Trouble Brewing (In Ashwood Book 2)

by Kinney Scott

  Pulling out his cell, he found a relatively quiet spot and placed a call to Coalition. Immediately, an overly cheerful voice chimed, “It’s a lovely day at Coalition Craft Corporation. How may I help you?”

  “Uh, yes, this is Wade Michaels. Mosquito Creek Brewing. I was asked to check in at this number when I arrived.”

  “Yes, Mr. Michaels, one moment please.” Placed on hold, bluesy music attempted to entertain, while he waited under the shadow of a large Greek statue. Or was it Roman? Not that it mattered.

  His phone beeped. Linnea’s contact info flashed on the screen. He regretted leaving her in Ashwood. Right now, his sister was his only tether to reality in the surreal detachment of Vegas.

  A bombastic voice burst over the phone, “Wade, so glad you’re on site. Phil Davis here, product development. So hey, why don’t you stop by the CCC booth. We have an envelope for you to pick up, don’t lose the key to the welcome suite. We’ve got free booze up here, open twenty-four seven, buddy! Take a look at the itinerary. Join us soon in the welcome suite, we want to head down to the kick-off as a group. Looking forward to working with you. Welcome aboard.” The phone went back to the canned music[JS1] before[JS2] Wade could even get in a word.

  The saccharine sweet voice came back on. “Mr. Michaels, do you need directions to the Coalition Craft booth on the conference floor?” He stood stunned for a moment, attempting to process everything that Phil Davis had blasted his direction, “Mr. Michaels, are you still there?”

  “Yeah, I’m here, and I can find the booth on my own. Thank you.”

  “If you need anything at all for the duration of the conference, don’t hesitate to ask. I’m here to make sure your conference is both enjoyable and informative.” Click. The canned pleasantry ended the call.

  Wade groaned, sent his sister a quick text, and wandered toward the trade show entrance. His entry badge felt heavier, like a noose hanging from the lanyard round his neck.

  Winding his way past humble booths on the outer perimeter, Wade worked his way towards the prized center locations.

  Drawing closer to the big-money exhibitors, the atmosphere shifted from sales floor to rock-show. Loud music, light displays, and blonde tanned women in tight tank tops drew in each attendee. Coalition Craft Corporation did not have the largest display, but the facade was immaculate. Built like a movie set, a false brick wall backed a long bar, oak tables welcomed visitors to stop in and enjoy a cold beer from each represented brewery.

  Displayed among the colorful signs of each Coalition brewer, Wade found his insignia. There, in the midst of established breweries, known nationwide, was the name Mosquito Creek Brewing. His logo appeared slick, almost too polished. He wondered if the art department had tweaked the colors and sharpened the font.

  Wade stood there, taking in the moment. He could not resist capturing a quick shot with his phone. He sent the image to his sister, again genuinely regretting not bringing Linnea to Vegas.

  Walking up to the bar that displayed over twenty taps from the various brands under the CCC umbrella, he decided to have a Double Deet. The temperature of his IPA was perfect, the quality everything he would expect. It tasted like home. Perhaps working with this large company would move along without a hitch.

  Finding a spot alone at a heavy oak table, he sat and relaxed for a moment. As a ring of moisture began to drip off the icy glass, a pair of sexy slim legs in four-inch heels appeared in a snug grey skirt directly in front of him. Wade’s eyes travelled upward.

  She wore a silky camisole top under a perfectly fitted jacket that pulled in tight at her waist. Her dark hair hung in heavy waves past her shoulders, framing perfect angular features with wide dark eyes. “May I join you? Wade Michaels, correct?” she asked with a lilting voice that sounded younger than her professional polished exterior.

  “Yes. Absolutely, please have a seat. Can I get you something to drink he stuttered automatically. And you are?”

  Aware that she had surprised this large, slightly messy, but certainly delicious looking man, she smiled warmly and held out her small, perfectly manicured hand. Wade’s strong fingers wrapped it, as carefully as he could, in a handshake. “I’m Ravenna Silvestre. I have been expecting you. We’ve exchanged a few emails. It’s nice to finally meet you in person, Wade.”

  She seemed so…fragile. Ravenna’s eyes brightened at their professional contact. A blush crept across her body, heating her from within.

  Wade enjoyed her slight change of color, satisfied that he was not the only one impacted by this tangible spark between them. “Silvestre, I’ve wondered from the first moment I saw your name on my contact list, are you related to Leo.”

  “He is my father, yes. Have you read his book?”

  “Yes, I’ve had the honor of talking to him a few times. I also visited Klamath Falls and took his onsite class. That had to be eight or nine years ago.”

  Now she understood why Wade referred to her papa as Leo. Her father insisted upon Leo when he met someone in person, and from that moment on, most who had the privilege of knowing Papa felt they had made a close lifelong friend. “Have you kept in touch with him, with Leo?” she asked, knowing the answer before she asked it.

  “You bet.” His smile warmed, “I bounce ideas off Leo. I find his wisdom, his gift invaluable. That two week crash course changed my life.” Wade was not exaggerating. The two weeks spent in Klamath Falls Oregon, at Silver Raven Brewing, not only filled the gaps in his knowledge, it pushed him toward a new path that led away from Yakima, and ultimately to this expansion in Ashwood.

  His eyes examined her, “Wait a second, Silver Raven, is that a play on your name?”

  She dipped her head, diverting her eyes as she tried to keep her expression neutral. “Yes, it was. As you know, Dad sold his flagship beer to what is now CCC, but the name is still ours. Enough about my family. Wade, you are the focus now, the future of Coalition. I will be working with you to make sure your transition is smooth.”

  Wade leaned back in his chair putting distance between himself and Ravenna Silvestre, away from the magnetic presence that surrounded her petite body. That sinking feeling that had been eating at him expanded. The strings attached to Coalition’s investment tightened. “Smooth transition?” he asked.

  “Yes, I’ve been assigned to answer any questions that arise, and help you assimilate into our team.” Ravenna’s smile lost any trace of sincerity, and Wade reflected the same persona right back. Time to play in the big leagues, time for a solid defense.

  ***

  Twenty-one floors in an empty elevator? How could that happen in Las Vegas? Ravenna attempted to engage in small talk, but Wade’s scowling presence made him even sexier. He was not even her type.

  Until recently, she often glanced twice at a clean cut, athletically trim man. However, her relationship with Steven had grown more solid, they were well past the getting to know you part. Steven might even be the one.

  Wade’s hair was too long, his jeans too faded, and he had that day-growth-beard thing going on - a look she usually found messy. Every woman they passed in the casino noticed of the way his worn belt slung low on his hips, and his steps covered ground with a powerful stride.

  Good God, Ravenna felt like the oxygen had been sucked from the elevator. Finally, the doors flew open on the VIP-only floor. She rushed from the elevator to lead the way, and [JS3]to keep from having to stare at that perfect, taut ass. Once Ravenna could gain her equilibrium, safely in her element, she knew business would take over. She planned to put this unexpected stab of desire for the wrong kind of man in a box, and lock it, permanently.

  Wade watched as she moved in quick little steps, her snug skirt shortening her stride. The entire ride up on the elevator was torture. He attempted to focus on the meeting, on his need to learn as much as he could to protect his business. But, she kept glancing at him with deep caramel-color eyes, surrounded by long lashes.

  Her lips hypnotized. That mouth, all he could think about was ki
ssing off every bit of the rich red lipstick, or worse, how that lipstick would look on… not going there.

  Trapped in the elevator, her subtle lemon-scent tickled his nose, and his body tried to take over. Gritting his teeth to the point of pain, he’d be damned if her breathing didn’t pick up. The elevator doors sprung open, and he was thankful she took the lead. Ravenna’s round swaying ass did not help how tight his jeans felt, so he counted the number of light fixtures as they passed down the hall. At the very least, he needed to enter the room full of execs without a raging hard on.

  Sweeping her key card, the door chimed. A travertine tiled entry opened to an expansive view of the strip, gleaming in the desert sun. Wade recognized a few men from past meetings in Boise with CCC. Ravenna quickly stepped into business mode. “Look who I found downstairs! Wade Michaels, Mosquito Creek,” she said drawing all eyes to him. Damn it.

  “Glad you’re here Wade, what can I get you to drink?”

  “Hey Jeff, nice to see you again. I’ll wander over to the bar and find something. This is quite the view.”

  “You could have had one just like it. We have a chunk of the floor tied up. A room is still available. What do you say?”

  “That’s ok, I’ve already settled in.” He lied. All he did was toss his duffle on the bed and change into a fresh shirt. Scanning the room full of people, he was relieved that he would be able to get lost in the herd.

  Ravenna worked the room, moving effortlessly from one conversation to the next. Wade could not pull his eyes from her. “I see you met Ravenna, she will be invaluable to you as a new member of the team.” Jeff said, taking a sip from his heavy highball glass.

  “How’s that Jeff? What type of adjustments should I expect with the brewery expansion?”

  “None of that today. This is our night off from shoptalk. Have some drinks. Get to know everyone. Most of all - let us get to know you better.” Jeff said patting him on the back. “Let me introduce you to Phil Davis. He is in product development.”

  Jeff tilted his head toward the bar, encouraging Wade to follow. Phil, a stout man with a booming voice was talking with someone about trends that would be directing the path for the winter product line. Wade bristled. Trends, meant following fashion. Not taste, not creativity, not quality.

  The bartender asked for his order, “whiskey neat.” Wade intended to carry that drink around with him for as long as he could, and listen. Listen carefully, and find a way to navigate the minefield he knew lay before him.

  ***

  By the final day of the conference, Wade was exhausted. Each night he escaped to his room and wrote detailed notes covering essential conversations. He learned that Coalition would have final say on new releases, to prevent competition within CCC brands.

  Established product lines would have first priority over the launch of new seasonal beers. The festival schedule, an area where Mosquito had built a faithful following, would be under the scrutiny of marketing, again to keep Mosquito from competing from within. Their primary concern, to push an immense amount of Double Deet IPA, his flagship, onto a nationwide market.

  Wade choked under the weight of the restrictions, as he struggled to find a way to ease the vice now gripping Mosquito Creek Brewing.

  Keeping focus on his business had never been more essential. Yet, he was also dealing with a giant distraction wrapped in a gorgeous, delicate package. At every turn, in Coalition meetings, on the casino floor, at the brewers’ convention, Ravenna Silvestre was there.

  Every time he spotted her, she was more tempting than the last. In her snug professional skirts, she was enticing. Saturday evening, she appeared at dinner in a pale gold cocktail dress, leaving Wade unable to speak. On the final afternoon, Ravenna wore jeans and a snug little tank top, with the Mosquito Creek Brand splashed across her chest. He growled at the tantalizing sight.

  “What do you think Wade?” She said, rushing up to him, glowing with an enthusiastic smile. “I want to keep all the elements in place you’ve worked so hard to establish.”

  She wore little black sneakers with the outfit, her dark silky hair tied up in a ponytail. Everything about her looked so fresh, so innocent, and completely delicious. “We adjusted the scale of the logo a bit, and went with a more flattering cut for the tank top.” He just nodded and agreed wondering if his smile as tense as it felt.

  Without her usual high heels, he towered over her. Ravenna’s eyes locked on his, wide and happy, genuinely seeking his approval. “What do you think Wade? I was hoping we could add this line for the grand opening of the taproom!” She almost bounced with excitement, raising up on her tiptoes in those damn, cute little sneakers, “Do you think this swag will sell?”

  Wade stepped forward, invading Ravenna’s space. Reaching out, slowly, his fingers carefully touched the strap of the tank top. He barely grazed his thumb along the silky skin of her shoulder. Her breath held at his nearly imperceptible contact.

  Other than their initial handshake, this was their only physical touch. His warmth carried an erotic message. He lingered, stroking the soft material, and spread his hand across the span of her shoulder, caressing the nape of her neck with his thumb.

  Her head tilted involuntarily to the side, pressing into his attention. He caressed the edge of her hairline, as she savored his light touch. In a voice so low only Ravenna could hear, he finally managed to respond. “Perfect. I can’t wait to see more.”

  Wade’s hand drifted off her shoulder, before he took a step away. Ravenna inhaled a deep breath at his release. “Good. I’m glad you like it Wade,” her struggled reply.

  SEVEN

  Wade left for the airport several hours before his flight, if only to escape the casino and the risk of running into Ravenna again. He sat facing the runway, watching planes lift away from sin city. In a few short hours he would be home, immersed in activities fray. A sick sensation invaded the back of his throat. He needed a few days to clear his head and focus. An idea seized him, with a means for short-term escape. Why not? With confident resolve, he left the airport, perusing information on his phone.

  Three hours later, in a truck purchased from a rental car fleet, he sped north on 95 out of Las Vegas. In two days, maybe three tops, he could clear his mind while he made his way back to Ashwood in the newer model of his favorite truck.

  The desert landscape spread before him, arid and flat. Wildflowers and cactus bloomed in dots of exploding color, brought to life by a recent spring rainshower. Craggy bare mountains rose on the horizon, where his road disappeared in a needle like line shimmering in the heat rising off the black asphalt.

  He called his sister. “Linn, its Wade.”

  “Are you waiting for your flight? I bet you’re glad this conference is over.” Almost as glad as she was, she needed him home.

  “About that, I’m not at the airport. I decided to drive back to Ashwood.”

  She took a moment, to collect her thoughts. “Wade, is everything okay?”

  “Yeah. Or, it will be. Can you keep watch on the brewery, just for a few more days?”

  “Not a problem,” her reassurance masked her nerves, “I will text if I have any questions. So far your team has everything handled, - here in Ashwood and up at Old Mosquito.”

  “Thanks Linn, I appreciate this.” He sounded beyond exhausted. She knew her brother needed time to refine his options.

  After Linnea recovered from the initial shock, she recalled Wade’s frequent escapes to find solitude. When they were young, Wade hid in his fort within site distance of the house. By thirteen, to escape conflicts with his father, his Mom allowed him to camp anywhere on the farm. Her only requirement, that he check in twice a day, and keep his phone with him. Later, he found himself roaming for days at a time, his freedom only hemmed in by the edges of the family property. This included expansive acreage stretching far into the pine-covered flanks of the Cascades, where his Uncle’s ranch stretched across vast open rangeland.

  In a few days, he would arriv
e with his mind clear, and a plan in place. Until then, she kept Mosquito on track as best she could, and texted Wade as little as possible.

  Starting late in the day on the first leg of his trip, Wade made his first stop in Austin, Nevada. This long lonely stretch of highway gave him time to think. Austin looked to be half ghost town, but he found a small one-story motel the owners took pride in, decorated in an aging western theme.

  While he checked in he spotted a bar a block down the street. Wade wandered the dusty cracked sidewalk, hoping to find a decent burger. Climbing the steps, through wagon wheel doors, the creak of the wood floors reminded him of Northside Grill, and created a longing to hear Iris’ soothing voice.

  He took a couple of pictures of the rustic, run down bar, and sent her a picture and a text. Her reply came after his burger and fries arrived at his table. I’m glad you found the time you need to think. I’ve found myself on a few of those road trips myself. Call later if you have time to talk. Miss you.

  He glanced at his emails, and missed calls. Ravenna’s name appeared in every list but he chose to ignore her for now. Linnea would be in contact, and could handle the onslaught of messages. After he finished his second whiskey, while watching a college baseball game on the dirty screen behind the bar, he decided to roam the blocks that made up town. Within a few steps, he discovered that his initial ghost town impression wasn’t far off the mark.

  A buzzing street light illuminated his path back to the motel, where he flipped through the limited choices on the small television. Later, exhaustion failed to take over stress as Wade struggled to sleep. Well past midnight, he sent off a text to Iris to see if she was still awake. She returned his call immediately.

  “Hey, thanks for calling back. Did I wake you?” Wade asked.

  “No, not at all. Bar owners’ hours. Where did you send that picture from earlier today? That bar could have stepped out of an old western movie.”