Crazy In Love (Rosewood River #4)

Chapter 1

one

. . .

Bridger

“I’m not in the mood for loud music and drunk assholes,” I grumped as my cousin Axel chuckled beside me. He tugged the door to Booze and Brews open, and we were immediately hit with exactly what I said I didn’t want.

Loud music and drunk assholes.

“Come on, they’re over here.” Axel pointed to the table where my brothers, Rafe and Easton, were sitting with their better halves, Lulu and Henley.

We made our way over, and I groaned when I spotted Emilia Taylor sitting at the far end of the table beside the girls.

Why was she always around? For fuck’s sake, this girl was working my last nerve.

“Hey,” Rafe shouted, holding his beer up in celebration. “Glad you came. It’s line dancing night.”

He knew I hated line dancing.

Jazzy walked over and handed us each a beer. As the owner of the place, she knew our order well.

“Thanks, Jazz,” I said, keeping my voice low.

“Absolutely. You going to get out on the dance floor tonight, Bridger?” Her voice was all tease, because she knew there wasn’t a chance in hell that was happening.

“That’s a hard no.” I tipped my chin to her.

She chuckled as she walked away, and Henley waved me over. “Hey, Bridger.”

“Hey,” I said. I made my way over to her and set a hand on her shoulder, tossing Lulu a wink. My brothers had outplayed their coverage with these two, because they were as good as it gets.

And that was saying a lot because I didn’t care for most people.

“We’re drinking shots tonight in honor of the Lions winning their away game,” Lulu said.

My brother Clark played professional hockey for the San Francisco Lions, and his girlfriend, Eloise, worked for the team as well. We attended most home games, but tonight they had an away game.

Lulu, Henley, and Emilia all raised their glasses and tipped their heads back.

Emilia’s shot barely made it in her mouth. Instead, most of the liquid ran down her chin and neck.

She wiped her face as her piercing blue gaze locked with mine.

It wasn’t the usual meek, nervous look that she normally gave me. I’d always assumed her discomfort around me was guilt over the fact that she was writing an anonymous column in the local newspaper that typically talked shit about my family.

Nope. Tonight I was met with anger and disdain.

The feeling’s mutual, sweetheart.

“Well, if it isn’t the broody billionaire bastard Bridger,” Emilia hissed, words slurred and slow as she accented every single syllable, which cued me in to the fact that she was clearly three sheets to drunkville already.

I rolled my eyes. “That was a mouthful.”

Henley and Lulu both laughed as they glanced between their friend and me.

“You really brought the B words,” Henley said.

“Very impressive, Emilia,” I said sarcastically. “Maybe you can come up with some new words in this week’s article, huh?”

Her chair skidded loudly against the floor as she pushed to her feet and stormed toward me, catching me off guard.

She’d never been confrontational. Hell, even when I’d told her off recently in her flower shop, she’d just stared at me. Clearly, I’d never seen Emilia Taylor intoxicated.

She poked her finger into my chest. Hard. “I’ve got another B word for you, buddy.”

“Is the new word ‘buddy’? Because that’s terrifying,” I said dryly. “I’m shaking in my boots.”

“Nope.” She tipped her head away from me, her long dark hair cascading down her back as she looked up at me.

She was a tiny little thing, and with me being six foot three inches, I towered over her.

But dangerous things come in small packages sometimes.

She poked me again, because apparently, drunk Emilia was much bolder than sober Emilia.

“My new word is ‘biiiitch.’” She dragged the word out dramatically, and I tried not to laugh.

“‘Bitch,’ huh?”

“Did I stutter?” She narrowed her gaze, her long nail knocking against my chest once again. “You’re going to be my bitch when I clear my name, and then you’re going to apologize to me.”

I wrapped my large hand around her small finger, holding it still and leaning down as I got closer to her face. “Are you going to get Mommy and Daddy to lie for you and say it wasn’t you?”

Emilia’s parents owned the Rosewood River Review , and they were keeping their anonymous author a secret. And they sure as hell were not going to throw their daughter under the bus.

She shook her hand hard and tugged it away. When she lost her balance, I instinctually grabbed her arms before she hit the ground, then pulled her forward as her body slammed into mine with a jolt.

She shoved against me hard, and I stepped back, as she glared at me.

“This is not about my parents, you jackass. This is about the fact that your little outburst got my business egged today. And a flower shop with dried egg all over it does not appear very welcoming,” she shouted. Her words were not nearly as slurred or slow when she was talking at this volume.

“So, I’m a jackass, a bitch, and a bastard.

Good to know.” I shrugged, as if I didn’t have a care in the world, because most of the time I didn’t.

But I was in no mood for an altercation with a woman I despised when I’d just come here for a quick beer.

“For the record, I didn’t egg you. Not sure why you’re coming at me about that. ”

She shook her head and threw her hands in the air. “You came into my flower shop and made false accusations, which is obviously the reason for it.”

“Well, then you shouldn’t have written the damn column. If you can’t stand the heat, get the hell out of the kitchen.” I walked backward as I returned to the table.

She flipped me the bird, and I chuckled, because a heated Emilia Taylor was pretty entertaining.

Maybe that’s why all the girls were friends with her.

I quickly sat, took a long pull from the bottle, and set it down. Easton, Rafe, and Axel were all gaping at me. Lulu, Henley, and Emilia left the table to go to either the restroom or the dance floor.

I had no idea. It wasn’t my business.

I glanced around the table, narrowing my gaze. “Why are you staring at me like judgy bastards?”

“Dude,” Easton said, voice low as he leaned forward. “Her flower shop got egged.”

“And you think I egged her business?” I laughed. “I got news for you, brother: I have much better things to do than toss some yolk on the business of a woman I despise.”

“We don’t think you did it, assmunch,” Axel said with a laugh. “But it happened because people think she writes the damn ‘Taylor Tea’ column, and that’s because of your outburst.”

I chuckled. “You’re fucking kidding me, right? She writes a column that some locals don’t like, and it’s my fault she’s getting egged?”

“You are the one who shouted it out in the middle of her shop,” Rafe said. “So the few people that actually don’t care for the column, now believe that she’s writing it and that she’s being targeted for it.”

I leaned forward, my gaze moving past each of them. “Then she shouldn’t have written the damn column if she doesn’t want to deal with the fallout. And of course very few people have a problem with it. She mainly targets our family.”

“Let me ask you something,” Easton said, arms crossed over his chest now. “Have you ever considered the thought that she actually doesn’t write the column?”

I took a sip of my beer. “No. I feel confident that it’s her. She’s got all the inside scoop. Most of the stuff that’s being printed about our family is not public knowledge. It’s an inside job. And look how cozy she is with the girls.”

We all turned to see the three of them out on the dance floor shaking their asses to Morgan Wallen as he blasted through the speakers.

Emilia had her hands in the air, head tipped back in laughter, tits bouncing with every movement.

Emilia Taylor was hot, no argument there.

But she’d always had it out for me, and unfortunately for her, I paid attention to that kind of shit.

“Because they’re friends, dipshit,” Easton said, shaking his head with disbelief. “And if it’s not her, you’re going to owe her a big apology.”

“I welcome it. If she can prove it’s not her, I’m happy to apologize.” I smirked. Apologies were not my strong suit.

All three of them laughed at the same time as I leaned back in my chair, gaze moving to the dance floor.

“I don’t know that I’ve ever heard you apologize to anyone but Mom,” Rafe said.

“Well, that’s how it goes when you’re rarely wrong.” I tossed some cash on the table to cover the bill. “I’m out of here. I’ve got to be in the city early tomorrow morning for a meeting.”

“Start working on that apology, brother. I think she’s determined to prove her innocence,” Rafe said with a wink.

I rolled my eyes and gave him the finger. “I’ll be waiting with bated breath.”

My phone rang as I walked out of the bar, and it was my pilot, Lars. “Hey, boss,” he said.

“Did you get my message? Just a quick there and back tomorrow.” I walked the short distance to my house. It was large and sat above the river, with what I thought was the best view of the water and the mountains.

“Yes, sir. I’ll meet you at the helicopter pad at seven a.m.”

“See you then.” I ended the call and paused when I walked through downtown and passed the Vintage Rose.

Emilia Taylor’s floral shop. I noted the remnants of egg still on the windows, but it looked like most of it had been scrubbed off the building.

Who the hell had she hired for cleanup? Because they clearly did a half-assed job, and I’d fire their ass if I were her.

I continued walking as I dialed my right-hand man, a guy I counted on immensely.

Brenner Layton and I attended college together, and he was with me when I launched my software company many years ago, and had been every day since.

He did a little bit of everything—the behind-the-scenes shit that I had no patience for.

In fact, there wasn’t anything this dude didn’t do.

“What’s up?” he said when he answered the call.

“Can you look into the cameras on Main Street downtown and see if there’s a camera pointing at the Vintage Rose floral shop? They got vandalized, and I’m just curious if it was kids or if someone’s going to start hitting all the businesses downtown.”

“On it,” he said. “Is this business or personal?”

If it was personal, he’d stay up all night and get it done. I knew that, because I knew him well. “It’s definitely business.”

“All right, I’ll get after it in the morning, and I’ll have something for you tomorrow by end of day.”

“Thanks.” I ended the call.

It was definitely business.

Nothing about Emilia Taylor was personal.