by Jenna Sutton
If Mr. Lamont had been within touching distance, Beck would have drilled his fist right into the high school principal’s flappy mouth. Ethan glanced at him expectantly, tapping his pen on his notepad in an annoying, steady rhythm.
“Was there a question there?” Beck asked sarcastically. “I didn’t hear one.”
Ethan’s smile held a sharper edge than before. “Do you have anything to say about Calliope Boone?”
“No,” Beck snapped.
“And what about Duke University?”
“What about it? It’s a great school, but its basketball team isn’t as good as UK’s. Go Wildcats.”
Ethan’s mouth flattened. “And what about your father?”
“What about him?” Beck asked, his muscles tightening with dread.
“Do you think his death was really an accident? Or do you think he committed suicide?”
CHAPTER TEN
Suicide. Assault. Arrest. Beck had some skeletons rattling around in his closet.
Why hadn’t Wally’s research into Trinity uncovered those old bones? If Ava Grace had known, she could have controlled the interview more effectively and prevented this mess. She’d dealt with overzealous and inexperienced reporters like Ethan Maynes before.
“Maybe you didn’t hear a question that time either,” Ethan said snidely, directing his comment to Beck. “I’ll repeat it: Do you think your father’s death was really an accident, or do you think he committed suicide?”
Beck rose from the sofa like an old man, stiff and slow. His dark eyes met hers, and the misery she saw there made her stomach clench. Overwhelmed with the need to comfort him, she caught his hand in hers. Their fingers tangled, and he looked down at them before bringing his gaze back to her.
He was pale under his tan, and he was clenching his jaw so hard the tiny muscles around his mouth created deep grooves. Without a word, he gently shook off her hand and walked away. She watched him as he made his way out of the hotel, his broad shoulders rigid under his navy plaid sports coat.
She glanced at Gabe. Beck’s best friend had turned toward Ethan, obviously ready to give him a serious beat down. The reporter, meanwhile, still stared after Beck, a mix of speculation and malice on his pimply face. She had no doubt he planned to write a salacious article about Beck instead of a positive piece on Trinity.
She couldn’t allow that to happen. She and Trinity were linked now, for better or for worse. A negative article about the company would damage her brand. It would hurt Beck too.
Although she didn’t know the details of Beck’s assault accusation or his arrest, she wanted to believe he was a good guy. She hadn’t seen any evidence he wasn’t, and she wasn’t going to jump to conclusions and assume he was guilty.
Stopping Ethan Maynes from doing a hatchet job on Beck and Trinity might be impossible, but she was going to do everything she could to prevent it. She had no choice but to use every weapon in her arsenal.
“Ethan,” she said, just loud enough to get the reporter’s attention.
His muddy brown gaze locked on hers, and she gave him an enticing smile. She patted the seat next to her—the seat Beck had just vacated. “Why don’t you come and sit next to me?” she invited.
He vaulted to his feet and almost tripped over the cocktail table in his haste to get to her. He plopped down next to her, and she shifted on the cushions so her body leaned into his.
“I’ve always been in awe of people who can write,” she gushed, stroking his forearm. “It’s such an amazing talent. You know, I’m in the process of writing a cookbook, and it’s so dang hard.”
“Hard?” Ethan swallowed noisily. “Cookbook?” he repeated dumbly.
She nodded. “A cookbook of bourbon recipes. Trinity is good for more than drinking, you know. A lot of people cook with bourbon.” She lightly squeezed his arm. “Have you ever had bourbon pecan pie?” She licked her lips, and his glance dropped to her mouth. “Mmm. It’s the closest thing to heaven on earth.”
He gulped, and she moved a little closer. “Did you know Trinity has won awards for its bourbon?”
He shook his head, and she smiled. “It’s true. Trinity is one of the best bourbons on the market.” She laughed lightly and trailed her fingers down his arm to touch his hand. “Are you a bourbon drinker, Ethan?”
He shook his head again, and she pouted. “Oh, you have to try it.” She leaned closer and whispered in his ear, “There’s a special way to drink it. You have to hold it in your mouth so your tongue can enjoy the different flavors.”
She drew back. “Can I tell you about all the things Trinity is doing right now? They’re so interesting, and I’m really excited about them.”
Ethan’s eyes widened. “Tell me,” he breathed.
As she dropped her hand to his knee and squeezed, she said, “You might want to take notes.”
*****
Two hours later, Ethan left the hotel. Ava Grace waved good-bye as he walked through the sliding glass doors.
Once the reporter was out of sight, she stalked back to the green leather sofa and grabbed her bag. She glanced at Gabe as she slipped the straps over her shoulder. His face was solemn, worry shadowing his blue eyes.
“Impressive,” he said. “I’ve never seen anyone manipulate someone so skillfully, and that’s saying something, since I used to be a lawyer.”
She didn’t reply. She wasn’t proud of what she’d just done, but it had been necessary.
Gabe shoved his hands in the front pockets of his black dress pants. “Do you think it worked?”
“I don’t know. I hope so.”
He shook his head. “I can’t believe you gave him your phone number. What if he calls?”
“Voice mail.” She tilted her head toward the hotel bar. “I need a margarita.” She pointed at him with her forefinger. “You’re buying. And while I’m drinking, you’re going to talk.”
He eyed her, a hint of trepidation on his handsome face. “Why do I feel like I’m about to be interrogated?”
She smiled sweetly. “Because you are.”
Minutes later, she and Gabe were ensconced in a circular booth upholstered in wine-colored velvet. A tall hurricane glass was on the table in front of her, filled with frozen mango margarita. She took a long sip out of the red straw, moaning as the cool, fruity drink hit her taste buds.
“I’m definitely going to have more than one of these.”
“Have as many as you like,” Gabe offered. “It’s the least I can do since you just saved our bacon.”
“We won’t know for sure until the article comes out.”
Their conversation stalled, and they sipped their drinks in silence for several minutes until Gabe abruptly asked, “Are you hungry?” He didn’t wait for her to answer before saying, “I’m hungry. Let’s order some food.”
Raising his arm, he waved the cocktail waitress over and requested a couple of menus. “If you were going to suggest we share something, forget it,” Gabe said. “I don’t share. And if you’re one of those women who orders a salad and then tries to eat off my plate, I’m warning you now, I’ll stab your hand with my fork.”
After the server came by and they placed their order, she took a deep breath and asked the question knocking around in her head. “Did Beck really assault his high school girlfriend? What was her name? Calista?”
“Calliope. Like the musical instrument. Everybody called her Callie.”
“Did he assault her?”
Gabe sighed softly. “You should talk to Beck about this.”
Shaking her head, she said, “He’s not here. You are. I want answers. Now.”
A laugh rustled in Gabe’s throat. “You are a real ballbuster.”
“I’m going to take that as a compliment instead of an insult.”
His lips twitched. “Please do.”
“Start talking,” she ordered before taking a sip of her margarita. It had melted a little, and it was even more delicious than before.
“Beck didn’t a
ssault Callie,” Gabe said flatly.
“Okay. What did happen?”
Gabe sighed and rubbed his hands over his face before dropping them to the table. “Callie was the most popular girl in our high school. All the girls wanted to be her friend, and all the guys wanted to be her boyfriend.”
“Did you?”
“No,” he answered promptly.
“Why not?”
“Because I like blondes.” He gave her an exaggerated wink. “Callie was a brunette. She was gorgeous, and she knew it. She had money too. Her dad owned a bunch of car dealerships, and she thought she was better than everyone else … everyone except Beck. He was the only one she considered worthy of her.”
“She doesn’t sound very nice.”
“Nice?” He huffed out a derisive laugh. “She was a bitch through and through.”
“What did Beck see in her?”
Gabe shrugged. “She was nice when he was around. Ren and I used to joke she had an evil twin because she only acted like a bitch when Beck wasn’t there to see it.”
“I’ve known a few girls like that.” She licked some sugar sprinkles off the rim of her margarita glass. “Stop dragging out the story, Gabe.”
He chuckled ruefully. “Can’t play a player.”
“Tell me about the assault. There was no mention of it in the report Wally put together on Trinity and its owners.”
“Probably because Beck was never convicted of a crime. The prosecutor dropped the charges before his case went to trial. Arrests stay on your record for seven years max. When someone runs a background check on Beck, his rap sheet is clean.”
Gabe picked at the edge of the paper napkin under his beer bottle. “Callie broke up with Beck after his dad was accused of embezzlement, but when the truth came out, she and her best friend, Melissa, went to the cooperage where he worked after school—”
“What’s a cooperage?”
Giving her a censuring look, Gabe said, “You should know what a cooperage is. It’s the place where bourbon and wine barrels are built and charred.”
“Right.” She nodded. “Go on.”
“Beck was rolling barrels into a truck behind the warehouse when Callie showed up. I wasn’t there, but Beck told me that she started crying and begging him to forgive her … saying she wanted him back.”
Gabe picked up his beer and took a swallow. “She tried to kiss him. When he jerked away from her, she stumbled, hit her face on the dolly he’d been using to roll barrels, and then fell to the ground. Beck was trying to help her up when the driver came out of the warehouse and asked what was going on. Callie told him that Beck had hit her and Melissa had witnessed everything.”
“Oh, no.”
“Oh, yes.” A grimace twisted Gabe’s face. “Melissa backed up Callie’s story. Then the sheriff’s department showed up and arrested Beck. My mom and dad had to post his bail because he didn’t have anyone else to do it.”
“Then what happened?”
“When Melissa realized Beck was in serious trouble—that he could actually go to prison—she admitted she’d lied by corroborating Callie’s story. By then, Duke had rescinded its offer.”
Beck and Ava Grace were worlds apart when it came to education. He had degrees in chemical engineering and biochemistry from the University of Kentucky. And if that wasn’t impressive enough, the guy had gone to one of the best business schools in the nation to get his MBA.
She, meanwhile, had a diploma from Electra High School. She’d graduated at the bottom of her class with a C average because she worked nights to support herself.
While other teenagers were busy with extracurricular activities and homework, Ava Grace worked ten-hour shifts at the local dry cleaners pressing clothes. While other teenagers slept in on Saturday mornings, she was up at five to help the owners prepare for their busiest pick-up and drop-off day.
Gabe shifted restlessly in the booth, his knee brushing hers. “I still can’t believe how vindictive Callie was.”
“Vindictive?” Ava Grace could feel her mouth curling in disgust. “It’s women like Callie who make it difficult for real victims to get the help they need. I hope she got in trouble for making a false claim.”
The server arrived with their food, and they halted their discussion while she arranged the plates in front of them. As soon as she moved out of the way, Gabe grabbed his fork and attacked his chicken pasta as if he hadn’t eaten in weeks.
“Did you miss lunch?” Ava Grace asked.
He shook his head before shoveling another forkful of pasta into his mouth. At this rate, he’d be finished in less than three minutes, so she didn’t pressure him to talk.
She dipped the tines of her fork into her cilantro lime dressing and tasted it before pouring a dab on her southwestern grilled shrimp salad. She’d taken only a few bites when Gabe pushed his bowl away and wiped his mouth.
“Tell me about Beck’s dad,” she requested.
“Law was a good guy. A more approachable version of Beck. More easygoing. More trusting, I guess you could say. Beck was really close to him.”
“And his mom?”
He grimaced. “She always made me think of a venomous snake. You know the ones I’m talking about … beautiful to look at, but if you get too close, they strike, and the bite is deadly.”
“That’s horrible,” Ava Grace whispered, hoping no one would ever describe her that way.
“Yeah, she was horrible.” He pointed to her salad. “Are you going to eat the rest?”
“I’ll give it to you after you tell me how Beck’s dad died.”
“Law crashed his Lexus into a tree.”
“On purpose?”
Gabe shrugged. “Who can say for sure? It was a gravel road, so there was no way of knowing if he braked or not. The road had a lot of sharp curves, but he’d driven it a million times. He was sober, but it was late. He might have fallen asleep. No one knows, and that’s why his death was ruled an accident. But people wonder. Beck wonders. Law was depressed … with good reason. He was under investigation by the Feds, and Beck’s mom served him with divorce papers the day before he died. She didn’t even come back for his funeral. Only a few people bothered to show up because everyone believed he was an embezzler.”
Ava Grace pushed her salad toward Gabe. As he speared a shrimp with his fork, he said, “All the stuff that happened … it’s still with Beck … still weighing him down.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“You told Quinn, didn’t you?” Ava Grace accused.
Confusion filled Amelia’s face. “Told him what?”
“You know what.” Ava Grace leaned against the soapstone island in her best friend’s kitchen. “It’s obvious he’s trying to play matchmaker with me and Beck.” She shook her head in disgust. “He’s not very subtle.”
Amelia’s chocolaty gaze gleamed with amusement. “His lack of subtlety is one of the things I like best about him.”
Ava Grace rolled her eyes. “Seriously, Millie. Everyone here is a couple except for me and Beck.”
Amelia and Quinn had decided to host a s’mores party at their house, and they’d invited eight people to sit around the fire pit. In addition to Ava Grace and Beck, both of Quinn’s siblings were there with their spouses, along with some friends from work.
“Everyone here is a family member or close friend,” Amelia corrected gently. “It’s just a coincidence you and Beck are the only single people.”
Ava Grace shot the petite redhead a doubtful glance. “Really?”
Amelia’s lips twitched. “Well, maybe not a total coincidence.”
With an annoyed growl, Ava Grace grabbed a chocolate bar from the kitchen counter. She ripped off the paper wrapping and the foil underneath, wishing it were Quinn’s dark hair.
“Why are you so mad, chickadee?” Amelia asked. “This gives you an opportunity to”—she waggled her russet eyebrows—“get a little closer to Beck.”
Ava Grace snapped the chocolate bar into little pieces,
imagining it was Quinn’s arm. “Beck doesn’t want me closer,” she muttered glumly. “He’s gone out of his way to avoid me.”
Ava Grace hadn’t seen or talked to Beck since the San Francisco Living interview three days ago.
“I’m sorry.” Amelia held up one of the long metal skewers she’d bought for her guests to roast marshmallows over the fire pit. “You can use this to stab him.”
“Quinn or Beck?” she asked as she dumped the chocolate pieces into a shiny red bowl.
“We have enough skewers for both of them.”
Tearing open a bar of orange-infused dark chocolate, Ava Grace said, “I’d like to turn both of them into human voodoo dolls.”
“Just make sure to avoid the important parts.” Amelia snickered. “Your first stab should be in the head.”
While Amelia arranged graham crackers on a tray, Ava Grace broke the chocolate into smaller pieces and tossed them into an orange bowl. She reached for another chocolate bar, this one infused with red chili, and removed the wrapper.
“I decided to take a couple of days off so we can hang out before you head back home,” Amelia announced.
Joking, Ava Grace asked, “Was your boss okay with that?”
“He’s pretty flexible.” Amelia’s lips quirked. “And for some reason, he gives me special treatment.”
Just then, Quinn appeared in the open doorway that led to the back deck. Strolling into the kitchen, he flashed a smile at Ava Grace.
“Yes, her boss is okay with her taking some time off to spend with her best friend.” He turned his dark blue gaze to Amelia. “You’re pretty flexible too.”
He grinned roguishly, and Amelia’s cheeks flushed at his sexual innuendo. Laughing softly, he grabbed her around the waist and lifted her up until their faces were even.
“You get special treatment because you are special,” he murmured before pressing a kiss on her lips.
Ava Grace stared at the pile of chocolate pieces. Quinn rarely stopped with one kiss, and eavesdropping was her thing, not voyeurism.
She kept her eyes down until Quinn finally said, “Do you need help with anything, Juice?”
