“Well, I’m not sitting on it.” Her mother’s chin firmed. “I’ll just stand until your father gets here.”
“I thought you said he was napping.”
“Yes, Jacob and Tanya are picking him up when they arrive and coming straight here. We’re all very worried about you.”
“Worried? Why?”
“Naomi, you haven’t answered your phone for weeks!”
“It’s been, like, four days. Tops.”
“I was sure I was going to read about your grisly murder in the newspaper.”
“Ugh. First of all, who reads the newspaper? Do you at least have a digital subscription? Second of all, I’m not dead. I’m busy, Mom. There is a difference, you know.”
Her mother sniffed. “Busy with what? What on earth could you possibly be doing out here in the country?”
Naomi threw up her hands. “Again! Two. Hours. Away. And I’m working, Mom! Remember? I have a successful art career?”
Her mother rolled her eyes. “I’m sure you do.”
“Do you want to see the checks?” Naomi heard her own voice rising to a shriek. How did her mother always do this to her? “I have a mortgage!”
“Of course you do, dear. And a cell phone bill. Which I assume you pay with those checks. Which means that you could have answered your phone, but you didn’t. Hence, why we’re here.” Her mother spread her hands, as if all had been resolved, then smiled patiently at Naomi. “I’m sure your father and brother will be here soon, and we can really get down to business.”
Was it wrong to flee your own home? Naomi’s phone buzzed in her pocket, one short vibration indicating a new text. She pulled it out and glanced at it.
Iain: Is everything okay? Do I need to come over there? What happened?
Her mother shifted slightly. “While we wait, I’m going to use your facilities.” She glanced around. “Feel free to tidy up while I’m gone.” She sashayed out of the room as if she owned the place, a signature Judith Klein move.
Naomi unlocked her phone and typed furiously.
Naomi: The reckoning has come. My mother is here. Save yourself. STAY AWAY.
18
Standing on the sidewalk outside the small regional airport in Santa Rosa, Iain’s mouth split into a wide grin when his sister stepped out into the California sunshine. “I can’t believe you came,” he said, pulling Maeve into a hug.
“When my brother calls—the good one, mind—and says to get my arse to California, I’m there.”
He rolled her carry-on luggage behind him as they made their way to his car. “You’re here four nights, right?”
Angelica had offered up Iain’s old room at the Oakwell Inn at a reduced rate. It was an added expenditure he hadn’t anticipated—especially now that he was counting his pennies in anticipation of his family’s censure—but the tiny space above Max’s garage simply wasn’t suitable for sibling slumber parties.
And there was no way Iain was going to ask Naomi to put his sister up, especially since everything between them felt a bit unsettled. Her statement about him not turning up on her doorstep had hurt more than he’d let on. Add to the fact that he hadn’t heard from her in a couple of days, and he was left wondering where they stood. The last thing she’d said to him was to stay away, and he hadn’t heard a peep since. He was trying not to worry.
“Three,” Maeve clarified. “Mam thinks I’m at a hen do in Vegas.”
“Smart.”
“I needed to get away. Fionn’s on one of his high horses, and Dad cornered me with the promise of my own project at Brennan’s. Obviously, he hopes if he bribes me well enough, I’ll get you to come over to the dark side.”
Iain snorted and rolled his eyes as he pulled onto the freeway. It had only been forty-eight hours since his father had stabbed him in the back with the news that the family had no intention of producing Whitman’s Revival no matter what he did. Since their call, Iain had received five different emails promising him all manner of promotions, hoping to get him to return to the family fold. He’d ignored them all.
What the old man hadn’t counted on, of course, was that the two youngest Brennans were tired of being dictated to, and they’d swiftly hatched a plan to take control of their destinies. Or, at least, the beginnings of a plan. That’s what had brought Maeve to California so quickly—to see if Iain’s scheme had any merit.
“Do you want to go to Angelica’s to take a nap, or head over to the distillery first?”
Maeve bounced in the seat. “The distillery!”
He should have known. Ever since he’d floated his new idea past her, she hadn’t been able to stop talking about it.
“I can’t believe you found one that’s for sale.”
Neither could Iain. Truly, it had been a stroke of luck. A few tech bros had decided it would be cool to distill gin and vodka with their buddies. They’d invested in all the equipment but had quickly grown tired of the venture. Now they wanted out. Noah had found out about the fire sale through the grapevine—no pun intended—and had given Iain a call several days ago. Originally, he’d intended on proposing the facility to his family. Now, he wanted it to be his. His and Maeve’s, rather. On paper, everything looked like it could work, but he needed his sister to inspect the stills before they’d know for sure.
Iain exited the highway and turned down a road leading into the small industrial part of town. It wasn’t the prettiest section of River Hill, but they didn’t need it to be. He wanted to make whiskey, not win beauty contests.
“I’m curious to see what you’re going to think,” Iain said, pulling into the driveway that led to a handful of warehouses. “I held off on checking it out in person until you could see it too.”
“How come?” Maeve asked, hopping out of the car even before he’d put it in park.
Iain smiled fondly. After eighteen hours of travel, most people would be ready to drop, but not Maeve. She was like the Energizer Bunny when she was amped up on an idea. And this was a whopper of one. “You’re the talent, remember?”
Iain entered the code into the security keypad and waited for the lock to disengage. When it did, he hefted the heavy steel door over his head with a grunt and stepped back to survey the space. The warehouse was over ten thousand square feet—well larger than what they’d need initially—but if things went well, they could grow into it.
“Well?” he asked.
Maeve turned to him, her jaw hanging open and excitement sparkling in her bright green eyes. “It’s perfect, Iain. I couldn’t have dreamed up a better distillery even if you’d asked me to.”
“Are you sure? The stills are good?”
She nodded and lovingly ran a hand over the gleaming copper. “God bless tech bros who have more money than sense.”
Iain laughed. “They claimed to have purchased ’only the best,’ but you can never tell. How does some programmer know what type of still is best?”
“However they knew, they knew.” She turned to face him but her hand continued to stroke the still’s copper surface. “What’s the next step?”
Iain blew out a breath. This was the part that made him nervous. He wasn’t worried about himself so much. No matter what happened, he’d land on his feet. There were always jobs in tourism marketing to be had, but Maeve was another story. She hadn’t gone to university, instead choosing to go to work directly in their family’s distillery as soon as she was done with school. If their venture failed, what would happen to her?
As if sensing his unease, Maeve laid a hand on his arm. “Iain, stop worrying about me. I already told you, I’m in. You couldn’t keep me away.” She craned her head back to take in the long neck of the still. “I’m gonna need that big brain of yours to focus on how we’re going to make it all work, not worrying about what happens to me if it doesn’t. We can do this. We will do this.”
Well, that settles that, Iain thought, wrapping his sister in another tight squeeze. Her faith in him never ceased to amaze him. She truly was the best dam
n person he knew, and if for no other reason than to make her a success, he vowed to do everything in his power to get their distillery up and running. “Now, sweet girl, I sell my shares in Brennans and we buy this place. I’ll call the lawyers.”
And then he’d wait.
Stay away. Iain stared at his phone. Naomi’s directive had been clear, but that had been over seventy-two hours ago. Why the radio silence? Surely, her mom was gone by now.
Iain tried not to overreact, but truth be told, he was worried.
Iain: Everything good over there?
He waited for Naomi’s reply to come, but when two more hours passed, he developed a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. He and Naomi certainly didn’t exist in each other’s pockets, but they’d never gone this long without even a text exchanged between them, either.
His knee bounced up and down as he weighed his options. Sit here all night concocting scenarios in his head, or head on over to her place and risk interrupting something he shouldn’t. Or worse.
What could be worse than not knowing? He cared about Naomi, and if he was sticking around River Hill—which it very much looked like he was now that he and Maeve had put in an offer in to buy the distillery—he needed to know where he stood with her.
Throwing his leather jacket on, Iain grabbed his keys and bounded down the steps to his car. Ten minutes later, he was parked at the curb in front of Naomi’s house, leaning to the side to inspect his surroundings through the passenger-side window. Her car was in the driveway, as were two others. None were marked “coroner,” so he supposed that was a good sign.
He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. He really didn’t know what to do here. Naomi wasn’t his girlfriend. Hell, she’d explicitly told him to stay away. But something about the situation didn’t seem right, and if something was actually wrong, he’d feel terrible for having waited this long to check in on her. You didn’t leave people you cared about to fend for themselves when they were in a bind.
Decision made, he made his way up her lavender-lined walk. When he was about ten feet from her front door, he heard voices. Loud voices. Iain paused, and then winced, when he heard Naomi yelling something about Noah and “his goddamned mommy issues.”
He didn’t know what that was about, but he did know Naomi’s parents had always assumed she and the grumpy winemaker would end up together. He snorted. Clearly, they didn’t know their daughter—or Noah, for that matter—if they thought those two were anything other than a terrible idea. Naomi and Noah were more like a bickering brother and sister than a couple, and sometimes he wondered how they’d ever managed to get naked together. It made zero sense to him, but who was he to judge? Lord knew Iain had his own fair share of cringe-worthy partners in his past.
Stepping onto the first of three stairs that led up to her front door, Iain heard a male voice telling Naomi not to be so dramatic. That is not going to go over well, he thought with a smirk. In response, he heard Naomi telling the person to fuck off.
He paused, wondering if he should go any further. Clearly, she wasn’t dead or in any sort of dire straits. At least physically. But if that was her family on the other side of her heavy wooden door, he knew she’d be livid. That was something they had in common. Three days spent with family who wanted you to be something you weren’t was enough to drive anyone crazy. Now that he knew Naomi was still alive, he pulled out his phone to let her know she could escape to his place if she needed.
Iain: Hey, I’m outside. When I didn’t hear from you, I got worried. Now that I can hear you’re okay, I’ll head out. Call me if you need to escape. I want to talk to you about something.
The something being his plans for sticking around River Hill. He’d planned to tell her about Maeve’s visit and his idea, but then everything had gone sideways. As far as Naomi knew, he was only here for another week.
And she hasn’t tried to contact you, a snarky voice inside his head chimed in. Not that he hadn’t noticed. Her continued silence in spite of his looming departure date was probably the thing that bothered him most about all of this. Iain had thought that despite their promises not to get attached, they’d had something special building. Now, he couldn’t help but wonder if it had all been one-sided. Regardless, he was sticking around, and she needed to know either way.
Iain turned to go when he heard the front door open behind him.
“Don’t you dare leave me here to fend for myself,” Naomi hissed as she galloped down the stairs to grab hold of his arm and spin him around. She planted a quick kiss on his lips, and then tugged him back up the stairs and through her front door to come face to face with the family he remembered meeting briefly nearly six months prior at the Founders’ Ball.
“You all remember Iain?” she asked, shoving him forward and closing the door behind them.
Her mother tilted her head to the side to study him. “I don’t believe so, no. How did you say you two know each other?”
“I didn’t,” Naomi said, crossing her arms over her chest and squaring off with her mom.
Iain hadn’t remembered the two looking so much alike, but with twin expressions of annoyance on their faces, the resemblance was uncanny. Suddenly, he knew what Naomi would look like in thirty years—provided, of course, she visited the same plastic surgeon. Not that her mother’s work was bad or anything, but no woman in her sixties looked like that naturally. At least not in his experience. His own mom looked fifteen years older than Naomi’s.
“Wait, I remember you.” Jacob Klein stepped forward. “You’re the whiskey guy from the Founders’ Ball.”
“Iain Brennan. Guilty as charged.” He grasped Naomi’s brother’s outstretched hand and shook it.
Stepping back, Jacob glanced back and forth between his sister and Iain, a slight smile tugging at his lips. “I didn’t realize you two knew each other.”
“We didn’t; not at the time,” Iain answered, unaware he’d said something he shouldn’t have until Naomi elbowed him in the side and cursed his big mouth under her breath.
“Noah gave him my name when he needed someone to design a logo for his sister’s whiskey,” she rushed to add. No mention of the fact that they’d been seeing one another, or whatever it was they were doing, ever since.
Iain didn’t know why, but that hurt. He was good enough to drag inside to interrupt what had clearly been a fraught family meeting, but he wasn’t good enough to introduce as her friend. To acknowledge that he might even be something more? Her silence these past three days began to make more sense.
“Is that the one we tasted at the ball?” A man Iain recognized as Naomi’s father stepped forward.
“Yeah. A friend of a friend hooked me up. He thought it might uncover some potential customers, but no luck.” He shrugged. Iain had hoped the opportunity might lead to some big orders, but all that had resulted was in a dip in his inventory.
Judith Klein tsked at her daughter. “You didn’t introduce him to Luis?
“Luis?” he asked, turning to face Naomi.
Before she could answer, Mrs. Klein stepped forward and led Iain to the sofa on the other side of the room. He paused briefly when she sat in the spot where he’d slowly and leisurely fucked her daughter the week before. Expecting to find a smirk on Naomi’s face, he was shocked instead to see her lips flattened into a grimace and her cheeks scarlet with what looked like indignation.
Which, frankly, he didn’t understand. His presence there was her doing. Sure, he’d come over uninvited even though she’d told him to stay away, but she’d invited him inside. Without looking at him, Naomi dropped into a chair in the corner, and went back to sulking.
Judith patted the cushion next to her, and Iain obediently sat down. “Luis Montero is the most prolific restaurateur in the Bay Area. He has ten restaurants right now, and is opening several more, all very nice. You may have seen him on the Food Network. He’s been on some of their competition shows as a judge. Quite famous.” She waved a hand airily. “He’s a dear fri
end of the family. Naomi’s known him her entire life.” She turned to Naomi. “I’m sure he would have loved Iain’s whiskey. Your brother and father did. Why didn’t you make the introduction?”
Naomi lifted her chin in defiance. “You know how I feel about abusing personal connections for profit.”
Judith rolled her eyes. “And you know that’s just being naive. That’s how business is done.”
“Maybe in your world, but not in mine. In my world, I let the product speak for itself.”
Judith set her hand to Iain’s knee, a strange, proprietary gesture. Then again, she’d had to sign off on him peddling his wares at the Founders’ Ball, so maybe she somehow felt responsible for his success—or lack thereof. “And Iain’s whiskey speaks for itself. All you had to do was ask Luis to taste it, and he would have asked you to set up a meeting the very next day. You know he loves to have all the best stuff first. Honestly, Naomi. You’d better hope he doesn’t find out you’ve been keeping this nice man a secret. He’ll be very cross with you.”
“I was not keeping a man a secret,” Naomi hissed through gritted teeth. Even though as far as Iain could tell, that was exactly what she’d been doing.
For the next couple of minutes, Iain watched the two women lobby statements back and forth as if he wasn’t even there. And the longer they volleyed thinly-veiled insults, the clearer things became. Naomi was good friends with the biggest and most widely acclaimed restaurant owner in the Bay Area. One order from him all those months ago and the situation with Whitman’s might have been different.
If Iain had been able to secure a massive order right away instead of toiling away for three long months, he wondered if his father’s decision might have turned out differently. Instead, it looked as if he’d struggled, and perhaps that was why the company had completely lost faith in his and Maeve’s vision. And now he was on the cusp of creating an irreparable divide in his family that couldn’t be undone once he set it in motion.
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