The Convenient Wife
Penny Wylder
Copyright © 2019 by Penny Wylder
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Contents
1. Bolt
2. Starla
3. Starla
4. Bolt
5. Starla
6. Bolt
7. Starla
8. Starla
9. Bolt
10. Bolt
11. Starla
12. Bolt
13. Starla
14. Bolt
15. Bolt
Epilogue
Books By Penny Wylder
1
Bolt
My grip tightens around the black tinted glass as I pour my favorite whiskey. The scent hits me hard, and damn—do I love the way it wakes me up. It's sharp and bold, hitting all the right senses to jar my eyes wide open.
It's five o'clock somewhere.
Saluting the air, I take a small sip and start to gaze around the room. This is my house, my domain, mine to own when the time comes.
The sun is shining through the huge windows that reach from floor to ceiling, hitting the chandelier, and causing a million tiny rainbows to explode in every direction.
I fucking love this place. Ever since I was kid this place was magic to me, it's really something to be proud of. My great-grandfather took his small liquor hobby and turned it into an empire.
A huge oak bar runs the length of the back wall, making it the first thing you see when you step through the doors. Huge pictures hang on the walls showcasing some of the steps we use to go from grain mash to the liquid that burns the back of your throat in a way only our whiskey can.
The darkness of the cherry wood floor compliments the white oak barrels we have on display to show how our whiskey is aged. Beautiful bottles, filled to the brim with honey colored liquor, sit on glass shelves, making them look like they were floating against the mirror backdrop.
Every detail was crafted to not only enhance the drinker’s experience, but to make you feel like you were in on a little secret we decided to share with you. It’s stunning, eye catching, and one day, it will all be mine.
I can feel the cool liquor in my glass as droplets of condensation pool around my fingers, slowly trickling down to my knuckles. The air is warmer than usual as I try to smell the liquor again before I take another sip.
Fuck, is the A/C broken?
Glancing at the wall beside the bar, the thermostat is set to a steamy seventy-five degrees. Tapping the button, I lower it to sixty, and wipe the outside of my glass.
“Who messed with the air conditioning?” I ask out loud, not looking at any one person directly. My voice booms through the wide open space, bouncing back to me from the sky high ceilings.
“I'm sorry, Mr. Sheckler, it just felt so cold in here,” Gina, an employee that has been less than subtle about wanting a taste of my cock, says as she walks into the room.
Flicking my eyes over my shoulder, she's smirking slightly as she looks down at her tits, forcing me to follow her eyes. Her nipples are rock hard, and I can't help but wonder if she's wearing a bra. Because it definitely doesn't look like it from my angle.
Raindrop shaped breasts fill her shirt as thick nipples threaten to cut through the fabric. Her smile thins, pleased that she got what she wanted; me looking at her chest.
Valerie steps up beside her and giggles. She's tugging on her bottom lip, plucking it with her fingers like she's imagining what my dick tastes like, wondering if she'd be able to fit it all in her mouth.
Valerie and Gina both work the front bar, using anything they can to make a sale. Tits and ass, with a flirty smile and lots of cleavage, can sell a whole lot of liquor if it's done right.
Gina has that typical girl next door look; blonde hair, big tits, tight little ass. Val is a little more exotic, with jet black hair and soft curves. A little bump sits dead center in the bridge of her nose, and her eyes are a bright green. She’s a pretty girl, with that foreign feel.
Both girls are staring at me with this look in their eyes, a look that says they'd both fuck me right then and there if I made a move.
Temptation claws through me, and it's a brutal, raw temptation that is trying to take over. I can feel it, the sensation spreads through my body like a wave of electricity. My fingertips are tingling, my body is getting warmer, and my cock is starting to throb.
Licking my lips, I nibble the inside of my cheek. “No one touches the thermostat, understood?” I’m not the type of man to mix business with pleasure. I love a good fuck just as much as the next guy, but that shit doesn’t matter, because I have to see these girls every day.
What's that saying? You don't shit where you eat. . .
That’s something I live by. These girls are going to have to deal with the rejection, because I’m not going to touch either of them.
“Excuse me?” a man asks, reaching his arm out to touch my shoulder as if we know each other.
Taking a small step back, I hold my glass in both hands and smile. “Yes, can I help you?”
“I'm looking for a nice strong bourbon, do you have any suggestions?”
“You've come to the right place,” I start to say, before I'm distracted by my assistant, Yale, who is waving a red folder and giving me a panicked look. “Gina,” I call out. She's at my side before I have time to blink, like a puppy who saw I was holding a piece of meat. “Lay out a few samples of Honey Number Seven, Tall Blur, and Venice.”
Gina eagerly agrees, knowing any sale that she makes will result in a fat commission. Putting on her award winning smile, she wraps her arm around his and snuggles up closer than you should to a stranger.
Looking at his left hand, she notes he's not wearing a ring, and nuzzles herself in a little deeper. Twisting the man on his feet, Gina glances at me over her shoulder, a small twinkle in her eyes and sexy smirk on her lips.
She wants to fuck me, I can see it. Her tongue runs slightly over her pouty bottom lip and she bites it gently, before looking away and engaging with the customer again.
There's no point in her trying that shit with me.
One: she works for my father.
Two: she works for me.
And three: relationships are pointless.
I’m married to the distillery, to the fucking whiskey I help create. Some of the barrels are as old as I am, made the day I was born.
My father almost missed my birth because he was tweaking that batch and wanted to seal them shut before I arrived. He made it with two minutes to spare. Just enough time for my mother to give him an earful of shit before pushing me out.
Taking a second, I watch Gina and the man briefly, and I'm laughing inside because I can see the boner the customer is already getting as she rubs the side of her tits on his outer arm, and her fingers are softly touching his bicep.
She just sold four bottles before cracking open a single one.
Taking a sip from my glass, I hold it in my mouth for a moment, allowing the scent to keep seeping up into my sinuses and down the back of my throat. As I swallow, that smoothness turns into a smoky honey flavor that warms my gut.
I'm not sure, but I think I groan out loud as I swallow. But fuck, that's what happens when the whiskey is made right. If you don't moan like you just got off, you're not drinking the good shit.
The oak barrels are charred dark, giving the liquor the smooth flavor I love, and we don't bottle anything until it hits at least five years in a barrel,
not a day less.
From the corner of my eyes I can see Valerie start to move, wiping down the bar with a blue towel. She's moving with a little more enthusiasm than usual, which can mean only one thing; my father's here.
Vincent Sheckler, owner of Sheckler distillery, the man behind the entire operation, has the frown lines, and worry lines, to prove he's been around for years. My father wears those lines on his face like an accessory.
With bushy black brows and a slick shaved head, the small patch of facial hair on his chin really stands out with its peppered white and black hairs. He's wearing a deep navy suit with a bright white tie. Running his hand over his head, he quickly glances around, making sure everything is running smoothly. Adjusting his cuffs as he walks, his heels click against the wood and his eyes narrow on me.
With heavy strides, I put on a smile and meet my father in the center of the room. “Dad, what brings you here? You don't usually show up until the middle of the month. You're a week early.”
“Well, it's good to surprise people once in a while, you know? Let them know I'm not dead.” Chuckling, he waves at the girls, giving them a smile. “Ladies, don't forget to show that nice man our flavor of the month, give him a sample of Blackberry In December.” The girls both nod, and Valerie goes to the shelf to grab the bottle.
“Is this what you came for? To push the new flavor?”
“No, that's not why I'm here. But hey, never pass on the chance to show someone something new.” Waving his hand, he braids his fingers behind his back and starts to move. “Walk with me, Bolt.”
Walking through the room, my father moves slowly, as if we were in a park on a leisurely stroll. His eyes dance around the walls, his finger swipes the occasional edge of trim here and there, checking for dust as he talks.
“You know the family reunion is coming up,” he says, gently rubbing his thumb against his forefinger to wipe any dust away.
There's no dust, I've made sure of that. Yet, he likes to make it a point to show me he's still the big boss, not me.
“I know.” Keeping my head down, I try to stay at his pace, but he's walking so damn slow, like we're not on a schedule and I don't have shit to do.
“It's in Hawaii.”
“Yeah, that's what I heard.” The conversation isn't really what I expected. In my head I thought he was going to ask about the new flavor we've been working on for months, but for some reason, he's fixated on the family reunion. “Should be a good time.”
My hands dangle at my sides, and I'm ready to change the subject to something we would both rather discuss. “We almost have—”
“I took your mother to Hawaii for our honeymoon. It was amazing, Bolt, a really incredible place to be with the person you love.” His eyes glaze over as a memory floats through his head.
I don't want to think about it, and I try not to, but it comes anyway; the idea that he was probably thinking about having sex with my mother.
Ew, gross. A faint shiver runs through my muscles as I hold back the gag I feel in my throat.
“Yeah, I'm sure.” There’s no denying the bored tone to my voice, drowning with disinterest. I've heard their love story a million times over the years, why tell me again? “Why are you telling me this? I don't want to be a jerk, Dad, but it's not like I haven't heard the story before.”
“Your cousin Meredith, she'll be there, and she's about to have twins.”
“Wow, twins, huh?”
I see what he's doing.
He’s about to go down that road again. The one where he’s going to tell me how hard it was for him and my mother to have me, and how much they wanted a big family. Then he’s going to try and guilt trip me, hoping that I’ll suddenly have an epiphany and want hundreds of babies of my own.
It’s hard to be so great at one thing, and such a disappointment at another. I’m not the son they wanted me to be, because I’m twenty-four years old, with no steady girlfriend, no foreseeable future of marriage and children.
My parents wanted lots of children, they wanted full Christmas dinners, and a home overflowing with laughter and stories. That was not what they got. Instead they got me, a single disappointment.
But I don’t see the same future for myself that they do. I see a man who takes pride in his work, a man who has the freedom to come and go, to travel and party, to live the life I want to live.
I wear double protection to make sure no little Bolt's get out. I never have sex without being cautious. Some people are meant to have kids of their own, I’m not one of those people.
Sex is great, it’s on my list of favorite things to do, but that is all it ever is, just sex. A past time activity that breaks a sweat and feels good. A calorie burning workout I actually enjoy.
“Dad, you have to stop this.” Stopping short, I grab his arm and force him to face me. “We've been over this before. I know what you want, but you know how I feel about it. I need you to stop.”
“Stop what? Stop talking to my son about what every other adult in this world is doing?”
“I'm not every other adult.”
“You're right, you're not, Bolt. You spend every waking hour in this damn place, or out gallivanting at bars, looking for a cheap whore to bring home for the night. All your mother and I really want is to be grandparents. We want you to settle down and meet someone. Why is that such a horrible thing to ask for?”
“I don't want kids, I never want kids. How many more times am I going to have to tell you that before you get it?”
“Do you have any idea what your mother and I went through just to have you? Do you know how difficult it was for us?”
“Yes, I'm aware, you guys make sure I don't forget it. But that doesn't change the fact that I don't want what you want. I don't want a wife, I don't want a family, I don't want kids.”
“You act like I'm asking the world of you. I don't see why it's such a big deal. We're talking about your future, about the future of this company.”
“No, you act like I owe you something. I'm tired of feeling like such a disappointment to this family.” Crooking my jaw, I could feel myself getting annoyed. This isn’t the first time we’ve had this conversation, it isn’t even the second or the third time.
This is a regular thing that comes up at least three to four times a year since I hit adulthood, and it was deemed appropriate for me to procreate.
“I'm not getting any younger,” he says, giving me that fucking stink eye I hate.
“You know what would make me happy?” I ask, unable to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. “If you stopped trying to force marriage and kids down my throat, and let me live the life I want, not the one you're trying to mold for me.”
“Bolt—”
“Dad, I'm done talking about it. I don't care what you guys went through to have me, that was your choice. I didn't ask to be born, I didn't force you to have me. So, stop trying to turn me into you.”
Clenching his jaw, I catch the thick vein in his forehead as it pops like a caterpillar under his skin and begins to throb. “You're our only child, Bolt, our only son. You've been given everything you ever wanted. Asking you to find love and have children isn't outlandish or wild.”
“You can't force me to do anything, you don't own me. I'm not a kid anymore, I'm a grown man, and I know what I want from my life. And I'm sorry, it's not a wife and kids.”
Veering his stare, the thick crease in the center of his forehead throbs as his lip twitches. “Do you think all of this was created just so you could take advantage of it? My grandfather worked hard, passing it on to my father, then to me. I refuse to let this place end with you, I won't allow that to happen.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Let me make this very simple for you to understand, Bolt. I'm done dropping hints and asking nicely, I'm done hoping that last Barbie doll you brought home or the one before that, could be the one, and I'm done hoping that one day you'll grow up.” Taking a step in, my father holds his finger
up to my face. “Now, I'm telling you. You're going to find a nice girl, you're going to love her and marry her, and you're going to give your mother as many gran-babies as she wants you to have. Are we clear?”
“What?!” I say loudly with a deep chuckle. “Yeah, okay, I'll get right on it.”
He has to be joking. There's no way he thinks he can give me orders anymore. Especially orders like that.
What the fuck is he smoking?
Who demands their child to have kids?
What parent thinks they can just tell their adult child to make babies, and they'll listen?
It’s absurd, I haven’t heard anything that ridiculous in ages. So I laugh, I laugh like he just told me the funniest joke in the world.
“I'm serious, Bolt.” His left brow arches high as he tips his head to emphasize that he isn't cracking a sick joke. “You want all of this,” he says, letting his eyes circle the room. “You'll do what I'm telling you to do.”
“You can't force me to do anything.” My mouth is still forming a smile and I know he's getting pissed, but this is insane. “I'm as much a part of this as you, I've earned every last drop of this place.”
Shrugging his shoulder, my father grabs a shot glass and pours a shot. With one snap of his neck, he downs the liquor. “I'm done with all this bullshit, Bolt.” Slamming down the glass, he pours another one and holds it up. “You better have someone by the time of the reunion or else.”
“Or else what? Are you going to ground me?” I can see that pissed him off as his lids drop and his pupils zero in on my face.
When I was a kid, that look scared the shit out of me. Now that look just makes me wonder what the hell is going through his head. Because whatever it is, it isn't good. The only difference is I get to go home to my condo after he blows his fucking whistle, and he can't do a damn thing about it.
The Convenient Wife Page 1
