Copper Lining (The Cardwell Family Series Book 3)

by Christy Pastore

  “You better. So, did you hire that baker lady?”

  Brant tugs at his earlobe. “Yeah, she’s with HR now, filling out paperwork. Hired her as a consultant through the summer.”

  “Wow, so you believe in her that much?”

  “I do. She’s got a degree in nutritional sciences from the University of Toronto and lots of experience. Apparently, she’s famous in the food blogging community. She’s on television all the time.”

  Pop and my cousin, Maybelle, enter the room, followed by more of our executive staff. I hear my brother’s voice as he recaps what he’s already told me about the foodie girl who’s apparently going to turn it all around for Cardwell Bourbon. I didn’t bother opening the welcome email that contained this information and more.

  In the background, I hear chatter float around the room. I swipe my phone to life and flip to the latest Bali surf report.

  “Hi, everyone,” Debbie from human resources says as she glides into the room.

  I look up and smile, but . . . wait. My eyes snap to the woman standing beside her—Minka. When my stare travels up her perfect body, I remember the way her skin felt against mine. The way her lips tasted. It all comes crashing back.

  The smile on her face broadens and then I see it. She blinks twice and freezes just for a second. It’s so slight, no one else even notices the minor slip. But I notice.

  I notice because I know her body better than she does.

  God, she looks amazing. Her dark brown hair falls over her shoulders. Her hazel eyes connect with mine, and she stares. Endless, gleaming eyes that have me transfixed.

  There’s some shuffling about the room, and then Brant invites Minka to sit in the chair across from me. I watch her glide to the other side of the table. My eyes blink back the red spots that mar my vision.

  The slim pencil skirt and striped, button-down blouse look is different—serious. But somehow sexier than any bikini she wore in Maui.

  “Minka MacDonald, welcome to Cardwell Bourbon,” my brother says. Claps and shouts of appreciation filter around the room.

  She smiles and nods. “Thank you, everyone. I’m so happy to be here. I’m honored that Brant hired me to move this company upward. I’m excited to get to work.”

  As she speaks, I’m suddenly filled with every image of her swirling naked in my bed.

  Fuck.

  While I’m fantasizing, she keeps talking. My eyes move to her mouth.

  I close my eyes and push out the thoughts of her luscious lips.

  Indistinct chatter and scuffling sounds bring me back to the moment. As the room thins, her gaze swings to mine.

  “Wes, I want you to help Minka. Show her the ropes.”

  “Show her the ropes,” I repeat. “Sure.”

  Brant taps his finger to the oak table. “Great, I’ll let the two of you get acquainted. I’ve got a meeting.

  If he only knew how well acquainted the two of us are.

  Minka

  Emotion chokes my throat, and I feel like I’ll burst—Wes.

  Wes. My Maui Wes is Weston Cardwell.

  Blond hair, green eyes, broad shoulders, and a sinfully hard body. He looks the same but different. Gone are his boardshorts, tight T-shirt, and flip-flops. Instead, he’s dressed in a fine tailored, oatmeal-colored suit with a crisp white shirt. The designer threads hug every inch of his solid muscles and his chest.

  How did he manage to get sexier in the last months?

  His gaze flicks over me and his big hand rubs over the curve of his jaw. My pulse pounds low in my belly.

  I remember this look.

  I like the way his eyes light up when he smiles at me. The way they darkened when he pins me underneath his big frame. I’ve never felt sexier or more wanted in my entire life.

  “Minka.”

  It’s above a whisper but loud enough to make my heart clench. Because I’ve missed him. He’s owned a tiny fragment of it for a long time.

  Not a single word comes out of my mouth because I’m far too stunned by seeing him in person. I can’t stop staring at him. The tall stance, thick broad shoulders.

  Wes clears his throat. “My brother wants me to show you the ropes.”

  “I’m sorry, forgive me. I’m distracted, or jetlag’s kicking in.”

  His gaze slides over my chest. “Jetlag, right. Maybe you need to sneak out of here and get some rest.”

  My eyes close tight. “I deserve that.”

  His hand cups behind his ear. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

  “I’m not doing this with you here.” I rise to my feet.

  Wes smiles. It’s piercing, sharp, and still profoundly affects me. Like the change your panties kind of way.

  “Where would you like to do it, Minka?”

  “Wes, don’t, please,” I hiss. My feet carry me to the other side of the table.

  He laughs and his thumb scratches along his jawline. I want that scruff to scrape against my skin.

  “Don’t, now that’s a funny word coming out of your mouth,” he states and stands. “I never heard that from you when we were in my bed.”

  My hands wring together. “I’m sorry, Wes. I had to leave.”

  He pushes back from the table and his feet chew up the space between us. “Without a goodbye? Do you know what that was like waking up and you’re weren’t there?” There’s sadness in his words.

  My heart takes a dive at his admission. “I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”

  “You just walk out at five in the morning. That was dumb and dangerous,” he says, and that gravel is back in his voice. “What’s up with that?” There’s a rough edge to his voice.

  I inhale a shaky breath. “You’re right. I should have been smarter. But I couldn’t stay. I had to get home. Back to my real life.”

  He leans forward and I lick my lips. My body vibrates with heat, and it’s like being on the island with him all over again.

  “Your real life?”

  I nod slowly. “My life is messy and complicated. You’re young and . . .”

  “And what? Is that what this is about? You think I’m too young for you?”

  “No . . . and. Uhm, I think we’re working together, and we need to be professional.”

  Not a total lie. Okay, a complete lie.

  “What happens in Maui stays in Maui, huh?”

  My lip snares between my teeth. “Maui was all I could give you. All I can ever give you. I’m sorry.”

  Wes takes a step back and it kills me. “Whatever you want, princess.”

  He picks up his notepad and leaves me standing all alone in the room. Chest heavy with regret, I let out a long, ragged breath.

  My hands shake as I shove them into my hair. “Well, this is just a great way to start a job, Minka. Way to go.”

  Wes

  Minka MacDonald. Well, now I know her last name.

  For whatever it’s worth. Which isn’t much, I’m guessing.

  I toss my notepad onto my desk and slump down into my chair. Blowing out a deep breath, I turn my chair toward the window.

  “Maui was all I could give you. All I can ever give you. I’m sorry.”

  Those words echo in my head, and I want to drive my fist through a wall.

  I rake a hand through my hair and then tap my phone’s screen. How could I not know who she is?

  And this bullshit about me being young. I’ve traveled around the world and immersed myself in several diverse cultures. I’ve got years of world experience under my belt for my age.

  Minka MacDonald, The Preppy Baker.

  It doesn’t take long to discover that Minka isn’t hiding her real identity. She’s who she says she is.

  And . . . holy shit.

  Minka has a kid. A kid.

  A daughter, who is the spitting image of her—same smile and dark hair. One difference, her daughter’s eyes are much greener.

  I scroll through her Instagram. I’m unable to wrap my head around the fact that the beautiful, sexy woman I met
in Maui is the same one who is a mom and business mogul.

  Blue skies.

  Long walks on the beach.

  Kisses.

  Cupcakes.

  I see all those things and more when I study her face. The tension in my body drains when I see a picture from Maui. The photo of her in a bikini on the beach, mai tai in hand.

  The caption reads: “My new happy place.”

  My thumb grazes the photo. A photo that I took.

  “She’s gorgeous.”

  I flinch and my phone hits the floor with a loud thud. “Jesus, Maybelle, you scared the shit out of me.”

  “Why are you stalking our new consultant?” She leans against the window.

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” I reach for my phone and check for any damage.

  “Try me.”

  “I know her.” I brave, giving voice to the reality that has been on my mind since I saw Minka standing in the conference room. “We met in Maui, and we spent time together—together.”

  Her hands fly into the air and the sunlight glints off her shiny diamond rings. My eyes squint shut as I swivel my chair away from the windows.

  “Are you telling me that the two of you hooked up?” Maybelle comes around the desk to stand in front of me.

  “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”

  It’s silent as she registers what I’ve told her.

  “Wow, well, that’s . . .”

  “Awkward? Yeah.”

  Maybelle shakes her head. “Awkward, maybe. But how did the two of you leave things in Maui?”

  “She left without saying goodbye.”

  “Ouch.”

  I wince. “Yeah. Her life is complicated. I’m too young.”

  A frown paints her face. “Complications aside, how do you feel about her?”

  “Right now, I’m a little ticked off. But if I’m honest . . .”

  Maybelle waves a hand in the air. “By all means.”

  My eyes meet her blue ones. “Minka’s the first woman I haven’t been able to shake from my system.”

  Her face softens. “Whoa, that’s something.”

  Yeah, that is something. And a casual affair won’t erase the ache I have for her. I feel it every day.

  I’ve spent weeks wishing I could find her. Now, she’s here, and the pain is ten times what it was when I didn’t know where she’d gone.

  Be careful what you wish for.

  Around two in the afternoon, I realize I need to eat lunch. I leave my office and walk toward the other end of the mezzanine level.

  Brant and Maybelle decided to add lunch hours in the private dining room. Up until a month ago, it had been dinner only.

  “Hello, Mr. Cardwell,” Callie, the hostess, greets me as I walk through the door. “Would you like a table, or will you be eating in your office?”

  “I’m just going to get something to go. I’ll order from the kitchen.”

  “Yeah, go for it.”

  My heart beats out of sync when I see Minka standing over the stove in the kitchen. Her hair is swept into a bun and she’s wearing a chef’s jacket.

  She’s stunning.

  I watch her as she dips the spatula into a large saucepan. Smiling, she takes the spatula and places it onto the counter. A second later, she looks up and sees me.

  “Fuck,” I mutter, feeling foolish.

  Minka gives me a small smile. Ignoring her, I walk to the other side of the kitchen and stare up at the menu on the corkboard. I might be able to ignore her, but my dick takes notice.

  She has the nerve to smile at me.

  Irritation claws its way up my spine. My fingers curl into my palms, and my jaw twitches. What the hell is she doing here in the kitchen? She should be working.

  “Wes, hey, man,” Pete, the line cook, says. “Can I get you something?”

  “Chicken club with fries—to go.”

  Minka walks toward me. “Hi, Wes,” she says casually. “I’m sure you’re wondering what I’m doing here.”

  “Not really.”

  The oven timer buzzes and Minka spins around. She rushes toward the oven and then opens the door. A tray of chocolate cupcakes appears.

  Cupcakes? Fucking cupcakes.

  She catches my stare. “Would you like one?” Minka lifts the tray in my direction, and I see that silver bracelet. It’s enough to piss me off.

  I fold my arms across my chest. “Shouldn’t you be working on a bourbon recipe instead of baking?”

  “Well, uh,” she stammers, placing the cupcakes on a metal trivet. “You see, when I’m baking, I get a lot of ideas. It also calms me. And Pete told me that his kitchen is my kitchen, any time I need it.”

  “That’s right, mi casa es su casa,” Pete interjects. “As long as you save me a cupcake, Minka.”

  Minka leans back and calls out, “I will. Promise.” She drags her gaze back to mine. “So, you want one?”

  “No, I don’t want anything from you.”

  She stares at me for five solid seconds, her cheeks flushing pink. “I’m sorry, Wes. We need to work together. Can you help me out today?”

  “Order up, Wes.”

  Perfect timing.

  I can’t stop staring at that silver bracelet on her delicate wrist. Every time our eyes meet my stomach tightens. I need to take my food and leave.

  “No, we can’t. I’ve got a busy day. Lots of work to do.” Ignoring the twinge in my gut when I see the way her face falls, I grab the bag off the line and stride out the door.

  Out of sight. Out of mind.

  Minka

  I make it back to the apartment that Brant set me up with shortly after seven. I let out a deep breath when I reach the top floor. The smell of spicy food from the only other apartment on this floor makes my stomach growl.

  Once inside, I kick off my heels. It’s a pretty amazing space for small-town Kentucky—two large bedrooms with walk-in closets. Two and a half bathrooms. I’m going to enjoy the open kitchen and cozy living room. Plus, there’s a balcony. I can see myself reading and drinking a glass of wine out there.

  Black cabinets, classic red brick stand out in the space. It’s vastly different from my house in California. And strangely, I feel at home here.

  The view of downtown Mayfield is gorgeous. Streaks of pink and orange slide over the sky.

  My phone screen lights up, and a text from Celia’s dad appears on the screen. I glance at it briefly before opening it.

  Noah: How’s Celia doing at camp? Have you heard from her yet?

  Me: No. I’m sure she’s fine.

  Noah: You don’t know?

  I roll my eyes.

  Me: First two weeks, there’s no phone or internet. Emergencies only.

  Shaking my head, I toss my phone onto the counter. A progress report goes out at the end of each week. He obviously didn’t read the details of the program that I’d sent him.

  After settling in, I change my clothes and walk down to the bistro I spotted when I drove in to work this morning.

  Brant arranged for me to have a car while I’m in town. A sleek, black Lexus. He even programmed the GPS for me. He’s been so nice.

  I hope I can help them get back to the top of the industry. Their bourbon is too good not to sell. People will love it again.

  I take a seat at a table in the bar. When a server comes to the table, I order the spicy wild shrimp pomodoro and a glass of pinot grigio.

  “That’s a good choice,” she tells me. “It’s from a local vineyard.”

  “Cool. I can’t wait to try it.”

  “My name’s Jackie. I’ll be right back with your wine.”

  She steps away, and I pull my iPad from my handbag. I check my email and return the most pressing messages.

  Jackie returns with the glass of wine, and I take a sip. The flavor palate is interesting—hints of lemon and a bit of a floral aroma. It’s dry and semi-sweet, but it finishes crisp.

  I take a quick snap for Instagram and tag the winery and
this place—Thistle and Ivy.

  My eyes flick to the bourbon selection on the wall—Cardwell’s front and center.

  Swallowing another sip of wine, I pull up an email from Brant. There’s an attachment with a list of all their current bourbons and the ones in development. I research their website and then Cardwell’s biggest competitors.

  My pasta arrives, and I’m hungrier than I realize. I shovel bite after bite into my mouth and wash it down with the wine. The bar starts to fill up, and I listen to people order their drinks.

  “Bourbon, house is fine. As long as it’s not Cardwell,” a gruff voice grinds out.

  My heart drops. I want to say something, but I keep my mouth shut. The reality that I’ve got a lot of work ahead of me hits hard.

  “Would you care for any dessert?” Jackie asks as she picks up my empty dish. “We’ve got a yummy blueberry crisp. My favorite is the layered chocolate raspberry mousse. It’s to die for.”

  “The mousse sounds good.”

  Her blue eyes flash. “Another glass of wine?”

  “Actually, I’ll take a bourbon and soda. Make sure it’s Cardwell Bourbon, Haven’s Hill.” I raise my voice when I mention Cardwell Bourbon.

  A few patrons sitting at the bar swing their gazes in my direction. Smiling, I pick up my iPad and google “trends in bourbon.”

  I’m distracted when I see a tall figure with wayward blond hair and broad shoulders appear in the doorway. My nerves set with anticipation as I wait for him to turn his head. He turns to greet a woman and I get a glimpse of his face.

  It’s not Wes.

  Earlier, when I saw him in the kitchen, his green eyes were clouded with something that I couldn’t read. I’d mistaken it for desire. Oh, how wrong I’d been.

  When he spoke, the pain in his voice told me everything that I needed to know.

  He hates me.

  I wish things could be different between the two of us. Another time. Another place.

  You had that, Minka. You had Maui.

  My stomach hollows as I recall the way Wes kissed me. The way he’d driven deep inside me, so damn deep. I’d never felt anything like it—something so profound and wonderfully intense. My thighs press together at the memory.