the news its president and CEO had stolen millions of dollars garnered national attention.
TV vans clogged the road leading to his house, and reporters camped out on the expansive lawn. They’d even shown up at his high school, following him from his Jeep to the entrance, shouting questions and shoving microphones in his face.
The memory made his chest tighten. He forced himself to think about the present instead of the past.
“How have you been?” he asked Ava Grace, genuinely interested in her answer.
“Finer than frog hair.”
Her answer made him chuckle. Ellis said “finer than frog hair” all the time. It was an old southern idiom, and Beck hadn’t expected it to come out of Ava Grace’s luscious mouth.
She smiled. Like most celebrities, her teeth were blindingly white. But they weren’t perfect. She had a slight overbite, and one of her front teeth edged over the other. And in Beck’s opinion, those tiny imperfections elevated her from beautiful to breathtaking.
Somehow, he managed to drag his gaze from Ava Grace’s gorgeous smile and focus on her manager. Everything about Wallace Whit was thick except his hair. Paint him green, and he could be The Incredible Hulk’s balding older brother.
Beck and Wallace Whit exchanged brief, perfunctory handshakes. “Thanks for inviting us out,” Wally said, glancing around the rundown warehouse.
Noting Wally’s review of the building, Ren grimaced. “Sorry about the mess.”
“I’m sure it will be great once you’ve finished with the renovations.” A tendril of platinum-blond hair had escaped from Ava Grace’s braid, and she brushed it away from her face. “I’m excited to see what you guys do with it.”
“We weren’t going to move in until the new space was finished,” Gabe chimed in, “but we’d already transferred all the operations here—the fermentation tanks, the distillers, the bottling line—so it made sense to go ahead and move the office.”
Ava Grace laughed softly. “You’re going to regret that decision. I renovated my house a couple of years ago, and I lived there during the construction. It was not pleasant. Every morning at seven o’clock, a crew showed up at my door, and I had no peace for the next twelve hours.”
She wrinkled her nose. “It’s not just the hammering and the drilling, either. It’s the constant questions. The crew couldn’t leave me alone for more than ten minutes without asking for direction.”
Beck barely suppressed a rude snort. Her contractors hadn’t needed direction. They just wanted to listen to her sexy voice and ogle her fine ass. He couldn’t blame them, though, since he wanted to do the same thing.
“Renovations always take longer and cost more than you expect,” Ava Grace added. “And the dust gets everywhere.”
Wally cleared his throat. “Maybe we should start discussing the details of a potential marketing partnership between Ava Grace and Trinity,” he suggested. “We have a lot to talk about.”
Ava Grace flashed a smile at her manager. The relationship between them seemed more than professional. Not sexual, but definitely affectionate.
“Wally is eager to get back to Nashville because he has tickets for the Predators game,” Ava Grace said, nudging her shoulder against the man’s beefy arm. “Hockey is far more important than I am.”
Wally chuckled. “Come on, Ava Grace. It’s game seven of the conference finals. If they win, they’ll play for the Stanley Cup.”
“It’s all about priorities,” she replied, a teasing note in her raspy voice.
Beck gestured to the conference table and c
hairs in the far corner. “Let’s sit down.”
He led the way to the frosted glass table and waited patiently for everyone to get settled in the black leather chairs. He tried not to stare as Ava Grace took a seat and crossed her long legs, but he couldn’t help himself.
Her denim dress, which hit well above her knees, had metal buttons down the front and on the pockets. She’d left the three bottom buttons undone to show her lean thighs and the two top buttons open to reveal some cleavage. A wide brown belt and brown leather cowboy boots completed her look.
Ava Grace flipped her long braid over her shoulder, and he jerked his eyes away just as she looked up. He dropped into the chair at the head of the table. Gabe and Ren were on his right, next to each other, while Wally and Ava Grace sat directly across from them.
Beck leaned back in his chair, trying to relax. When he was around Ava Grace, his muscles stiffened as if preparing for a brutal attack. To his disgust, they weren’t the only things that stiffened.
He caught Gabe’s eye and gave him a non-verbal go ahead to kick off the pitch they’d prepared. But before Gabe could begin, Wally said, “I’m going to be honest with you guys … I’m not convinced Ava Grace should partner with Trinity.”
“You haven’t even heard our pitch,” Gabe pointed out, his voice hard. “How do you—”
Beck held up his hand. “Hold on, Gabe. Let’s give Wally a chance to talk.” He met the older man’s eyes. “What’s your biggest concern?”
“Your product.” Wally linked his hands together on top of the table. “Alcohol is very controversial. Underage drinking. Binge drinking. Alcoholism.” He shook his head emphatically. “We don’t want anyone to think Ava Grace is encouraging those things. She has millions of fans still in high school.”
Beck and his partners considered Wally’s words. He wasn’t wrong. It was something the industry struggled with daily.
“We understand where you’re coming from,” Ren said. “But we advocate responsible drinking, and we’d work with Ava Grace to make sure she can promote Trinity without encouraging irresponsible drinking.”
“Alcohol isn’t all bad,” Gabe chimed in. “Research proves teetotalers are more likely to be depressed than those who drink moderately.”
“Is that true?” Wally asked.
“Yes, it’s true,” Beck confirmed. “Spirits are good for the spirit.”
Ava Grace smiled at his quip. “I agree. When I have a bad day, I always feel better after I have a mango margarita.”
“Mango margarita?” Beck grimaced. “You and I have a different idea about what constitutes an alcoholic beverage.”
She laughed. “They’re good. You should try one.”
She leaned sideways and whispered something to Wally. His forehead furrowed in a frown before he sighed.
“Ava Grace says I need to have an open mind.” Wally inclined his head. “Start talking. I’ll listen.”
Without delay, Gabe began his spiel. “It’s a really exciting time for Trinity. Two years ago, we decanted our first barrels of bourbon. Beck’s vision, which Ren and I shared, was to produce ultra-premium bourbon, and that’s exactly what we did. We’ve been honored by the American Distilling Institute as one of the best craft distilleries in the nation, and we’ve signed agreements with several distributors to put our product in liquor stores, hotels, and restaurants across the U.S. Since then, our sales have exceeded our forecasts.”
“I thought bourbon had to be made in Kentucky,” Wally said.
“That’s a common misperception,” Beck replied. “Bourbon can be produced anywhere in the U.S. People get confused because Kentucky is the ancestral home of bourbon, and the state produces more than ninety-five percent of the world’s bourbon. Trinity is the only company in California that distills bourbon.”
Wally nodded. “Yeah, California isn’t exactly known for bourbon.”
“We’ve managed to build a very loyal following for Trinity in a remarkably short time,” Gabe said. “The market for spirits, especially brown spirits, is growing.”
“My grandfather drank bourbon,” Wally said. “I’ve always thought of it as a drink for old men.”
“Old men still drink bourbon,” Beck noted. “But the popularity of mixology has made bourbon trendy.”
Ava Grace’s gaze swung to him, and he forgot what he was saying. She stared unblinkingly, her bright eyes framed by absurdly long eyelashes. He wished she wouldn’t look at him because it made his skin feel raw and hot—like when he’d worn a cheap tux to his high school prom.
“What the hell is mixology?” Wally asked.
“The art of making craft cocktails,” Ren explained. “Bourbon is one of the fastest-growing categories in the alcohol category, thanks to a rise in interest from Millennials, as well as women.”
“It’s a very competitive category, though,” Beck added. “Attracting new customers is a challenge. We’re not only competing against other bourbon and whiskey producers, we’re also competing against other spirits—gin, tequila, rum, vodka. The stringent regulations for advertising alcoholic beverages make it even more difficult.”
Beck glanced at Ren, who picked up the conversation. “In the past, the big bourbon distilleries have largely ignored women. They’ve marketed their bourbon almost exclusively to men.”
Ren looked back and forth between Ava Grace and Wally. His mouth usually reminded Beck of a hyphen—straight and serious—but now it was stretched in a smile. Beck had no doubt Ava Grace was the reason. Men turned into grinning, drooling idiots around her.
“That’s not very smart,” Wally noted, absently scratching his bald head. “With the exception of automobiles, women account for the overwhelming majority of discretionary spending.”
“Right,” Ren agreed. “And other spirits categories have done a much better job of marketing to women. Vodka, in particular. Women represent a very large and very lucrative market for bourbon distillers. We think a lot of women would like bourbon if they tried it.”
Leaning forward, Beck braced his elbows on the table and spoke directly to Ava Grace. “That’s where you come in. We need someone who connects with women. Someone women identify with. Someone they admire. That’s you.”
He paused to drive home the next point. “We want you to tell women how great Trinity is. We want your female fans to become fans of Trinity. We think you and Trinity could be a great pairing—like mint and bourbon.”
She arched her eyebrows. “Even though you don’t like my music ‘all that much’?”
And there it was. Beck had wondered if she remembered his insult. In some way, he was glad she hadn’t forgotten their exchange because it meant he’d cut her as much she’d cut him.
He stared at Ava Grace for a moment, debating how to handle the situation. Making his decision, he rose from his seat. Gabe and Ren followed his lead and stood.
“How ‘bout a tour?” Beck asked.
Ava Grace and Wally looked at each other. Their faces clearly expressed surprise and confusion.
Wally slowly stood. “I’m not sure we have time for—”
“Don’t you want to see how bourbon is made?” Beck prodded.
After a moment, Ava Grace grabbed her hobo bag from the floor and came to her feet. With an internal sigh of relief, Beck walked toward the front of the building. The rest of the group trailed behind him.
When he reached the door, he stepped aside. He gestured for his partners to exit and casually moved in front of Ava Grace so Wally went out the door first. As soon as the older man cleared the threshold, Beck stopped. Ava Grace bumped into him from behind, letting out a little oof.
“Gabe. Ren. Why don’t you take Wally to see the continuous still and the doubler? Miz Landy and I need to have a little chat. We’ll catch up later.”
Before Wally could protest, Beck pulled the door shut and turned to face Ava Grace. He was close enough to catch her scent. She smelled like brown sugar, and he wondered if her skin would taste like it too. He s
hook off the thought.
“Can I get you something to drink?” he asked. “Something other than Trinity since you don’t like my bourbon ‘all that much’.”
Her eyes narrowed. “That really bothered you, huh?”
“It bothered me as much as it bothered you when I said I didn’t like your music ‘all that much’.”
“That didn’t bother me.”
She denied it so quickly Beck knew she was lying. “Then why bring it up?”
The crests of her cheeks flushed, and he felt an insane urge to run his thumb across the pinkness. Instead of giving in to it, he crossed his arms over his chest.
“I was going to apologize for what I said that night.” Beck shrugged with sham nonchalance. “But if it didn’t bother you, I guess there’s no reason to say I’m sorry.”
Her mouth fell open. “What?”
“Did it bother you when I said I didn’t like your music ‘all that much’?” He tilted his head to the side. “Tell the truth now.”
After a long moment, she nodded. “Yes, it bothered me.”
“I’m sorry for insulting you. I acted like an immature jerk.”
She stared into his eyes, as if trying to assess his sincerity. The rigid line of her shoulders gradually softened, and the flush left her face.
“I’m sorry too. I swear I wasn’t trying to be rude when I said that about Trinity.” She sighed. “I was just being honest. I don’t drink a lot of hard liquor. I’m more of a Dr Pepper kind of girl.”
Mollified by her apology, Beck added, “You’re a very talented singer. I actually like your music a lot.”
She huffed out a laugh. “Then you’re one of the few.”
Now he was the one who laughed. “What are you talking about? You have millions of fans.”
“Ninety percent of my fans are women. You’re one of the few men who likes my music.” She shifted her bag from her shoulder to the crook of her elbow. “The new head of my record label wants me to expand my fan base. He has all these ideas to increase my visibility among males.”
“What kind of ideas?”
Her eyes darted away from him, and her cheeks pinked again. “Crazy, stupid ideas.”
