At Last

by Addison Fox

What the hell was she doing here?

  The excitement that had carried him to Tommy’s office and on to the brewery faded at the sight of her.

  In a flash, the puzzle that had haunted him all weekend fell into place.

  Vandenburg. Emma Vandenburg, not Bradley. His lab partner in eleventh-grade chemistry. The moment it clicked, he couldn’t stop the rush of memories or the supreme sense of playing the fool.

  Why hadn’t he placed her?

  Somewhere in the back of his mind, in the soupy gray matter that had remembered her all along, lived that soft smile. The delicate features. And that subtle grace that still seemed slightly out of place for a small neighborhood in Brooklyn.

  Why was she here? Or back here, really.

  Tommy moved them farther into the room, and Nick didn’t miss the tight-lipped confusion that painted his friend’s face as he settled a thick, leather attaché case on the scarred conference-room table. The table matched the rest of the room, the dingy, aged walls an odd frame to Emma’s long, still form. Floor-to-ceiling windows that rimmed the perimeter looked out over the production floor. Even at the early hour, the lines were moving, packaging what looked like bottles of Unity’s premium line, based on the thick brown bottles dropping in neat rows into open cardboard containers.

  Nick knew he should say something, but just like after that badass hit from behind over a decade ago, he’d momentarily lost his ability to speak.

  Friday night’s sweater set had been replaced with a prim blouse that made his fingers itch, since the thin silk did nothing to hide the lush curves underneath. Lush curves he’d cupped in the palm of his hand.

  “Nick?” Tommy’s puzzled tone and light press on the back had him moving around the edge of the table toward their hosts. Nick shook hands with Peter and his lawyer before Tommy extended a smile to the last person in the room. “You remember Emma? It’s been a while, but high school’s not that distant a memory.”

  The voice that had utterly deserted him squeaked out on a tight hitch as he extended a hand. “It’s been a long time since Mr. Pope’s chemistry class.”

  One eyebrow lifted, the move at odds with the quiet woman from Friday. “So you do remember.”

  “Your name. You got married.” Nick wasn’t sure why that knowledge skewered him—or his near-Neanderthal shot of jealousy at that simple fact—but it did.

  “I did. I’m not any longer.”

  Emma turned to Tommy and gave him a large hug. “It’s good to see you, Santa.”

  “You, too.”

  Although she’d abruptly ended the discussion on her marriage, Emma’s hug—and use of Tommy’s nickname—was genuine. But where Nick would have expected some easing of the tension that gripped the room, it only got worse, the air heavy with the expectation of a battle.

  “When did you get back?” Tommy took over the conversation, the smooth skills he’d honed as an adult, coupled with a natural ability to make friendly small talk, went a long way toward defusing the social bomb that seemed to have landed in the room.

  Although Emma’s comments were ostensibly aimed at Tommy, Nick sensed her attention was squarely centered in his direction. “I finished up my degree at Siebel and decided it was time to come home and put it to good use for the family business.”

  The temptress from Friday night had vanished, replaced with a hard-eyed negotiator who was clearly sizing him up. Despite the sensual kick of awareness, Nick refused to hold back. “These plans have been in the works for some time.”

  Emma’s gaze flashed toward her father, the move so quick Nick would have missed it if he weren’t watching her so closely. “So I understand.”

  Unbidden, snippets of Sunday dinner came back to him. His mother’s motley crew had dissected his opportunity with the Unity, and if he’d given more attention to the conversation—and less to his memories of a warm temptress on his office couch—he’d have prepared far better for the meeting.

  “You really think you’ve got a shot at the Unity Brewery? I thought Vandenburg was going to hang on to that place until he died. Especially now that he’s got his daughter helping him run it.”

  Helping him run it? He’d dismissively assumed his family meant someone to manage the books or answer phones until the sale went through. Hell, the woman had a degree from Siebel. There was no way Vandenburg would be dumb enough to sell now. Not when he was sitting on someone who had the highly specialized knowledge to manage the brewery and its product.

  His voice as smooth as the black silk shirt that was his trademark, Tommy pointed toward a stack of papers on the conference table and said, “I’ve spent the last week working through the points of the contract with Mr. Vandenburg’s attorney. Today’s session should be quick. A formality, really, so we can jointly review the details before we move to finalize the financials.”

  Nick stared out the window of the conference room and brought the blur of motion on the production floor into focus. Thousands of gallons of beer flowed beneath them, rich with the heritage of the Unity Brewery, and soon to be his.

  He’d dreamed about this moment. Had worked and planned and saved to make this purchase.

  And as he stared across the scarred table at the misery stamped on Emma’s face, he realized this dream—like all dreams—came with a price.

  Papers?

  They were already drawn up? With today’s meeting nothing more than a formality to review any lingering discrepancies?

  Emma hadn’t doubted her father when he insisted he wanted to sell the brewery, but she saw now just how much he’d skirted the truth. And how far he’d traveled down the path of killing her legacy.

  The thick stacks of legal papers in the middle of the conference-room table held her in a hypnotic grip.

  Legal separation.

  Division of assets.

  Bill of divorce.

  Memories of a long, sleek conference-room table replaced the scarred one she’d sat at as a small child, the Chicago skyline sharp against a bright blue sky as images filled her mind’s eye. Cole sat across the table, his suit pressed into impeccable lines, and he methodically took everything they’d worked for.

  Everything they’d built together.

  Questions had screamed in her head that day. Why should he get the apartment? Why didn’t he want the dining-room set? Why didn’t he want her?

  She hadn’t asked any of them.

  Instead, she’d nodded quietly, followed her lawyer’s gentle prompts of where to sign her name, and listened to him explain how to collect her check for Cole’s buyout of their apartment.

  She didn’t ask questions. She couldn’t recall even uttering a word beyond a few polite thank-yous. Instead, she’d signed her name on page after page of documentation that dissolved her marriage.

  Emma Bradley.

  Bradley.

  B-r-a-d-l-e-y.

  A small sense of irony threaded through the incessant screaming in her head. No matter what he took—no matter how hard he negotiated—Cole wasn’t allowed to take his name back.

  She’d kept it because of the lingering memory of how much it had meant to her to take it in the first place. The dreams she’d embedded in their future. And maybe, if she were honest, for a bit of spite, too. The one thing he couldn’t take away, no matter how much he might want to.

  How funny, then, that the small, vengeful impulse—so foreign to her, so alien to her personality—only added to her current problem. She was no longer a Vandenburg. So how the hell was she going to keep her assets this time?

  Legal separation.

  The words drummed through her mind, as harsh and cold as they were the day Cole had asked for one. What her father was doing with the Unity was no different.

  Only it was.

  It had to be.

  “I’d like to see the prospectus.”

  Her father waved a hand at the center of the table. “Like it matters, Emma. The business is as good as sold. Kelley’s shared his intent. He’s made a sound initial offer,
and we’re moving on.”

  Philip Weatherford, the brewery’s long-time attorney, reached for a copy, but Nick beat him to it, his long arm stretching effortlessly across the table to hand her the thick sheaf of papers. “Here. Please take all the time you need.”

  Their fingers brushed as she took the papers and, unbidden, a memory from high school replaced the surreal moment. Kind eyes. Nick Kelley had kind eyes. He’d had them at sixteen, and that much hadn’t changed.

  Even if he did want her family’s brewery.

  Desperate to keep that in the forefront of her thoughts, she focused on the papers in her hand.

  Division of assets.

  She scanned the specifics, detailing the property, the packaging facility they had a share in over in Jersey, even the formularies for the various beers they produced. All of it was lined out in precise terms. Legal terms.

  Unbreakable terms.

  Bill of divorce.

  Although this meeting wasn’t the equivalent of a divorce, it might as well have been, for all the finality of what her father was prepared to do.

  Without warning, a small flame flared to life inside of her. Like a phoenix rising from the ashes, it sparked of its own accord, birthed from the disaster of her old life. Images rushed through her mind in a confused wash as her heart beat a rapid tattoo.

  That conference table in Chicago as her marriage dissolved.

  The small, one-room apartment that still looked like it belonged to someone else, dominated by that fucking dining-room table and matched sideboard she didn’t even want.

  And the self-loathing during her date on Friday night, that small inner voice inside of her screaming for her to get out, but not quite knowing how.

  She was done. And oddly enough, it was the man who sat opposite her—the one who so clearly wanted what her father was more than willing to disregard—who had started it all.

  His gentle smile. His insistence on caring for her after the wayward punch outside his bar. His warm, sensual lips.

  And those eyes.

  Nick had started her down this path, and as that flame flared higher, she couldn’t give him what he wanted. No, she amended to herself as her next step came into sharp relief, she wouldn’t give him what he wanted.

  “I deserve some time on this.”

  “The terms have been agreed to, Emma.” Tommy’s voice was soft, his normally sharp demeanor nowhere in evidence.

  “And I appreciate that. All the work you and Philip have already put into it. The good faith Mr. Kelley has brought to this process. I appreciate all of it. But we need time.”

  “We don’t need any time.” Her father’s sneer was impossible to miss.

  “Then I need time. I can block this.”

  “Like hell you can.”

  Her father was out of his chair, his hand slamming on the table, but Emma stood, unwilling to back down. “Like hell I can. And I will. You’ve been out of your mind since Mom died. And lest you forget, I own her shares, so you can’t railroad me and assume I’m okay with it.”

  Her father’s face reddened with anger and embarrassment. “Ten percent can’t block a sale. I have the majority.”

  “But I can block this indefinitely, and you know it.” A deep shot of remorse, completely at odds with her panic at losing her future, mixed with all the weight of wet cement. This was important to Nick. She saw it in his eyes. In the earnest set of his shoulders. In the formal dress.

  He wanted this. But damn it, she wanted it, too.

  And now they stood in each other’s way, at yet another crossroads of her life.

  Like that hit so long ago, Nick wasn’t sure what had blindsided him. He wanted to be angry. Hell, he was pissed and steamed and ready to punch something.

  But he couldn’t quite shake just how impressed he was by the sight of Emma Bradley, pulled up to her full height and going toe-to-toe with her old man.

  Pete Vandenburg had been a bother from the start. Father Thad had nailed part of the issue at dinner—the man hadn’t been the same since he lost his wife. But grief had pushed him to an entirely new level. Throughout the negotiation, his behavior had swung wildly. At times he’d been as truculent as a bull, and at other times he’d worn the gentle demeanor of a man who was old and tired and simply wanted to be done with it all.

  Vandenburg’s lawyer made some quick excuses and pulled Pete and Emma from the room, his request for a break more than welcome by all.

  “What the hell, Tommy?” Nick tossed his prospectus on the table, the thick sheaf landing with a hard thud. “Can she do this?”

  “Afraid so.”

  “Block the sale entirely?”

  “Pete still owns majority and can ultimately push this through. But she’s right, she can slow it down some.” Tommy stood and walked toward the coffee. “More than some.”

  “Do I walk?”

  The words were like crushed glass on his tongue, and Nick fought the dismal sense of failure that accompanied the question. This was his dream, damn it. His fucking future.

  “How bad do you want it?”

  He shot Tommy a dark look. Aside from his mother and his brothers, no one knew what he’d sacrificed for the Unity except Tommy. He’d saved and planned, working endless hours to learn the ropes. Owning a bar had given him a leg up, but the intricacies of running a business, managing distribution and sales, understanding human resources and insurance—he’d worked on it all.

  And still there were pieces he didn’t know. He’d assumed he could learn as needed, but the bravado that had carried him to this moment seemed hollow. Worse, it felt hollow—knowing that having what he wanted meant taking the same from Emma.

  “How about a quarterback sneak?”

  “Tom—” Nick fought the urge to gouge his fingers into the scarred conference table and stood up instead. “This is so not a game. And I’m nowhere near an end zone.”

  “Hear me out.” When Nick only shrugged, Tommy pressed on. “And keep with me on the football analogy. You’ve covered the yardage and gotten the ball all the way downfield. Even Emma has to admit she didn’t come back here to fully take over the business. Hell, she just got her degree. She needs time in the brewery.”

  “So?”

  “So give it to her. Buy Pete’s ninety percent and leave her to her ten. Keep her busy with the beer, and you run the rest.”

  “Sneak my way into the business?”

  “I see it more as waging a campaign for the win.”

  What win? This was his life, not a game. He’d confused the two for far too long, but he was damned if he was going to do so again. “No way.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s—” The words dried up in his mouth, a memory from so long ago clawing at the corners of his mind.

  You’re my kid. You’ll always be my kid. You have my name.

  Nick pushed the scene that followed from his mind. “I’m not settling on this.”

  Tommy shot a look toward the closed conference room door. “I don’t think Emma is, either.”

  “Then I need to find a way to convince her.”

  “The Unity isn’t the only game in town. I’ve had my eye on a few things for you. That small vodka producer we discussed last month gave an indication they’d be open to selling. And with the bourbon partnership they made last year for joint distribution, we could probably put together a decent proposal that would see a return pretty quickly.”

  “It’s not the same.”

  “No—”

  Nick held up a hand, waving Tommy off. “I appreciate it. You know I do. But this was the one.”

  “Then you’d better start summoning up that world-famous Nick Kelley charm.”

  Chapter Five

  Emma let the conversation swirl around her, her father’s dismissive comments at the conference table further proof of how little he respected her. He’d let her walk in here this morning, unaware of how far his decision to sell had gone. There were papers, for heaven’s sakes. A good-fai
th agreement.

  And a sense of finality from her father she didn’t fully understand, yet couldn’t deny.

  When had he become so cold?

  If it were simply a disagreement about selling the family business, Emma knew she could have taken some heart. A difference of opinion born out of different life stages and wrapped in the grief of the past few years.

  But this was something more.

  His behavior—and his willful stubborn streak that refused to even listen to an alternative opinion—bordered on cruel.

  “Why do you want this so badly?”

  “I could ask you the same.” Her father shot back the words in a near snarl.

  “Because it’s our family business. Because my great-grandfather built it out of nothing, and my grandfather turned it into something special. Because I love it.”

  “You love it so much you ran away from it to Chicago. You left me to care for your mother while you and Cole played house for a few years.”

  And there they were.

  Emma sat back, her father’s parting shot hovering in the air between them. Philip had the kindness to move off to the edge of the room, but there was no ignoring the pain, sadness, and anger that permeated the small space.

  Nor was there any way she was offering one more apology. She’d done that far too many times, all to no avail. The guilt she lived with was her own, but she’d be damned if she was going to keep taking it from her father.

  The memory of her time in Nick’s office on Friday night came back to her. That cheeky grin as he spoke of the fabled “ass magic.” His reverence for Chili’s old desk. And the photo of his family that hung above it. In those few, small tokens, she saw a man who valued family, who valued those who came before him.

  Turning from her father, she focused on the lawyer who’d guided the Unity since before she was born. “Philip, what is your impression of Mr. Kelley?”

  “Same as the rest of the neighborhood. He’s our local legend. His bar is the hottest thing this side of the bridge.”

  Emma shook him off, her voice growing more urgent. “Yes, he’s the local football god. But what else? You’ve spoken to him up to now?” She shot a glance toward her father. “I can’t believe this is the first meeting.”