“No, mine is spelled witha y ” I was perched onthe edge of her bed, and she was rolled to her side, her stuffed ox, Bunyan,clutchedinherarmsandunderherchin.IwasreadingoneofherfavoritebooksforthehundredthtimesinceI’dbeen fosteredbyMaeandDarinBailey
AndIwasn’tlosingwhatIhad I’dbeenborrowingbedsandcouchesforsolong,Ineededtobesurroundedbymyshit To ownsomethingthatwas mine.Themoneyinmyaccountwasn’talot,butit’dgetmefartherthanBourbonCanyon,Montana.I hadplans
Pent-upfearpushedattheseamsofmymind.SomethingbadwasgoingtohappenifIstayedtoolong.Iwouldlogintomy accounttomorrow,andthemoneywouldbegone.OrtheBaileyswouldblamemeforsomething,anything,andI’dbe that kid onceagain.
At first, I’d read to the empty air while she’d cried, and her sisters had fled the room The Bailey boys had been out workingwiththeirfather.I’dbeenwishingIwasalreadyeighteenandgone.Maehadbeenbusyinthelaundryroom.Maybeit wasthelackofwitnessesthathadmademechangemyvoicewiththecharacters,buttheeffecthadbeenastonishing She’dquieteddown.WhenI’dfinishedanotherbook,she’dgonetotheroomshesharedwithoneofhersistersandbrought outanother I’dreadthatone Maehadpeekedout,nearlycollapsingwithreliefwhenshesawwhatwasgoingon Fromthenon,whenWynterhadatantrum,usuallywhenitwasstorming,Iwascalledintoread.Whenshecouldn’tsleep,I read.
Guilt tightened in a band around mychest. I wasn’t used to missingpeople or places, but leaving was harder than I’d expected I’dneverseeherorhersistersagain,butherlifewasbetterwithoutmeinit TheBaileyswouldraiseherandher sistersliketheirown.She’dhavethreebigbrotherstoprotecther.Shedidn’tneedme.
“I’ll miss you,” Imuttered to the darkroomand turned to leave Whenshe woke, I’d be gone Ididn’tplanto returnto Montana,andwithabigfamilylikethistogrowupin,Idoubtshe’deverleave.We’dneverseeeachotheragain.“Enjoyyour newfamily.”
CHAPTER TWO
Wynter
Twenty-twoyearslater...
You know what they say about a man with a big building
asphalt in succinct clips, and the mountain breeze kept me from breaking a sweat in the early July sun One wall of the distillerywas nothingbutwindows, makingthe stills visible fromthe outside. Copper stills matched the metal brackets that attachedthethickwoodenpoststothewallsandceilings
The entrance was onthe office side ofthe structure. WhenIstepped inside, Islowed. The interior ofthe distillerywas breathtaking Wood,metal,andstonewereartfullyarrangedtomaketheplacelooklikethemountains’centerpiece Aguyina sharp yellow polo shirt the same shade as the Foster House label smiled brightlyat me. His name tagread Braxton “Hello,”hesaidmuchtoocheerfullyfor7:53inthemorning “HowmayIhelpyou?”
Animposinggrandfatherclockfacedtheelevatorwhenthedoorsslidopen.Morewood-andmetal-accentedbrickmade up the exterior walls. The office was posh with a rustic, Aspen-ski-lodge aesthetic that fit right into the whole playboybachelorvibe.
I’dsnoopedontheman Stalkedmightbeabetterword,butsnoopingmademybrowserhistoryseemlessobsessive The sameprofessionalheadshotcirculatedthroughallthemagazineswiththeexceptionofalocalspreadthathadonesolepicture ofhimstandinginfrontofacopperstillwiththeimpressiveviewbehindhim
Flutters raced through my stomach, zinging fromside to side. I left the quiet safety of the elevator and found an older womanbehindadesk,readingglassesperchedontheendofhernose.Thecollarofhermaroonsilkblousewashigh,likeshe choseherwardrobebythecenturyandnottheatmosphere
Sheglancedupandawidesmilespreadacrossherface.I’dspokenwithMrs.Cranebefore,butthiswasthefirsttimewe were meetinginperson We’d gottenalongwell onthe phone, and Ilooked forward to trainingunder her for the week She camearoundherdesk,smoothingherblackA-lineskirt.
Shit. I was going to get fired before I started. “Sorry. The distilleries I’ve worked in before preferred a casual environment Thestaffwasfamily”Literally
Broad shouldered inanash-graysuit, he had his backto me as he stared outthe window His ink-blackhair wasn’tthe messymassithadbeenwhenhewasyounger.Everystrandhaditsplacenow.
The man was fine. His suit was cut perfectly, tapering fromhis wide shoulders to his waist. Those eyes. They hadn’t missedathingyearsago,andtheywerehardernow Theclenchofhisjawcouldcrushdiamonds Insteadofatie,thecollarof hiswhitedressshirtwasopen.Onebuttononly,butenoughtoexposethestrongcolumnofhisthroat.
Double shit. I wasn’t supposed to have sexual thoughts about Myles. I snapped my gaze up, meeting that flinty stare. “Sorry?”HadImissedsomethinghesaid?
Ileanedforward,unabletopullmyselfback.Ilookeddeepintohiseyes,searchingforrecognition.Iwasn’tthelittleblond childwhohatedgettingherhairbrushed Myhairwaslongandpin-straightbutpulledbackintoasimpletwist Thebangs a baddecisionafteranevenworsebreakup weregrowingoutandtuckedbehindoneear.
Did he know who I was? People I’d grown up with called me and my sisters the Bailey girls, but the Baileys hadn’t adoptedusyetwhenMyleshadlivedwithus.Wouldheremembermylastname?
This couldn’tbethesameMyles who’dreadmestories aboutabunnywithhis name I’dthoughtIdidn’tknow whatI’d comeherefor,butthatwasalie.Iwantedtogettoknowtheguyhe’dgrownuptobe.Iwantedhimtorememberme.Iwanted toknowifascaredlittlegirlhadmadeasmuchofanimpressiononhimashehadonme.
Isnapped myspine straight. Iwasn’tleaving. This wasn’tthe Myles Foster Iknew, no. Mr. Foster had builtColorado’s fastest-growingindependentdistillery,sellingaward-winningsmall-batchwhiskeyinahighlysaturatedmarketbeforetheage offorty whichhe’dturnedlessthanamonthagoinJune.ThisMr.Fosteremployedoverfiftypeoplebetweenthedistillery, warehouse, and packagingplant, and none of themwould sell out his informationto the press. If he’d harnessed that much loyalty,thenpartofhimwasstillthatboywhousedtoreadmestories.Thekidwho’devensungwhenthebookcalledforit. Hispitchhadbeenterriblyoff-key.
My sisters and I might not have changed our last name, but we were still Baileys We’d grown up learning Bailey principlesandBaileycharm.Wehadn’tbeentaughttogiveup.“Sorry,Mr.Foster.”Icurvedmylipsintoasmilethatalways infuriatedmyoldestbrother “Ididn’twanttointerrupt” Henarrowedhiseyes.
Technically,hespecializedinwhiskeywhiletheCopperSummitbrandwasbuiltonbourbon,butwehadlinesofwhiskey, too Daddy’sgrandpahadstartedwithbourbon,givingour hometownthenameBourbonCanyon,butthefamilybusinesshad expanded.CopperSummitnowhadwhiskeyandbourbondistilleriesinBozeman,Billings,andHelena.
Montana made Montana proud Thephrasewasonourlabels.
Myoldestsisterwasapain SheworkedforCopperSummitattheBozemanheadquartersandwantedmeintheBourbon Canyonoffice. Ihad wanted to see the countryand experience a life Icouldn’tfind ina small mountaintownthathad more cattlethanpeople Ihadn’twantedtoreturntoafamilywhoranchedthosecattle And now I had to do all of that. My plans would have to wait, and it wasn’t Myles Foster putting themon hold. Not completely
Comeon,Wynn.Youknowhe’snotgoingtolastlong.
Thebackofmyneckgrewhot.AsifIneededmoreangertonight.Ipunchedoutamessage.Quietnagggingme.Ihitsend and squinted. Shit. I spelled a couple words wrong. She was goingto know. I couldn’t hide fromSummer eventwo states away
Myphone rang. Hot Girl Summer popped up onthe screen. Ianswered with, “Youknow people our age don’tactually makephonecalls”
“Sort of. Not a boyfriend problem.” The things that ranthroughmymind whenI looked at himwere beyond boyfriend duties Ididn’tcareaboutbreakfastinbedoradozenredroses Myleslookedlikehecoulddestroyagirlinallthebestways, andmostofthemhappenedbetweenthesheets.
Ishivered. Ihadn’texpected to be so attracted to him. Myobsessionhad started as a little girl’s adoration. He was my PrinceCharming Hehadbattledmydragons whenIwas scared ThenI’dseenhis pictureas anadult,andthecuriosityhad smoldereduntilI’dseenhim.
“What’sgoingon?”sheasked Icouldn’ttellher.ItwaswhyI’dgottenaplacethatwassolidlyinDenverandnotclosertothedistillery.Icouldn’tchance anyofmysiblingsfiguringoutmytruegoal.IfIconfessedtoSummer,she’dthinkIwascrazyandtellmybrothers.They’dtagteammewiththeirlecturesaboutwastingmytime They’dbeevenmoreupsetthatIwasthinkingofworkingfortheenemy Foster House wasn’t direct competition, but they were competition, and that was enough for most of my family to feel betrayed Mybrothers, really Mysisters rarelymentioned Myles Daddydidn’t seembothered He just said, You gotta be better. Otherwise you ’ re not the best.
Thebeautifulthingaboutfamilywhowerealsoclosefriends theywereincensedbeforeknowingthefullstory.“Noone. Justsomepower-hungryguywhowalksalloverhisexecutivestaff” She scoffed. “Wynter, you are not going to be an assistant when you can come home and be in charge of the whole marketingdepartment”
Myfamilywasholdingthepositionforme.IhadevenbeendoingtheworkbeforeI’dmovedawayfromBourbonCanyon. Before I’d letmyapartmentlease go and moved to a townwhere Iknew one man, and he didn’tknow me. “Justfor a little longer.”Longenoughtolearnabouttheguywho’dgottenmethroughsomeoftheworsttimesofmylife.
“ButDaddy…”
Irolledmyeyestotheceiling,andtheroomspun
“Daddy’ssick Iknow”I’dgonehomefor afew dayslastmonth I’d talkedtoDaddy,andwhathe’dsaidhadnudgedmeovertheclifffromcyberstalkingtoapplyingforatempjob. Home is where you land Fly until you want to go home
“Iknow.EverytimeIgetaphonecallfromMamaoroneoftheguys,myheartdrops.Waitingforitisalmostasbadas…” “Yeah,” I whispered Losing both parents suddenly on a stormy night? That had been a nightmare and had caused bad dreamsandafearofstormsfortherestofmylife.
“Remember whenMamaStarr wouldbuyatonoftoiletpaper for peoplewholostlovedones?”Summer giggled Mama StarrwasourbirthmotherwhenwehadtodifferentiateherfromMamaMae,whowasMaeBailey.We’dalsocalledbothour fathersDaddy.We’dbeenluckyenoughtohavebothinourlives,howeverfleeting.“Iwassomortifiedtobewalkinguptoa housewhereeveryoneelsewascarryingacasserole,andMamahadTPinonehandandpapertowelsintheother”
Glad she was okay, I tapped myindexfinger against the backof myother hand Anytime now I was readyto face my humiliation.Thenhismeaningsankin,andIfroze.“Me?”
I nodded and crossed one leg over the other. His gaze clocked the movement, then rose back to mine. The air sizzled betweenusandheatseepedintomybody,headingsouthattheworstpossibletime
I’dbeentoointolearningaboutMylesFosterfortoolongtobeunaffectedbyhim.Hadheeventhoughtaboutme?About myfamily?IopenedmymouthtotellhimwhoIreallywasandfindout butIbittheinsideofmycheekinstead Ibobbedmy leg, my nerves reigniting. It appeared I had a second chance to learn more. He knew I was Wynn Kerrigan, interested in workinginthedistillingindustry.Hedidn’tknowIwasalsothescaredlittlegirlWynter,oneoftheKerrigansistersfromhis past WhatwouldhappenifItoldhim?
TheMyleswho’dfiredmefornotbeingearlyenoughwouldnotsayWhat a coincidence! How have you been? TheMyles who’d sentme packingwould thinkIwas a lyingliar and wantme outofthe buildingas fastas myhangover would allow withoutvomiting.IwantedtogettoknowtheMyleswhowaswillingtorehireme.TheMyleswhomademyinsideszingand gavemeveryadultsensations
Thismanwasn’tonetowelcomehispastwithopenarms.Noneofhishistoryhadbeeninanyofthesocietypiecesabout him, only that he had been a foster kid. People loved a self-made, rags-to-riches success story, but he’d never used it as additionalfodderfortheirarticles MuchofwhatI’dreadwasnothingbutconjecture
When I didn’t ask questions, he continued. “You’ll miss the training window you would’ve had with her the next two weeks,butsheassuredmethatyouwerecompetentandknowledgeableaboutthebusiness.”
He didn’tknow? Was Mrs Crane the onlyone withaccess to myrésumé? And she hadn’ttold him? Perhaps she didn’t knowabouthisstrainedrelationshipwiththeBaileysofCopperSummitBourbon.
Myattentionsharpened.Iwassointerested.Oh inthejob.“Yes.I’llevenstriveforfiveminutesearlyinthemornings.” Hisfeaturesdidn’tcrack.Didheknowhowtosmileanymore?“Verywell.Icangiveyouatour,andfortherestoftheday, you can familiarize yourself with Mrs Crane’s workspace She emailed instructions I can forward you and a link to her proceduremanual.”
“Thorough,”Imurmured Ilookeddownatmyclothing I’dbeenalmostunderdressedyesterday WhatIwaswearingtoday wasridiculouscomparedtohim.“I’mnotexactlyreadyforadayintheoffice.” Hisgazestrokeddownmybody “Icanbeassuredyou’lldressappropriatelytomorrow?” Ineededtofanmyself.Myinternaltemperaturerosetwentydegreeswhenhelookedatmelikethat.“Soappropriately.” Aslightnarrowingofhis eyes was all Igot. He mightnotfind me funny, butIwas enjoyingthe small reactions Igot. I couldn’twaitforthenextthreemonths
Icouldtalkcornvarieties,bestsourcesofoakbarrels,andevaporationratesallday.Icoulddiscussyieldswithfarmers for hours,pricingversus age ofa batchwithdistributors,andthe bestadditives for flavoringwithmydistillers Butmyjob wastorunthisplace.Tomakeitthebestsoallmyemployeeshadjobstosupportthemselveswith. Ididn’tgivethefuckingtours.
I had no issues controllingmybody’s reactionaround women. I’d met none who were more interestingto me thanthe tastingroomonthesecondfloor.AndthenMs.Kerriganhadarrivedwithherappleassintightpants,asweaterthathintedat thedipinherwaist andhowherbreastswouldfeelinmypalms andherteasingattitude
Maybe I’d gotten used to women fawning over me. They vacillated between mild interest and rampant delight aimed towardmypocketbookormydick Manyignoredme,whichwasfine Better,mosttimes Ms Kerriganlookedatmelikeshe sawbeneaththesuittothedirtykidyankedfromamouse-infestedhome.Thekidwhoknewhowtouseahypodermicneedle beforetheageoften
UsuallywhenIgotthatfeeling,Iwantedtocrawl outofmyskin,carve the personoutofmylife.Butitwasn’tlike that aroundmynewassistant.Shewasn’tdiggingforweaknessestoholdagainstme.Shejustsawme.Thenshesawpastme.She spoke to me like she was innatelyinterested inthe workI did, like she understood it and had a passionfor it that wasn’t normallyfoundinthepeopleIinterviewed.
LeaveittoMrs Cranetofindtheperfecttempemployee
FuckingMrs. Crane. She knew whatshe was doingwhenshe called to tell me she was sickand had to nurse herselfto health in time for the procedure she was having done I’d upset her carefully laid plans and her detail-oriented procedure manuals,andshe’dusedthesystemtoteachmealesson.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a grimace “Everything okay, Ms Kerrigan?” Why did I fucking care? I wasn’t normallyinvolvedinmyemployees’personallives.
Itookthe stairs, not botheringto see ifshe’d follow. Ihoped she didn’t. Ineeded to get backinmyoffice and remind myselfthatworkandpleasuredidn’tmix.Ididn’tneedtothinkaboutmyassistant’stonedlegsandwhatitwouldbeliketoget betweenthem
CHAPTER FOUR
Wynter
WorkingforMylessucked.
Istifledayawnandstaredatmycomputer until myeyesstraightenedout.Thefirsttexttoclear onmycomputer wasthe time
Wes Claytonwas openinga trendyclubinDenver,the secondversionofone inColoradoSprings.He alsohadclubs in Oklahoma City and Dallas. Wes had been on Myles’s radar since Myles learned Wes’s clubs didn’t carry Foster House products.
Aguywithhisphysiquecouldn’t not workout.Hewaspiledwithmuscle,andhenevercalledadepartmentlikeITorHR, hemarchedthere,takingthedamnstairseverytime
Thankfully, he let me stay behind at my temporary desk surrounded by pictures of Mrs. Crane’s two kids and five grandkids.Ourfirstworktripwascomingupsoon.Wewoulddrive,buthehadaprivatejetwhenneeded notoneheowned, butoneheco-oped Ihadn’tknownthatwaspossible
As for the job itself, itwas simple. Igotthe access code for the maindoor and anIDcard. Ilearned whichfiles were where, who Ihad to talkto for what, and the restwas muscle memory. Daddyhad made all ofus do a termas his assistant whenwewereoldenoughtowork He’dpaidusandmadeussavemostofthemoneyforcollege whichhe’dthenpaidforin fullandclaimedwehadagooddownpaymentforahouseinstead.SinceIwastheyoungest,IhadworkedasDaddy’sassistant thelongest
I’dmadeitthroughthreehoursofworkwhenMyles’sofficedooropened.Afaintwaveofamber-lacedsagewashedover me Theguysmelledasgoodashelooked Hiscolognewaslikehikingthroughthemountainsonabrightsummerday WasthatwhyMyleschosethatcologne?DidhemissMontana?
Didhemissus?Atall?
“Readytogo,Ms.Kerrigan?”
Iswirledmychairandsatstraighter.Hissuitcoatwasgone,leavinghiminonlyhisone-button-undoneshirtandheathergrayslacks. His brownloafers gave hima more relaxed air. Atrendybusinessmaninhis offstate. Evenhis hair had gone casual,withsomestrandsfallingoverhisforehead.
“Ms Kerrigan?”
Iwas staring. Onlycomplete honestywould save me fromrevealingthatIdreamed aboutbeingthe one to runmyhands throughhishair “Sorry,Iwasn’texpectingpajamaday”HewasalsoearlyforthemeetingwithWes Asmallfrowntuggedathislips.“Pajamaday?”
“Istill have to be myself” He shoved a hand inhis pocket, strikinga pose straightfromthe ad he’d boughtthe cologne from.“Wes’sstyleishis.”
Iliftedashoulder “Itworksforhim” Hisblueeyesturnedtoice,andtheairbetweenusturnedfrigid.“Indeed.It’stimetogo.”Hestartedforthestairs. Ashiverraceddownmyspine.Igrabbedmytabletandyankedmybackpackfrommybottomdrawer.Istuffedthetablet, somenotepads,andapeninsideandracedtotheelevator IfI’dknownI’dbeclimbinginandoutofacarchasingMyles,I’d have worn pants instead of a sleeveless summer dress with a flowing skirt. At least I’d bypassed heels for a pair of wraparoundsandals
all the employees beingunabashedlyup inmybusiness, so it was hard to workwhere I didn’t matter beyond myposition. Braxtonwasfriendlierandmadeeachdayalittlebrighter.
Myles hadn’t loaded himself into the blackSUV He stood holdingthe door open His driver was inthe driver’s seat Weren’ttheyusuallytheonesholdingthedoor?
Myles tucked his phone away. “I owe a lot of people. Samand I both like to talk business. He’s…he reminds me of someone”Hestaredoutthewindow Conversationover
TherestaurantwepulleduptowasnotwhatI’dexpected.Basedonthecar,I’dthoughtwewouldgotoadowntownplace with glass walls, a place that used wineglasses for water and served their filets perfectly balanced on three stalks of asparagus. Apasta palace inCastle Rockwasn’twhere Iexpected to find the Myles fromthe office who ordered ingrilled chickenskewers,steakpowerbowls,andthemostboring-soundingsaladsthatstillmanagedtobedelicious Mylesdidn’teat carbs.
He ushered us into the booth. Iwas opposite Myles. Samliked to engage us both. Itookmytabletoutto take notes on anythingsignificantSamhadtosayaboutsalestrendsorperformanceandnewdistributionoptions IwasmostshockedbythedishMylesordered: spaghetti carbonara.Abuttery,creamypastathathadalmostnoprotein.I hadorderedthesamesinceIhadn’tbeenabletoconcentrateonthemenuwhilelistening Whenthefoodarrived,Samtabledthebusinessdiscussionandturnedhisattentiontome.“How’boutyou,Wynn?Where’d youworkbeforethis?”
Thankfully, I’d rehearsed my vague background more since starting with Myles. “I interned in a couple distilleries in college,andthenIwenttomoreschoolandgotmyMBA.”
“Youwenttoall thatschool,andyoudon’tknow whattodo?” Samasked Humor lacedhis words,butthere was more TatehaddescribedSamasshrewd,too.Hewasthetypeofguywho’dkeeppushing.
Iwassittingatthebar,onfuckinguncomfortablestools,withWesactingasbartender Hewasdrinkingavodkagimlet,Ms Kerriganhad ordered a club soda withlime, and Iwas havinganold fashioned withwhiskeyfromanother Colorado-based companythatputoutagoodproductbutwasn’tlookingtoexpandlikeFosterHouse
Afew minutes after meetingWes Clayton, I’d realized Iwas waytoo fuckingold for him. He talked like he was GenZ despitebeingclosertomyagegroup.Hesoundedlikeasocialmediainfluencerandconstantlysaid Fair wheneverIdiscussed alimitationinmydistributionprocess
WesClaytoncameoffdifferentlyinpersonthanhedidonline,andIdidn’thavehighhopesfortheoutcomeofourmeeting. There’d be no contracts or agreements drawnup He’d tell me he’d call me later and ghostme like he probablydid all his muchyoungerdates.
“Thethingis,Foster.”Hesteepledhisfingers.WeshadguffawedwhenIcalledhimMr.Clayton,butIhadbeentaughtnot to assume anything about a potential client, or any client Never assume, no matter how well I knew them Business first, friendshipsecond.WesClaytonandIweren’tfriends.“Foster,Foster.”Heclickedhistongue.“Iliketoworkwithcompanies thatarephilanthropicfirst”
“And, well, ifIfollow the Foster House trail, it onlyleads to money. Ican’t find communitysupport, or sponsorships, or…”Hespreadhishands.“Well,youcanseemydilemma.”
“Yousee,ClaytonEnterprisespaysoutfivehundredthousandayearindonationsalone.Wealsohaveseveralinternships andsponsorshipsand” helaughed “Ialsosponsoralittleleagueteam Asforscholarships,I’vesetupanendowmentfund atthree differentcolleges to provide scholarships for several students who major inentrepreneurship.” He folded his arms acrosshischest,asmuglookinplace.“Iprefertocollaboratewithotherswhoalsopayitforward,includingmysuppliers.”
“And that endowment fund has your name at least the name of your clubs, and they’re only set up in the towns the universities are in, correct? Because what’s a donationgood for ifno one knows yougave it? The sponsorships serve you somehow.Whetherit’sataxwrite-off,togetyournameoutthere,torecruitfromtheover-twenty-onecrowdoncampus,orto seducebright,younginternsintoworkinggruelinghoursforyousoyoucanenjoyallthemoneyyoukeeptoyourself Infact if Iweretobuythisdrink,wouldIbeaskedifIwantedtoroundupanddonatetosomecharityyourfingersarein?”Iheldmy handsup “Don’tgetmewrong Philanthropyisgoodforthetaxes,andifdonatingmoneyhelpspeople,that’sabonus Butyou shouldknownotallofuswantthegloryandtherecognition.Someofusformcorporationswerunourbusinessesundersowe cancontribute withoutthe fanfare.Idon’tneedaninvite tosome bullshitcharityauctionsoother richfuckers canstroke my dickandcallmegood.Idon’tneedtoproveanythingtomyself,certainlynottoyou.Youwanttorunyourbusinessthatway, fine.Iwastaughtbyamentorwhomadearealdifferenceinpeople’slivesnottoassumefactsaboutmycolleagues.It’sagood waytolosemoney”
Tohiscredit,herecoveredquickly Aftergivinghimselfalittleshake,heproppedhishandsonhiships “Youtalkagood game, Foster. Are youtellingme thatyoudidn’tuse the playonyour lastname and your experience inthe foster systemto capitalize profits, yetdo little to payitback? You’re nottuggingonheartstrings aboutyour poor, downtroddenchildhood to makeamereliving?Whatkindofhousedoyoulivein?”
Istormed toward the door. The clatter ofMs. Kerrigangatheringher items and racingafter me didn’tgetme to slow. I wantedawayfromWesandthedefensiveassholeIrevertedtoaroundhim.
Shesettled,pullingherskirtdown,asIclimbedin Strandsofherhairwerehanginginfrontofherface Shepuffedatthem and snapped her seatbeltinplace. Idid the same, gloweringoutthe windshield. The privacyscreenwas down, and Iwas gratefulfortheview
“Notreally. Justifwhathe said was true, thatyoudon’tsupportcharities. Youmade itsound like he couldn’tbe more wrong,yetI’msurehedidhishomework GuyslikeWesarecalculating”
She was correct. “No. It’s nottrue.” Thatwas all I’d give her. Ikeptmyname outofall donations ifpossible. The less attentiononme,thebetter.
Therewasthatdamnpurragain.Ifsheusedthattoneagain,I’dtellhereverythingaboutmycompanywhilegettingonmy kneesandliftingthatdamndressuphercurvylegs “ImakeitmybusinesstoknoweverythingaboutthepeopleIworkwith I don’tlike to ” Ichewed onmytongue. Theywere onlywords. She wouldn’tknow the meaning. “Idon’tlike to go into a placeunprepared.Iwanttoknowwhattoexpect.”
Her eyes softened as ifshe knew the exactreasonIbehaved the wayIdid Ifshe hadn’talreadyknownI’d beeninthe fostersystem,thankstonosyinterviewers,thenClaytonhadrevealedthefact.“Oh.Right.”
The events ofthe meetingthree days ago continued to runthroughmyhead. Insixweeks, we’d meetwiththe wholesalers. Since the meetingwithWes Clayton, Myles had replaced the stickinhis ass witha titaniumrod. He’d beenholed up inhis office,demandingreportsanddataonsalesandproductionpossibilities Hehadallthenumbers,buthewanteditarrangedina milliondifferentspreadsheetswithalmostasmanyprojections.
The master distiller was annoyed with me The manager of the packaging plant was taking longer to respond to my messages,andIdidn’tdarepissoffthegrainsuppliers.Iknewhowfinickytheycouldbe.
Iblinkedattheblurryscreen.We’dporedovertables,rearrangeddata,reinterpretedinformationtodeterminethevarious quantitiesFosterHousecouldsupplyforanationaldistributorwithoutsacrificingflavorandquality.Wewouldn’tbeworking thislateifMylesthoughttheamountwassatisfactory.Hedidn’tsayit,buthewasworriedhecouldn’tfulfillexpectationswith thefacilitiesandstaffhehad HethoughtMainlineGrocerswouldturnhimdownflat Afewtimes,I’dcaughthimmuttering, We can’t sacrifice the product for money. The money will come after the quality. Again, Iwas strucksilentbythe familiar phrases Myles had beenputto workonthe ranch As far as Iknew, and from whatI’dgleanedfrommyoldersiblings,Myleshadn’tworkedinthedistilleryveryoften.Wasitpossiblehe’daccompanied Daddytheremorethanwe’drealized?
Who was callinghim? Awoman? Several women? Someone fromhis past? Who did he have inhis present other than CadillacSamandtheemployeesofFosterHouse? Morequestions.Noanswers.
“Yousold themthe storyeveryone knows. You’re a kid who had itroughand made good, and now you’re a successful businessman”Iscrubbedmyfaceagain Iwascommittedtosayingwhatwasonmymind,butIcouldn’twatchhimturntoan iciclethatcouldstabmewhenIdidit.“Look,Iknow youtoldClaytonyoudon’twanttherecognitionortheadmiration,but otherpeopleneedit That’sjustthewaylifeworks”
Iheldmyhandsup.“Iknow.I’mfromaprivatefamily,too.”Everyoneinoursmalltownknewourbusiness,butoutsideof BourbonCanyon,peopleonlyknewwhatDaddywantedthemtoknow.“AndIgetit,youdon’twanttouseyouremployeesas posterchildrenfor look at me and how I help other kids like me, aren’t I a good guy?” Hearchedadarkbrow.
“Butwhatifyougavethemthosenumbers?SinceyoustartedFosterHouse,howmanykidswho’vebeeninthefosterand juvenile systemhave youhelped? Ifyou’ve formed scholarships, how manycollege kids have the funds helped? How many adults got backontheir feet because whatever umbrella companyyouformed made it possible? Youdon’t have to divulge names or even specifics, but maybe tell them generals. Tell them why it’s important to remain incognito.” Another idea sparked. “Maybe youspinit as your contributions inthe communityare as customized and individualized as your product. Somethinglike‘FosterHousemakestop-shelfwhiskey,andwepayitforward,top-shelf-style’” Iblewoutabreath.There,Iwasdone.
Hepulleduphisphone.“Alargesystemisrollingthrough.Strongweatherforatleastanhour.” Anxietyclawedatmythroat.“Shit,really?I hate drivinginstorms,”Imutteredagain.Thenit’dbereallylate,andI’dbe drivingatnightwhileextremelytired “You’rereallyworried?”
Icould tell him Reveal everything Iwanted to know how close he reallywas withDaddy Iwanted to know what he thoughtabouttheBaileys.Iwantedtoknowwhyhe’dformedhisowndistilleryempirewhenhecould’vebeeninvitedintothe CopperSummitworld.
Iwantedtoknowwhyhe’dleftme.
Yetthe odds thathe’d openup to me instead ofdrivingme outoftownwere dismal. He was a vault. I’d now created a
“It’s a fear Ihaven’tbeenable to kickas anadult,” Iexplained. “And I’mnotused to stayingup so late.” He kicked up anotherbrowasiftoaskwhyayoung,singlewomanwasinbedwithabookbyten “Idon’thaveagoodreasontobeoutlate anymore.”
He pointed to a door on the far end of his office. I had assumed it was a closet. I’d ignored Daddy’s advice about assumptionsthere.“WhenIgottheloanfortheplace,Icouldn’taffordthepaymentsontopofanothermortgageorevenrent. SoImovedin”Amusclepulsedoneachsideofhisjaw Wasthisanadmissionhedidn’twanttomake?
Wouldn’t Wes Clayton be surprised? I was. Myles had a big fucking house, but his living space was only as big as a decent-sizedloft “Youhaveabetterviewoutherethananyplaceintown”
Or…he had nights where the past blocked him in with the mountains. His offer to sleep on the couch carried more significanceifthatwasthecase Itwaslikeofferingmehissafespace Imighthavethebestsleepofmylifeandthen shit.“Whataboutthemorning?” “Whataboutit?”
Aflashofheatlithiseyes,andhefistedhishandsathissides “Right Youcangetupwhenyoufeelit’ssafetotravel Take tomorrowoff.”
Theweekendswerelongenough.IhadexploredDenver,butIworkedtoomuchtomakefriends.SaturdaysandSundays,I hungoutwithme, myself, and I Irefused to inspecthow muchIlooked forward to his rifle-shotmessages cominginatall hoursofthenight.“Idon’tneedthewholedayoff.Ifyoudecidetopivotwithyourpitch,thenyou’llneedhelp.Icanrunhome andcomeback”
He ranhis hand alonghis jaw. The scrape ofhis whiskers againsthis hand seta steady, inconvenientbeatbetweenmy thighs “Verywell I’llmaketomorrowalighterday Ineedtothinkaboutwhatyousaid”
He glanced around, his gaze bouncing off the couch. I was afraid to move. The intimacy of making my temporary bed wasn’tlikewhenhe’dsatwithmeandread Wewerebothadultsnow Theenergybetweenushadchangedfromcomforting andunderstandingtosizzlingandtense.
MyworldtiltedasIstoodoverher.HersmallframewastuckeddeepintotheblanketsI’dyankedoffmycouchfromwhen Iwatched a rare movie after workor whenGianna was especiallydramatic and wouldn’tquitblowingup myphone Wynn wassleepinginmythingsandtherightnessofitsettledintomysoul,makinganestjustasshehadonthecouch.
Ms Kerriganhadanoddfascinationwithmycollarline Ioftencaughtherlookingatthebaseofmythroat,whereIkept thebuttonundone.IhadstartedmeasuringthesuccessofmydaybyhowmanytimesIcaughther.
She’s not for you, jackass I’dgivenmyselfmanythingsthatI’dbeendeprivedof,butthiswomanwouldn’tbeoneofthem. Shemademethinkaboutthingsthatwerebetterleftforgotten Funandfreeevenings SomeonewaitingathomeorthatIcould talkwith,cooksupperfor.
“Oh.” She buried her face inher hands. “Sorry. Ittooka minute to remember where Iwas.” Her shoulders shook, butI caughtthelaughter “Iwasn’tsnoring,wasI?”
Desire punched low, and I spun before she could come face-to-face with morning wood number two. Or was it still morningwoodnumberone,sinceI’dnevertakencareofthefirstround?
