Whiskey and Serendipity (Hemlock Creek Book 1)

by Josie Kerr

  Cal, who had just bitten off a mouthful of sausage, made a face. “What do you mean?” he asked after swallowing.

  “I mean, you’re . . . kind of like the guy I’ve known since I was ten. Not that asshole who didn’t give a fuck about anyone or anything and who has been masquerading in a Cal meatsuit for the past six months.”

  Cal made a face. “ ‘Meatsuit’ is not a word I want to hear while I’m eating, Phonse.” Alphonse gave him a pointed look, and Cal set down his fork and knife. “Okay, yeah. I’ve been . . . off. For a while. For too long.” He sighed. “Sorry, man. You didn’t deserve to get dragged down in all my shit.”

  Alphonse nodded, which Cal took as an acceptance of his sort-of apology, so he returned to his breakfast. “So catch me up with what I’ve missed. I did the distillery tours—there’s some really nice product coming out. I think we might be able to swing something. I’ve been talking to the guys, and they’re excited about getting something in the States. It’d take a while to get set up, but, you know, we’d have it by fall, which would be perfect timing . . .” Cal trailed off, his enthusiasm waning at Alphonse’s uncomfortable expression. The last time Phonse had that look on his face, he bore the news that had sent Cal into this tailspin. “What is it, Alphonse? Spit it out.”

  “We’ve gotten an offer to join a restaurant group, Cal. I’m telling you as a courtesy. They’re bringing in their own people, though. And . . .”

  “I’m out.”

  Alphonse wiped his hand over his face. “You’ve been out for a while, you know. You never really came back after the wedding—”

  “Do you blame me?”

  “Yes, I do. People work with assholes all the time, especially in this business. But you just checked out and left me hanging, Cal. I have a business to run, and I don’t have the luxury of Nashville royalty checks filling my bank account like you do.”

  “Wow, that’s really shitty, Phonse. You know the price we all paid for having that son of a bitch as a father.”

  Alphonse shrugged, unrepentant. “It’s the truth. Something changed when your old man finally kicked it and the money started rolling in.”

  Cal clenched his jaw and inhaled deeply, trying to get a rein on his temper. If anyone other than Alphonse or his brothers had said anything similar to him, he’d be across the table and letting his fists finish the conversation. It didn’t help that in the back of his mind, that little voice piped up again, telling him Alphonse was giving him a hard truth and to not be a baby about it.

  “Shit, this is not how this conversation should be going.” Alphonse cracked his knuckles. “The money comment came out harsher than I intended. You aren’t an asshole, Cal. I mean, you are, but you’re a down-to-earth asshole. Amanda was the problem. Amanda is the problem. She always has been.”

  “You’re just pissed that she doesn’t like little swarthy Cajuns,” Cal said with a straight face, and Alphonse blinked, then dissolved in laughter.

  “Thank God for that. But then again, maybe I would’ve driven her off and we could’ve avoided this whole mess. Man, what a clusterfuck.” Alphonse shook his head. “She’s gone, you know. She left the restaurant.”

  “Yeah, her brother got her some sort of internship?” Cal poked at his now-cold breakfast. He didn’t want to think about his ex-wife, not today or this week when there was someone as intriguing as Kat Fahey around.

  “Who is she? Or, knowing you, there are several ‘shes.’ ”

  Cal snorted. “Oh, no, that’s you, my friend. You know I get distracted by one woman at a time.”

  “Hey, don’t discount doubling up,” Alphonse quipped with a wink. “So, fess up. She a local? Does she have a friend?”

  “No, she’s not local. She’s here for the conference. She’s from Boston. She was actually on my flight over here. We got to talking and . . .” Cal shrugged. A sudden visual of Kat, hair all wild waves from the braids, wearing nothing but another devastatingly sexy lingerie set and looking at him in the mirror while he latched her necklace, flashed into his mind’s eye.

  “Oh man, you are smitten.” Alphonse barked a laugh. “Holy hell.”

  “Nah. We agreed on ‘here and now.’ That’s all. She knows about Amanda, and she’s got her own bullshit. This is good, something we both need. A . . . palate cleanser, if you will.” Alphonse raised his eyebrows, and Cal flipped his friend off. “It’s all good.”

  Alphonse blew out a breath and threw up his hands. “If you say so, man.” He cleared his throat, all humor gone from his face. “There’s a meeting at two. I’d like you to be there. It’s with a development person and a bean counter. It’ll be a good move for Pickett and Spence, Cal. It’ll be good for you, too, to get a clean break.”

  “Yeah, sure. Yeah.” And with that conversation with his oldest friend, reality came roaring back at Cal, and he didn’t like it one bit.

  ´*•.¸(*•.¸ *¸.•*´)¸.•*´

  Topher was getting on Kat’s last nerve. She’d tried to ignore the jabs about Cal’s name and origin, but her ex-husband/current coworker hadn’t let up all morning, taking every opportunity to kid about moonshine and still whiskey. She’d suffered through a two-hour tour of the distillery, which Cal would find fascinating. She knew this because, despite all the time spent they spent “nekkid rasslin’,” as Cal called it, they’d actually discussed Cal’s philosophy of professional bartending as well as current trends in the restaurant industry, good and bad. And that brain? It got Kat just as hot and bothered as that thing he did with his tongue.

  Topher rolled his eyes. “Jesus, Kat. I think you’re drooling. I never get why women go for that slack-jawed redneck type.”

  “Green is not your color, Christopher Reynolds,” Kat ground out through clenched teeth. “Just give me a rundown of the purpose of this meeting so we can get it out of the way and go about our separate business for the rest of the conference.”

  “Well, you know we’ve expanded into the southern US because that’s where it’s at regarding foodie culture, but it’s only been in the outer suburbs. This place gets us a foothold in Atlanta proper.”

  Kat’s eyebrows arched, but she kept her mouth shut. The fact that the Reynolds Restaurant Group’s foray below the Mason-Dixon Line was a complete and utter failure was an open secret in the office, one that left Donald Reynolds, as director of development, wanting to strangle his nephew. Every bullshit alarm in Kat’s head was going off at full volume, and she was thankful Donald had left her a message to call him. She had no qualms about ratting out his nephew, not when the nephew could possibly be endangering the company. After the stunt Topher pulled the very first day of the conference, she wouldn’t put sabotage past him.

  “What? No witty retort or dire warning about due diligence?” Topher taunted. “Hell, I’ll pay for Hillbilly Hal to move to Boston if it’ll keep you occupied and away from putting every single thing I do under your damn risk analysis microscope.”

  Kat came to a sudden stop. “Topher, I don’t know what your problem with Cal Harper is, but the commentary stops now. It is none of your business what I do outside of business hours—”

  “Oh, but you’re on the clock all the time while here, Ms. Fahey.” He spit her last name out, and Kat suddenly realized this whole reaction to the Cal Situation was the result of fifteen years of pent-up venom on Topher’s part, and she knew she was in a very precarious situation. “We’re paying you to be here, so we own your ass until you get off that fucking plane at Logan.”

  Kat’s jaw actually dropped. She’d never been spoken to in such a manner. If Topher had dared to speak to her that way when they were married, their five years would have been a lot fewer. Kat got ready to blast Topher, but the man’s instant Salesman Grin stopped her. Topher donned that smile when a client was in the vicinity, so Kat took a deep breath and turned toward the handsome man who approached them.

  “Mr. Gassiott,” Topher said, his tone overly familiar. It made Kat’s skin crawl. She was going to start lookin
g for another job tonight, data fees be damned. “Kat Fahey, this is Alphonse Gassiott, majority owner in the gastropub we were just discussing.”

  Kat stuck out her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Gassiott.”

  “The pleasure is all mine, Ms. Fahey.” He kissed Kat’s hand before turning to Topher. “My associate will be along in a few minutes. He had a call to make.”

  “Your business associate? I wasn’t aware you had any other partners except Chef Caruso.” Topher looked smug, and that worried Kat.

  “I don’t, officially, but Cal’s been instrumental in the success of Pickett and Spence since its inception. I’d like him to sit in on the meeting, especially since he would be the one who would be leaving.”

  Wait. Pickett & Spence? Caruso? Alphonse? Oh no. Kat’s stomach clenched, and she went hot and cold all at once. She rocked on her feet.

  Alphonse looked around in alarm and grabbed the nearest chair, which Kat sank into. “Oh, cher, you don’t look so good.”

  “Ph . . . Phonse?”

  “Yes? That’s what people call me.”

  Kat’s head snapped to look at Topher, who had a smile of satisfaction on his face. “Topher, what have you done?”

  Topher shrugged. “I just facilitated a deal that would get us access to a James Beard Award winner and give this little gastropub an infusion of cash they greatly need since their primary partner flaked off with their seed money.” He leaned close to Kat. “See? You’re not the only one who can do due diligence.”

  Kat’s phone had been buzzing in her bag for the past ten minutes. She didn’t want to think about who was leaving a message.

  And then she saw Cal. He was practically trotting across the lobby area, his phone up to his ear, while her phone continued to buzz in her bag. He didn’t see her, as she was sitting and his attention was focused on Alphonse and Topher. He slowed when he recognized Topher, and gave Alphonse a concerned look.

  Then he saw Kat. She shook her head at him, hoping beyond hope that he realized she had nothing to do with this coup. Alphonse made an awkward introduction between Cal and Topher, to which Cal spat a curt, “Oh, we’ve met,” but he never took his eyes off of Kat.

  “Cal, this is Kat—” Alphonse began.

  But he was interrupted by Cal’s “Yeah, we’ve met as well.”

  Meanwhile, Topher was looking like the cat who ate the canary, pleased as punch, and all sorts of other clichéd phrases that made Kat sick to her stomach. She concentrated on taking deep breaths, or as deep of a breath as she could manage, while Cal stared a hole through her head and Alphonse’s gaze ping-ponged amongst the other three people around him.

  “Wha—” Alphonse began as he looked from Cal to Kat. Then he wiped his face with his hand and groaned. “Oh, fuck, Cal. Tell me this isn’t—”

  “Yep.”

  “Fuck, Cal—”

  “Not gonna answer that, because it’s none of anyone’s damn business.”

  Cal strode up to where Kat sat in the chair, pushing past Topher—no, shoving past Topher—with a shoulder bump that Kat felt was deliberate.

  “Darlin’, your color doesn’t look very good. Are you feeling all right?”

  Kat frowned at the tone of Cal’s voice. He sounded . . . concerned. Maybe a little bit angry, but seemingly not at her.

  “I’m fine. I just got a little overheated, you know, traipsing around this big place and standing up too long in high heels. I should have worn my sneakers, fashion be damned.” Kat swallowed hard. “How . . . how are you?”

  “Well, I’da been a lot better if you’d answered your phone, but I get why you couldn’t.” Cal shot a glare at Topher that wiped the smug grin off Topher’s face. “What are you doing after?”

  “She’s got a dinner meeting as well,” Topher piped up.

  Kat looked sharply at Topher. “There’s nothing on my agenda for tonight.”

  “Well, there is now. We have a dinner to celebrate the acquisition of Pickett and Spence.”

  Both Cal’s and Alphonse’s head snapped to look at Topher, whose smug grin had returned. Kat could see Cal flexing his hand, opening and closing his fist, and while she didn’t normally advocate violence, she wanted Cal to flatten Topher.

  “Oh, I think this meeting is going to be truncated since your majority partner, Geoffrey Caruso, sold his portion of Pickett and Spence to the Reynolds Restaurant Group. So we own you outright now.”

  “No, only fifty-two percent.” Alphonse looked at Cal, who hadn’t taken his eyes off Topher. He looked like he was still trying to figure out how to get away with beating the crap out of her jackass ex-husband. Kat shook her head to clear it and put her mind to that same task.

  Topher shrugged. “Might as well be all of it. Oh, and you know what? We’ll just do this now. Gassiott, you’re out. That was part of the deal with Caruso—that we’d hire another GM.”

  Cal groaned and threw his head back, looking at the ceiling as he shook his head. Kat could hear his vertebrae cracking and wanted to give him a neck massage, but then again, he might hate her and not want her touching him, but—

  Kat’s phone chirped again, and she looked sharply at Topher, who shrugged. She pulled out her phone, and saw that it was Donald Reynolds.

  “Hey, Donald.”

  Kat expected Topher to blanch, but he just grinned wider. Kat knew exactly what was coming after that. She listened to Donald explain their next steps. She was glad she was already sitting down. When he was finished talking, she said goodbye and pressed the button to end the call.

  “So, as acting vice president of development,” Topher gloated, “I have a call with the newest James Beard winner and my team about where we’re going with Pickett and Spence. Which, I meant to ask you—what the hell is up with that name? Spencer Street is, like, two miles away, and it doesn’t even intersect.” Topher shook his head. “Dumbasses. Didn’t even name the restaurant correctly.”

  “Oh my God, Topher. A spence is an archaic word for a kitchen or storage area for food.” Kat threw her hands up. “But, you know, it doesn’t matter.” She turned to Cal. “Let’s go.”

  Cal quirked a raven eyebrow. “Come again?”

  “I’ve just been informed that there’s been a substantial restructuring of Reynolds Restaurant Group and they’re freezing my accounts for auditing. So I’m officially off this account. In fact, I’ve been told to absolutely not do any more billable work until I return and to consider the rest of the trip as comp time hours.” Kat moved into Cal’s space. “Here and now, Harper. We have twenty hours left, and I want to start with a substantial breakfast.”

  Cal stood and looked at her, staring long enough to where she thought he might be going into some sort of weird fugue state, before his face broke out into one of those heartbreaking smiles, and he offered Kat his hand.

  When she placed her hand in his, she grinned. “Hey.”

  Cal huffed a laugh. “Hey, Red.” He pulled her close, and they walked arm in arm across the courtyard.

  “Hey, Phonse, wanna be a third wheel?” Cal called to his friend. And when Kat turned around, Alphonse was trotting behind them to catch up after tossing the Reynolds Restaurant Group portfolio in the garbage.

  Cal glanced in the mirror while he decanted the last of the whiskey they got on that very first night into two glasses. He couldn’t tell what the hell Kat was thinking. She’d chatted and joked with Phonse during dinner, so much so that Cal had felt some little prickles of jealousy. That is, until she made a huge point of moving her chair so close to his that she was almost in his lap and then playing some aggressive footsie under the table. She’d steered the conversation away from anything that had to do with Pickett & Spence or Reynolds Restaurant Group, or really, anything that had to do with work. Cal didn’t blame her one bit.

  Now Kat was lounging on the settee, very Hepburn-esque in her pantsuit and tailored blouse, looking pensive and playing with a piece of hair that had come loose from her chignon. Cal assumed she was
mulling things over in her head because her lawyer had called right as they were finishing up dinner. Cal went to her, moved her legs and sat down on the small sofa, and handed her a glass before he put her legs back down over his lap. She swirled the whiskey around in the glass as Cal stroked one slender ankle, very conscious of the way her other foot pressed against his crotch.

  “Cal.”

  He turned toward her at the sound of his name, and she had an almost-predatory glint in those exotic amber eyes of hers. She rocked her heel harder against his burgeoning erection. Cal closed his eyes and leaned his head on the back of the sofa, enjoying the pressure and rhythm.

  “Cal.” He felt the weight of her feet leave his lap.

  She was much closer now. Cal cracked open an eye and found her on all fours, crawling toward him. He could see down her blouse—cheetah print in electric teal. Kat crawled into his lap and began to unbutton his shirt as she straddled him, rocking and grinding against him and making all sorts of little noises, which had him wanting to bend her over the back of the couch and take her right there and then. She was scrabbling at his shirt, trying to undo the buttons with one hand while she ripped her own blouse off. She managed this feat, and the next thing Cal knew, her bra was on the lamp and she was pressing her bare breasts against his chest, skin to skin, while she sucked on his neck and his shoulder.

  “Cal.” This time, his name sounded raspy, guttural, as she worked to rid him of his trousers. He whooped when she grasped both layers and pulled. His cock had no sooner been exposed than it was in her hot, wet mouth, almost down her throat.

  “Holy fuck, Kat,” he gasped. “Holy shit.”

  She came up for air. Her lips were swollen and her chest heaved, but she chuckled and said, “Let me do this,” before engulfing him again. Cal fought against thrusting, but when she slid her hands around his ass cheeks to give herself more leverage, he did—shallowly at first, but finally fucking her mouth because she wanted him to. Cal felt a familiar pressure in his lower back, and suddenly, he knew he had to have her. Cal pulled Kat’s face away, her mouth loosening her grip on his cock with a pop. He paused with his hands on the button of her waistband, looking up at her, asking. She nodded, her pants disappeared, and then she was guiding him inside as she straddled him. Cal kissed her hard as he made the first thrust, pulling her hair, which had completely escaped its bindings. Her cries of pleasure were edged with the tiniest bit of pain as she rode him. He gripped her so hard that he knew her fair skin would be bruised the next day, but she demanded it of him, pleading with him when he let up his punishing pace. Somehow, they ended up on the floor, Kat on her back with her ankles by Cal’s ears and him rocking deep, deep inside her. He looked where their bodies joined, became one, and realized he wasn’t wearing a condom.