Betting On It

by Violet Blake

  I looked up from the menu. “What kind of disaster?”

  “I fired a few people who were skimming off the top Saturday. With weekends so busy and a short staff, we got a ton of complaints.”

  Yikes. “You fired them? You don’t even work there.”

  Not that she had to work there, I suppose. She did own a good portion of the company, though. Besides, Jessica’s wrathful side isn’t something I’d want to question.

  “Isn’t that a good thing that you caught them?” I asked.

  “Yeah, but Callahan’s treats employees like family. They stay for years, and those who start out bussing tables tend to move up. It’s hard when you find out people have been stealing from you. Now Dad, Sawyer, and our finance people have to go through and reconcile all of it.”

  “Shit.”

  “Right? And good luck winning this bet in thirty days. Dad said Sawyer’s going to have to spend the next several months in Summit Ridge cleaning up this mess.”

  Oh. I couldn’t stop the sad little frown that appeared.

  “What? I thought you liked a challenge. You two will figure it out.”

  If anything, it made sticking to the rules easier. “I bet we will.”

  “What ever you’re doing to make him so freakishly chipper, keep it up.”

  And to think I’d only just begun. “Consider it done.”

  ...

  The clock inched toward 5:30, and as I wrapped up some of the emails Victoria asked me to write up, my phone buzzed.

  Sawyer: What’s up, buttercup?

  Buttercup? What a dork. I bit my lip, but it did nothing to quell my smile.

  Blair: Getting ready to go home. You?

  Sawyer: Let’s cross off Number One tonight. You hungry?

  I quickly glanced at Eva, who was on Facebook spying on her twelve-year-old daughter again, and completely oblivious to my quickie-in-the-making. Once I was certain she was occupied, I returned to my conversation.

  Blair: I need to go grocery shopping first :(

  Which was something that would not be happening until Friday, after I got my next paycheck and paid my way-overdue rent. I couldn’t have him over when I knew the only things in my fridge were some chicken sausage and condiments. When I thought of him licking ketchup off my nipples I cringed. Seriously not sexy.

  Sawyer: I have something better in mind. Pick you up at 6?

  Blair: I’ll be outside my office. See you then.

  Chapter Eight

  At precisely 6:00, Sawyer pulled up to the front of my office building. After he parked he dashed out and opened my car door for me, looking adorably messy in his charcoal vest and pants, white Oxford, and deep violet tie. He was on his phone, and from the sound of it, stuck in the middle of a hard conversation. Still, he shot me a smile and mouthed, “Hi,” but didn’t miss a beat in the conversation.

  He drove us to the brewery, and with each block the sound of the conversation seemed to become more dour. Although I only heard one side of it, his tone of voice got increasingly clipped, and it was clear things weren’t going his way, and had something to do with the situation at the Summit brewery that Jess had told me about. Most of the conversation involved heart-stopping dollar amounts and names I didn’t know, so I lost track after a few minutes.

  We parked in the employee lot behind the brewery, and he ended the call. Closing his eyes, he drew in a breath and dragged his hands through his hair. Then he opened his eyes, and turned to me. “Sorry about that. Long day.”

  “Are you sure you’re up to this tonight?”

  He nodded and opened his car door. “I need a distraction.” He ran around the car and opened my door, and after I stepped out he pulled me into his arms and kissed me deeply, until I forgot about anything but the way my nerves whizzed with him flush against me. Because my conversation earlier with Jessica made me deliberate all sorts of things I couldn’t deal with just yet.

  He took my hand and we walked inside, appearing suspiciously like a real couple. Which I guess was the whole point of this, especially considering his aunt could be here right this very second, watching. She didn’t seem like the type to creep around and watch people, but still. Appearance was everything.

  The Old Town brewery location took up half a city block, with twenty-foot stainless steel brew tanks positioned like sentries on the outside. The rest of the building was old, red brick, and divided into two buildings. On one side, the brewery itself, accompanied by the family-friendly restaurant. Go across the walkway and you were inside the bar, which was perfect for college students who wanted to grab a beer and a bite.

  Inside one of the brewery’s private banquet rooms, he introduced me to the brewmaster Henry Winston, and his head chef Christina St. Clair. A square table for two had been set, complete with a black linen tablecloth, napkins, and a candle. Henry held out a chair for me, and pushed it in when I sat. “Bon appétit.”

  “That’s my line,” Christina said.

  “Beer appetit,” he corrected, as Sawyer took the seat to my right. She shook her head. “So tonight we’re going to be trying out some ideas for our fall menu. Don’t be shy if you don’t like something, or if a flavor is off. Now’s our chance to fix it.”

  “We keep our menu small but specialized,” Sawyer explained. “People come for the beer, but we want them to love the food, too. So we create a fresh menu each season, as well as a handful of favorites that are available year-round.”

  I turned to Henry. “Do you create your brews based on the menu?”

  “We always have fourteen beers on tap. Ten are staple beers, and four are the seasonal brews. This fall we’re focusing on chipotle peppers, so I’ve created a chipotle beer.”

  Peppers? In beer? “Yum.”

  Christina set a platter in the center of the table with two each of triangle-shaped pastries, stuffed chipotle peppers, and crab cakes. “We need to eliminate one of these three.”

  Henry placed two five-ounce tasting glasses filled with a light beer on the table for each of us. He gave me a crash course on tasting beer, then pointed to one glass. “This is a light IPA, which showcases the hops. Most people think of hops as being bitter, but what’s the first thing you smell?”

  I lifted my glass and inhaled, catching a glimpse of Sawyer watching me. “Oooh. It’s flowery.”

  He nodded. “There are four species of hops in this brew. The flowery aroma is from the final hop we add, which is done in a secondary batch after fermentation. You’ll notice a hint of citrus when you taste it, which will complement the spicy heat in the first two dishes.”

  Sawyer started with the pastry, so I followed his lead. The combination of sweet and spicy seduced my taste buds, bursting with flavor. I chased it with a sip of the IPA.

  I closed my eyes and moaned.

  Sawyer didn’t bother to hide his amusement. “This one’s a keeper.”

  I would’ve taken another bite, but I’d be full by the second course if I didn’t pace myself, so I cut off a bite of the stuffed chipotle and bit into it. Although it was delicious—a little too hot for my taste—the pastry had set the bar high. The beer pairing was perfect, though.

  The third appetizer was the crab cake with a chipotle sauce, and I watched Sawyer chew it. By the way he stared into space and didn’t have a foodgasm like I did, I guessed he was still wrapped up in the phone call he’d just ended. No wonder he’d brought me.

  “This is amazing,” I said, licking a stray streak of sauce off my thumb. Drunk off the flavor, the food, the company, I moaned, savoring the way the sweet, tangy flavors galvanized on my tongue.

  Sawyer’s lips pulled into a fiendish smile, the kind that broadcast to the entire room that he couldn’t wait to do all sorts of filthy things with me. His eyes locked onto mine, held me in an invisible embrace that tempted me to tell everybody to leave. Right now. Get out while you can.

  My insides flip-flopped and I coughed. “The first and third are my favorites.”

  “Excellent choi
ce,” Christine said, and took the lid off of a bowl of salad. She measured small portions onto a tasting plate and put them in front of us.

  When she and Henry took the next cart of food to the kitchen, I turned a lethal eye on Sawyer. “You’re going to get me into trouble.”

  His expression was nothing but blank innocence. Ass. “For what?”

  The muscle under my eyelid twitched, dragging the top part of my cheek with it. “You know what. When you look at me like that? Everybody knows exactly what you’re thinking. And spoiler alert: it’s not about food.”

  “Numbers are like foreplay for finance guys like me, running so many equations in my head. And profits? Don’t even get me started on profits.” His voice dropped to such a low, husky timber my nipples perked up.

  I crossed my arms. “Remind me not to leave you alone with my calculator.”

  “I’ve always been a fan of calculators. They require a certain amount of finger dexterity.”

  Ridiculous how my core contracted, practically begging him to give me a demonstration.

  The door opened and Christine and Henry shuffled inside, and I narrowed my eyes at him, sending him a clear message that he’d better keep his thoughts on numbers to himself. He grinned and licked his lips. I turned away after one last warning glower, careful not to let our hosts see.

  If my life depended on it, I couldn’t have told you a thing about the salads. I ate them, nodded, tried to find a coherent way to express my thoughts on the food that didn’t sound like a phone sex call. Sawyer was placid as ever, all business.

  “Back in a few with the main course,” Christine said. They cleared the table and left the room with the salads.

  “Give me your panties,” Sawyer said, his fingers teasing the inside of my knee.

  My eyes scrunched together and my head made an involuntary shake. Had he really just said that? “Excuse me?”

  Casual as can be, he dragged his teeth over his lower lip. “Your panties. I want them.”

  “Why?”

  “I have to have a reason?” His hand moved a scant inch up my thigh, although his pinkie lingered on my kneecap, teasing the aroused flesh with feather-light—and absolutely delicious—strokes.

  “It’s all the numbers, isn’t it? I bet you can barely contain yourself.” My muscles clenched, my insides trembled. If he didn’t move his hand up higher, I’d probably poke out his eye with my spoon.

  “It’s all you, babe.”

  Babe. He’d just called me babe. That was so not a not-boyfriend thing to say. “You’re such a rule-breaker, pretending to be my boyfriend when nobody’s looking.”

  He winked. “You know what really turns me on? Breaking rules.”

  “Of course it does.” What I really wanted to say was, “Take me now.”

  “So…?” He grinned lazily, continuing the torture under the table.

  “They’re going to be back in a minute.”

  He shrugged. “You’ll have to move quick.”

  Pushing the limits. That’s what this was all about. He’d never do anything outright embarrassing. Plus, the idea of his hand exploring more of me while we ate and discussed food and finances? Bring it.

  “Fine.” The words should’ve come out snippy. They came out almost like a moan, sizzling and breathless.

  Making sure the tablecloth covered my thighs, I carefully hiked my skirt up to the tops of my thighs.

  “You’re really going to do it,” he said, his voice full of amusement.

  “Whatever. You’re supposed to be my lookout. So look out.” I yanked the top of my panties down and under my butt. I lifted my hips an inch and pulled them down my thighs, fully aware of Sawyer not watching the door—he couldn’t move his eyes away from the spectacle.

  I stopped. “Door.”

  “Right.” He turned to the door.

  Now that I’d gotten the hard part out of the way, I relaxed a little and pushed the silk over my knees, letting it fall to my ankles. I bent and unhooked it from my feet, crumpled it into my palm, and covered my thigh with my fist.

  Sawyer turned to me, expectation clear. “Well?”

  “I guess you did an okay job scoping out the door, so in return, here’s your reward.” I moved my fist to his open hand, and he closed his fingers around mine.

  His lips pressed against my forehead, skimmed the skin over my temple, and hovered over my ear. “You are so fucking sexy when you’re rule-breaking.”

  Grinning ridiculously, I leaned into his lips, savoring his heat. “And you’re not bad when you’re crunching numbers. I should have you do my taxes this year.”

  The door opened. In walked Christine and Henry. Out went the sexy.

  He and I straightened. I dropped the panties into his hand and moved all movable parts back into my lap. Nothing to see here.

  And so continued the rest of the meal. Sawyer clearly appreciated the meal, but his focus wasn’t only on finances. After each course he and Christina talked about the prices, volumes, and other numbers and he took notes. She was confident and had done her research, seeming to anticipate every question he’d ask. He fired tons of questions at her, but was never critical when she had an answer he didn’t like, and she seemed comfortable enough with him to not be flustered when he grilled her. For a few minutes he stared at his notepad, the gears turning.

  The worst part was not throwing all the food off the table and tackling Sawyer. In between grilling and tasting, he’d shoot me an intense gaze, or lean across the table to wipe an invisible bit of food off my bottom lip. My entire body heated to a spontaneous combustion level temperature.

  And that was before he decided he wanted to sample what was under the table.

  “Tell me about the roast chicken,” he said to Christine.

  She went into depth regarding the free-range chickens from a Colorado farm. I vaguely remember something about no antibiotics, organic grass, blah blah blah.

  What I do remember is Sawyer’s smooth move up the length of my thigh. The way his pinkie touched my naked sex, moving up and down and side to side. The way his hand turned so he could use his fingertips to tease my clit. The way I squeezed my thighs together—to keep his hand there for one. Secondly, it increased the intoxicating sensations he created with a mere fingertip. Just when he sensed I was at the edge, he’d back off.

  So not cool, Sawyer. So. Not. Cool.

  After we’d sampled the dishes, Christine cleared the plates from the table. “Ready for some dessert?”

  The second worst part was having so much amazing food put in front of me, but not the heavyweight appetite.

  Sawyer saved me from death by chocolate. “Do you mind if we let you know tomorrow?”

  “No problem.” Henry wheeled the cart out of the room.

  Sawyer pushed two fingers inside me.

  I closed my eyes, gasped, and my head dropped to his shoulder. “You are killing me.”

  “Wait until you see what comes next.”

  Besides me?

  Damn it, though, when Christina and Henry returned Sawyer turned every molecule of attention on me, his mask of virtue in place. Despite his expression, his pupils expanded, leaving fiery blue rings that burned, tempted me. “What were your favorites?”

  As if I could remember anything right now. I was so close to coming I would’ve done it in front of Christine and Henry—that’s an impressive level of driving me crazy. “Um…”

  He sat with his opposite elbow on the table, and his chin rested on his knuckles. Slow, languid strokes played me under the table, pushing me so tantalizingly close to the edge. “I know what decisions I’d make based on finances. But I need a less objective opinion. What was your favorite in each category?”

  Snap the fuck out of it. I clenched my fists around my skirt, gathering a basket full of coherent thoughts to share. “From a marketing standpoint, I think the chicken and steak would be a bigger draw. They’re not so exotic they’ll drive away the brewery crowd, but they’re different enough t
hat you’re not dishing up the standard bar fare. The chocolate-chipotle enchiladas are definitely a standout, but it’s a bit out of the ordinary so people might be a little intimidated to try it. Offer it as a happy hour special next to two standard appetizers and people will try it and love it. My guess is that it’ll become a staple on your menu.”

  Sawyer nodded, letting all of that sink in. His fingers didn’t let up, though. He filled the page with equations, charts, and other information while we sat in silence, watching him work his magic. When he finished he closed his notebook. “I’ll let you know in a couple of days.”

  I thanked Henry and Christina, and they wheeled out the remaining food and left Sawyer and I alone.

  “What did you think?” he asked.

  I was dangerously close to tears from his delicious torture. “I need to come.”

  No shame here. Not even when it came to the note of desperation that rang so clear.

  The corners of his lips pulled upward and he drew in for a kiss. In contrast to the delicate way he handled my sex, his approach to kissing was filled to the brim with passion. My hand grasped his wrist below the table, holding him in place. Above the table I held his lapel, daring him to even think about moving.

  “Make me come,” I whispered.

  “Here?”

  “Now.”

  Slick fingers plucked my clit a grand total of three times before I dissolved. Pressing my face into his shoulder I rode the ecstasy, my grip on him tightening. Several breaths later, my breathing returned to normal.

  He pushed my hair out of my face and tucked it behind my ear. “Are you all right?”

  I nodded, watching his hand withdraw between my legs. “Let’s grab that box of dessert and get out of here.”

  His fingers moved to his lips and he sucked them clean. “Let’s go.”

  ...

  We got into the car and Sawyer picked up his phone to check his missed calls and texts. There were many. His thumb moved to the button to call back.

  Oh, hell, no.

  I wrested the phone from his grasp and hit the power button. “If you want to make a call you’re going to have to get these clothes off me first.” I tucked it into my bra, between the girls. “And let’s just say that if you feel like calling your accountant when I’m not wearing a bra? We have issues.”