Lightstruck: ( A Contemporary Romance Novel) (Brewing Passion Book 2)

by Liz Crowe

  “Fuck you.” She spat a glob of saliva at him. It hit his cheek right below his eye and slid down. His dark eyes narrowed even further.

  “Oh, I am going to do that, and then some, darlin’,” he said, taking her hand and pressing it on his zipper.

  She squirmed away, but not before she felt his erection. A small one, she thought, wishing she had the guts to toss that fact at him. But accepting that her position didn’t warrant such stupidity.

  “First,” he said, leaning in close and licking her lips. She spluttered and gagged. “First, we have to take care of a few other pieces of business. I’ll be back for you and your sweet ass though. That’s a promise.”

  The hands released her. One of them pushed her forward so hard she dropped to her hands and knees. Memories rushed in as she stared down at the boots of her tormenter. A hand landed on her hair. “I’m gonna have to shave this crap off though. No woman of mine is gonna wear this hippie shit.” He pulled it hard enough to make her gasp.

  Then, he was gone, along with his backup singers. She took a deep breath then dropped onto her butt and leaned against the wall. This sudden ramp-up of aggression would have to be reported. If not for her safety, for everyone’s. She was still half-irritated, half-nervous by his no-doubt idle threats and knew reporting him was the right thing to do, but something held her back.

  She got up slowly, rubbing her arms. When she lifted the sleeves of her T-shirt and discovered the fingertip shaped marks which would quickly bruise, fury filled her head, throat and chest. This would not stand. She had to say something about these assholes. And she would do exactly that, today, when she met Evelyn.

  She ducked into the women’s room, hoping she had time to shower off his stink. After sitting for a few minutes and letting her pulse rate return to normal, she reached into the far recesses of her locker and pulled out the handgun. It was one of the first things she had purchased, after moving back to the US and beginning her brewery studies in Oregon. As a naturalized American citizen, it had taken her a bit longer to get the carry permit, but she’d been patient. In the interim, she’d gone to the gun club and learned how to use such a thing properly.

  The dark metal Glock 42 had been an expensive option but worth it. She kept it with her at all times, knowing that when the actual time came to use it—when He found her and tried to drag her back to the so-called life he’d trapped her in before—she’d be able to look Him in the eyes, right before she put a hole between them.

  The gun itself didn’t intimidate her. The need for it had at first. But now, it soothed her. She kept it scrupulously clean and loaded. It was her little, lethal secret. With a smile, she put it back, got her towel, and headed for the shower.

  Chapter Twelve

  “What kind of adjustments?” Elle asked Evelyn as they looked over the current week’s production schedule.

  “We don’t have the capacity right now to cover all the current accounts”—Evelyn gestured to the reports—“and send beer overseas. So, we need to cut some of the lowlying fruit. Some of these smaller retailers, maybe some big ones. I’ve got Brock working on making that call. But I wanted you to know.”

  “I didn’t realize you were planning on exporting,” Elle said.

  Evelyn heaved a sigh and stood up, rubbing the small of her back. “We have to, I’m afraid. Our sales are slumping and not because Fitzgerald products are bad. Because everybody and their god damned uncle’s hound dog thinks they can open and run a brewery. Hence, competition. Most of it crappy. But it confuses the consumer. Makes it hard to break through the clutter, even for an established brand like ours.”

  Elle frowned. “A dog could open a brewery?”

  “Oh, no, sorry. A figure of speech. And a dumb one. What I mean is that everyone thinks that opening a running a brewery is easy, glamorous, around the clock drinking and fun. And while some of them figure out pretty quickly that it’s not, enough of them stick around to make it harder and harder for us to keep our loyal customers.”

  “Well, you and Austin do make it look easy.”

  Evelyn scoffed.

  “But I understand what you mean. When does the first batch get shipped and where is it going?”

  “In three months, if we can manage it. Italy, Spain and England.”

  Elle whistled and made a bunch of quick calculations in her head. The challenge of it excited her, but she understood what it meant for her, as temporary head brewer, and her already overtaxed staff.

  Evelyn dropped into the seat across from her at the large work table. “Elle, Austin and I want to offer you the head brewer’s job.”

  Elle froze. Every inch of her skin prickled. Even as her mind shot back to the scary encounter with the schlappschwanz in the hallway earlier, she was thrilled. Even as she also knew that she couldn’t take the job. It wouldn’t be fair to Evelyn and Austin. Because as soon as she got things rolling and settled here, she’d have to leave again.

  “I’m…”

  “Holy shit,” Evelyn blurted out, her eyes wide as she gazed out of the large window down onto the brewery floor.

  “What is it?” Elle ran to her side.

  She stared, shocked and not quite willing to accept what she was seeing. The brewery floor seemed to move and shimmer as dark liquid poured out from beneath one of their larger fermentation vessels. It was flooding the place with expensive bought and paid for ingredients. It smelled like the chocolate stout. She automatically calculated the malt bill, the hops used, the time spent.

  While accidents did happen—a brewery was a factory, one filled with chemicals and other hazards—Fitzgerald had been free of them for years. And now…two of them, back to back like this? Trying hard not to feel paranoid, Elle headed for the door.

  “I’m coming with you,” Evelyn said.

  “Change those.” Elle pointed at her boss’s high heels. Evelyn nodded, slipped her feet out of the dress shoes and shoved them into a pair of rubber boots she kept by the office door.

  By the time they made it down to the main floor, it was clear that the entire fermenter had already emptied itself somehow. Brewers and other staff stood around looking pained as the floor drains did their job, collecting and disposing of fifteen hundred barrels—almost forty-six thousand gallons—of rich, delicious-smelling, carefully crafted beer.

  Face similarly drained of color, Evelyn put a hand to her mouth. “What in the hell happened?”

  Elle dived under the tank, even as the mostly fermented wort splashed into her eyes. After fiddling around with the connections at the base of the vessel, she found something strange. Giving it a few hard yanks, she stood up, wiping the sticky liquid off her face. “It is sabotage, Evelyn. I am sorry to say.”

  “Sabotage? What do you mean?”

  “Someone rigged the valve to give way. I know this manufacturer and it will not have this sort of failure. Not without human intervention.”

  “Another accident?” someone muttered behind Evelyn. “Funny, how it all happens now, after our new hire.”

  Evelyn turned to face the staff. Elle noted that they all met her gaze, not giving away who’d spoken.

  “What the ever-loving fuck?” Austin’s voice made everyone turn. He ran down the ramp from the warehouse, glaring around at the mess. “Who…what…how…?”

  “Sabotage, the new girl says,” that same voice said.

  Evelyn glared at the young man who’d spoken. But Elle already knew that voice. She stared right at him, surprising herself with her boldness. Tim Harris crossed his arms and glared back at her.

  Austin had already crawled under the tank by the time Elle broke the stare-down. He emerged as Evelyn shooed the peanut gallery away and grabbed a squeegee to help guide the remaining sticky remnants of the huge batch into the drains. He leaned against the sink, staring down at the cotter pin Elle had found.

  “Well,” Evelyn insisted. “Tell me now so I can get the insurance report going.”

  “I am so sorry,” Elle said. “I don�
��t know why someone would do such a thing.”

  Austin glanced over at her and sighed. He held up the object, which looked like a giant, industrial strength paperclip. “Someone put this damn thing in the valve, all right. Shit.” His shoulders slumped. “Someone who knew exactly what they were doing.” He turned the pin over in his hand. “It’s designed to open up, after being inserted, and it did, which broke the seal. Pressure took care of the rest.”

  “I’ve been watching closely and…well…I’m fairly certain I know who it was,” Elle said. “I think it might be a guy named Tim.”

  Austin glanced over at her. “No offense, but he’s not smart enough to know how to do this.”

  “You’d be surprised what you can learn how to do on the Internet.” She met Austin’s gaze as long as she could manage before focusing down at the tools now in her hands.

  “Why do you think that, Elle?” Evelyn asked with a frown.

  Elle felt a tremor of panic. All this crap had befallen Fitzgerald since her arrival without a doubt. She hoped the brewery’s owners knew it was all coincidence.

  “I’d rather not say here.”

  She caught a glance between Austin and Evelyn. Then he shrugged, and handed over the tiny piece of metal that had cost them something like seventy-five grand in wasted ingredients and lost revenue in an eye blink. “I have a phone conference with the export people in ten,” he said, wearily running a hand down his face. “I gotta get back to my office. Can you guys handle this?”

  “Sure,” Evelyn said, tucking the evidence of sabotage into her jacket pocket. “Elle, let’s meet upstairs.”

  “I need to finish cleaning first, if that’s all right.”

  “We have people for that.”

  Elle caught the edge of irritation in the woman’s voice. Understandable, but it unnerved her. “I know, but I need to make sure I’m correct about this whole thing. I want a bit more time with this.” She put a hand on the offending stainless steel tank. “Before anyone else touches it.”

  Evelyn blew out a breath, and glanced at her watch. “I have another meeting, too. Can we have this discussion later? Over a beer?”

  Elle felt her face flush.

  Don’t get attached. Don’t be social. Not even with your boss. Not even if you think you’d like to have her as a friend.

  “You all right?” Evelyn reached out, but Elle recoiled, as if Evelyn’s touch would burn her skin.

  Stop acting strange. This woman would be well within her rights and sanity to fire you.

  But at the moment, she wanted to check one more thing, and needed to get into the men’s locker room to do it.

  “Yes,” she said, as she pulled a set of Allen wrenches from her tool kit. “I will meet you for a beer and give my theory about Tim.” Her manner was oddly formal, but then again, it always had been. “Evelyn, I am very sorry for this.”

  “It’s not your fault,” the woman insisted but Elle heard the tremor of uncertainty behind her words. “Six-thirty, then. We’ll grab beers and talk.”

  At six-thirty on the nose, Elle knocked on Evelyn’s closed office door.

  “Come on in. As long as you don’t mind watching me nurse once Austin brings Rose up here.”

  “Of course not. It’s the most natural act in the universe. I don’t know why people get so…how do you say? Hung up? Hung up on it.”

  “Yeah, I know. So, tell me, what’s going on with that Tim guy?”

  “Well…” Elle’s heart pounded faster, her mouth was dried out from stress. She’d found the pack of similar pins in Tim’s locker, after picking his too-easy combination lock. She’d had on a pair of latex gloves but something told her not to touch them—to leave them for the authorities to find. “I really hate feeling like the snatch.”

  “I think you mean, ‘the snitch’.”

  “Yes. Like a gossip…a tratschtante? I’m sorry. My English…”

  “Don’t worry. You’re not a snitch, and your English is fine. I trust you, Elle. It may be strange to say it, but I think I trust you more than almost anyone here that I’m not married or related to in some way.”

  Elle translated this in her head, feeling relieved once she sorted through the strange turns of phrase. “Thank you. You make me feel very…trusted. Although, I’m afraid I have disappointed one of the people you are related to here.”

  “Huh? Oh, Brock. Right. Yes, he’s used to getting his own way with the ladies. You’re providing him with quite the challenge.”

  Elle rubbed one arm, wincing when she hit the sore places on her biceps. She glanced around the room, uncomfortable all of a sudden in a way she never had been with Evelyn. “I have told him in no uncertain terms that I am not being flirtatious with him. He doesn’t seem to get my message.”

  “Is he really bothering you?” Evelyn kept her voice level, but Elle knew that the last thing she needed was a sexual harassment suit against her brother-in-law to go with all her other headaches.

  “It is nothing I cannot handle,” Elle insisted. “However, I don’t want him to consider me a challenge. I would prefer it if he’d consider me…not anything more than a fellow brewery employee?”

  Evelyn opened her mouth to respond but Austin walked in, carrying Rose’s car seat and diaper bag. “Get her over here, quick,” Evelyn said, as she fumbled with her blouse buttons. Austin picked up the mewling bundle, handed her over and passed his wife a water bottle. “Sorry, Elle. Just give me a minute?”

  “Of course. I can come back.”

  “No, no. Please stay. Oh, ouch, kid! Ah, that’s it.” She sighed and leaned her head back. Elle watched as that new, strange combination of admiration and jealousy combined in her brain, swirling around like a dark fog.

  “Thanks for handling everything today, Elle,” Austin said. “I have to head out to cover a beer dinner but I’m sure Evelyn will fill me in on whatever’s going on with Tim.”

  Elle looked at him, then dropped her gaze immediately, unnerved by his intense stare. She knew this tic of hers was weird. But it was a hard habit to break. She’d made some headway in her previous jobs, but some men triggered this kneejerk response from her. Embarrassing, but it was done now. When she snuck a glance at Evelyn, the woman was watching her closely, her expression between neutral and curious.

  Austin cleared his throat, breaking the awkward moment, leaned over to kiss Evelyn’s cheek, then Rose’s. The baby let go of her mother’s breast and gurgled in delight, her small hands waving at her father.

  “You’re a goner, daddy,” Evelyn said, leaning into Austin.

  “Yep. She’s got me totally wrapped.” He smiled at Elle then ducked out of the office door.

  “You are a lucky woman, Evelyn,” Elle said.

  Evelyn glanced over at her. “Yes. I am,” she agreed. “But it’s not all sunshine and roses, you know.”

  “Oh, I’m sure,” she said, without much conviction. “Men after all, are the more annoying sex. But the child, she’s recovered from her flu?”

  “Yes. And thank God you were here that day. I don’t know what I would’ve done. I was such a basket case.”

  “Nonsense. You would have been fine. May I?” She held out her arms.

  “Yes, without a doubt,” Evelyn said, handing over the sated baby. Rose smiled up at her and Elle crooned in German before draping her over her knees. Then she patted and rubbed her back a few seconds before Rose let out a monstrous belch. Both women chuckled.

  “Watch out,” Evelyn warned as she laid out a blanket on the big work table. “She usually follows that with a helping of recycled milk.”

  “Ah, I don’t think so,” Elle said, leaving the girl on her belly another minute or so before picking her up and rubbing noses with her. “If you let her stomach rest this way,” she said, before she brought the girl over for her change. “It’s easier on her system.” She put the giggling, fist waving child down on the table. “See? No spit up.”

  “I do see,” Evelyn said, as she made short work of the
diaper change. “You’re an amazing woman, Elisa.” She handed the girl to Elle, then she tidied up, repacked the diaper bag and tied the dirty nappy up in a plastic bag to take out to the dumpster.

  “I used to be,” Elle said, her eyes fixed on Rose’s. “I’ve always loved babies.”

  “Well, I’m sure you’ll have one of your own, someday.” Evelyn settled Rose in her seat, pressing her lips to the girl’s sweet-smelling forehead as her eyes closed and a spit bubble formed between her full lips. “Let’s head downstairs and have a beer. I hear the oatmeal stout’s back on tap.”

  The stout was Evelyn’s favorite but the last batch had been less than up to standard, if one listened to the many beer blogger gossips. Elle’s first task had been to remedy the problem. She had, and then some, according to the same evil-but-necessary hacks. Elle was eager to taste the first batch of beer she’d ever crafted at Fitzgerald, but at the same time the thought of sharing a social hour with Evelyn was making her ears burn with anxiety, even as she was grateful that the conversational turn regarding babies of her own had come to a dead end.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Wow,” Evelyn said, licking her lips after her first taste of the deep brown ale. “That is better than ever. Well done, you.” She lifted the glass across the table. Elle touched hers to it and they sipped again.

  “Thank you,” she said, keeping her eyes trained down at the table’s scarred top. When three brewery employees appeared at their table, Elle went on high alert, knowing without even looking that one of them was Tim. Evelyn kept her face neutral.