Pour Decisions (Love on the Vine #2)

1. Owen

I loved a nice set of tits as much as the next guy, but not when they repeatedly showed up on my security cameras.

Honestly, I’d seen enough nipples tonight to last a lifetime.

Scrubbing a hand over my face, my scruff scraping against my palm, I wondered how I’d ended up here. I was a night club owner, yes, but this wasn’t a fucking strip club.

Most nights weren’t like this. Generally, club goers treated my place with respect. Patrons reveled in the music and the drinks and the company. I knew tonight was out of the ordinary but…my god. What the fuck was going on? Why weren’t these women deterred by the possibility of being arrested for public nudity? And didn’t they realize how much trouble I could get in for these stunts? I was, admittedly, rich, but that didn’t mean I wanted to be paying stupid fines out the ass for women who couldn’t control themselves.

That two-for-one tequila shots special was proving to be an unwise decision. Surprisingly—and thankfully—the men were keeping their hands to themselves, and I hadn’t yet witnessed any wayward cameras capturing footage of the half-naked women.

I was holed up in my office, dutifully pretending to work while really I kept an eye on things from behind the safety of a locked door. Even though I preferred to be alone, I liked being alone here , where if I was gripped by the sudden need for company, I could go downstairs and camp out behind the bar, slinging drinks and grinning for the masses that jockeyed for my attention.

But being on the floor didn’t hold any appeal for me tonight.

Tonight, all I wanted to do was plan my next business move.

When I’d moved to Traverse City six years ago, I’d been running. Running away from the spotlight that followed me everywhere I went in Detroit. Running from the fans who stopped me on the street to say they were so sorry about my retirement—as if they were the ones who had to live that fucking nightmare. Running from the reminders of the career I’d had to give up.

Football had been my life…until it wasn’t. Until one bad hit had dislocated my shoulder, torn my rotator cuff, and taken it away from me forever. I’d been in my prime, and it had all ended in the blink of an eye.

And I knew it was only football. I was still alive, healthy, and had all of my limbs. But losing football, for me, was like losing a limb. I’d spent over twenty years honing my craft, becoming the best I could be in order to play at an elite level. I was only thirty when I’d gotten injured—an injury, mind you, that shouldn’t have taken me out. After the surgery to repair my shoulder, it healed fine. But fine wasn’t good enough to get me back to QB1. Hell, after I finished rehab, I could barely throw for twenty yards. I didn’t have the long ball in me anymore, and I was faced with two choices: leave the game with dignity, on my own terms, or shuffle around the league playing backup to young up and comers until I was forced out.

It was obvious which door I chose.

I saw myself out with my legacy intact, and the rest was history.

God, I missed it.

Regardless, I’d settled into my new life nicely, despite the fact that it had greeted me several years earlier than I’d planned. I bought this place in cash, sight unseen. With the help of a local contracting firm highly recommended by an athlete friend from Detroit, I gutted and renovated the club on the main level, my offices on the second floor, and the apartments on the third. Back then, there hadn’t even been walls up there. For several months, I’d slept on an air mattress in the drafty, cavernous space. Naming it after myself had definitely been a choice, but I liked to think that was what made Lawless such a success. In the five years since I’d opened the doors, the club had become a Traverse City staple.

Since then, I’d expanded into a restaurant—Birdie’s, which I named after my mom—and a sports bar that was welcoming for all ages.

Now, I was ready to move onto my passion project: a distillery.

Well, it was less my passion and more a torch I carried for my dad. He’d always planned to open a distillery on our family ranch back in Idaho, expanding the Lawless brand beyond horses and cattle into spirits. It was something we’d dreamed about together, an endeavor we swore we’d take on once my playing career was over .

But that wasn’t an option for Dad anymore, owing to the fact that he was no longer among the living, so it was up to me to see it through.

I knew exactly which spirits I wanted to distill and the names I’d give each of them. I knew my timeline and already had the contractor lined up to start work as soon as possible. And I knew where I wanted to build, but that last one was proving to be a bit of a challenge—mostly because I hated asking people for anything.

But this time, I was going to have to bite the bullet.

Normally, I’d call my best friend and ask him to be the go-between for me. Amara was, after all, his girlfriend. Unfortunately, Cal was off in the wilds of the Upper Peninsula, service-less on some self-exploratory mission before he headed to Door County to see his parents. Not to mention, the text he’d sent me before he left told me things between him and Amara were on shaky ground.

Cal: I got fired, and I’m pretty sure Amara and I are done. I’m headed to the UP and then to Wisconsin for a few weeks, so I’ll be out of service the next couple days. I want to chat when I get back about that job you offered me a few months ago.

Instantly, my curiosity was piqued. Amara was—or had been—his boss, so shit had to have hit the fan in a major way. But that wasn’t my problem.

Me: You have any free time this afternoon? I’d like to meet with you.

Amara Delatou: If this is about Cal…

Me: It’s not, I promise. I have a business proposition for you.

Amara Delatou: Business I can do. I’m free whenever.

Me: Can I come up now?

Amara Delatou: Sure. I’m at the winery.

Me: Great. See you in 20.

Were my palms sweaty because I was about to go to Amara, hat in hand, and ask her to do me a solid? Or was it because I knew what the woman looked like naked?

Yeah, we were going with the first one.

I settled my ball cap on my head, stuffed my feet into my scuffed up Ariats, and headed out the door.

My house was on the northeast side of Traverse City, right on the shores of Boardman Lake, and about a fifteen minute drive from the winery. In the opposite direction, if I were to head into the city proper, I could reach any of my businesses in the same amount of time.

That’s why the location for the distillery was so important. Land around here was a premium, especially on the northern half of Old Mission, where I desperately wanted to build. Naturally, the perfect piece of land was owned by Delatou, Inc., and I needed Amara to agree to sell it.

I couldn’t explain it, but I had this inkling that building this distillery and getting the business up and running would change my life. That it would fill the hole in my heart, and was the piece my life had been missing.

On the drive up, I rolled the windows down in my truck, content to let the fresh air soothe my anxiety. A lot was riding on this meeting, and I could only hope Amara was in a good mood. I still had no clue what I’d be walking into in terms of her relationship status, and I hoped whatever issues she had with Cal at the moment didn’t make me the enemy by proxy.

I’d been in the Delatou, Inc. offices at Chateau Delatou enough times to easily navigate my way to Amara’s, so I parked in the employee lot and made my way in.

Not bothering to do more than wave and smile at the people I passed, I made a beeline down the long hall to Amara’s door, knocking softly before moving inside. Amara greeted me with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, and instantly my nerves evaporated.

We’d had a brief fling the summer I opened Lawless, but it ended as easily as it began. I moved onto my next business venture, Amara went to Europe, and we remained good friends. We just didn’t work as lovers. I was happy that my best friend and Amara had found each other .

“It’s good to see you, kid,” I said as I sat down on her cushy leather couch. She remained standing nearby, and I bit back a grin as her eyes narrowed.

“I hate when you call me that.”

“I know you do,” I said, letting the smile free. “Why do you think I do it?”

“You’re not that old, you know.”

I snorted. “Please. I’m pushing forty.”

And I felt it every day. Years of football compounded by natural aches and pains that came with aging meant I frequently woke up with creaky knees and tight lower-back muscles.

“Thirty-seven is not forty,” Amara said with an eye roll. “And let’s be real, you look damn good for your age.”

I quirked a brow, lips twisting into a smirk. “You hitting on me?”

Amara grinned as she approached the drink cart. “Just stating a fact.”

It was too easy to fall back into this banter with her, and I had to get my shit together, to remind myself of the reason for this meeting. I wasn’t here to flirt with my best friend’s girl, innocent as it was.

“You want a drink?” she asked, gesturing to the spread of bottles.

“Bourbon,” I said, knowing a couple fingers wouldn’t hurt. “Whatever you’ve got.”

Amara selected the bottle of Four Roses—my personal favorite, at least until my own was in production—and poured some into a tumbler, filling a glass of water for herself.

I raised a brow. The Amara I knew never turned down a cocktail. “You’re not drinking?”

“I can’t,” she said as she handed me my drink then sank down on the couch across from me.

My eyes narrowed. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” she said quickly, then deliberately settled a hand on her lower abdomen. “Great, actually.”

I damn near spit my drink out. She couldn’t possibly mean…

“Ho-ly shit. You’re not…” I trailed off, hoping I was wrong.

“Just over two months,” she confirmed.

I rolled my lips between my teeth, carefully considering my next words. I knew the chances of the father being anyone but my best friend were slim, but still I asked, “Cal?”

Amara simply nodded, and hurt flashed across her face at the mention of his name. “I’m assuming you’ve talked to him,” she said.

“Yeah,” I snorted, “but he didn’t tell me about this.”

I kicked one of my Ariats up onto my opposite knee and resisted the urge to squirm. God, this was bad. Obviously, I had no idea how Cal felt, but he was going to be a father whether he liked it or not. And finding this out on the heels of being fired? What a fucking mess.

“How is he?” Amara asked quietly, and I softened.

“Off in the wilderness somewhere,” I said, waving a hand. “He was heading to visit his parents, but he went through the U.P., taking a few days to unplug.”

“That’s good,” she said absently. “He needs that.”

“After you fired him and ripped his heart out? Yeah, I’d say so.”

Because honestly, what the fuck? Talk about kicking a man while he was down. And what the fuck had happened that she fired him knowing she was pregnant with their child? I found myself suddenly irritated at the woman across from me.

“So he told you he got fired, but not that he got me pregnant?”

“We didn’t exactly talk,” I explained. “He sent me a text saying he got fired, that y’all were done, and he was going off the grid for a few days so I wouldn’t be able to reach him if I needed to. And that he wanted to talk about the job I’d offered him a few months ago when he got back to town.”

Amara perked up at that, clearly surprised. “What job?”

“I want him to manage my finances,” I told her, dropping my foot back to the floor and leaning forward, resting my elbows on my knees. I didn’t miss the way her gaze strayed to the tattoo on my left arm—my last name. I knew how much she’d loved that ink once upon a time.

“He’d be perfect for that,” she said, seemingly reluctant to tear her gaze from my arm.

“I know,” I said. “That’s why I want him.”

“Well, he’s suddenly unemployed, so I think it’ll be pretty easy to convince him.”

I reclined on the couch again, the leather creaking with my movements, and folded my arms over my chest as I narrowed my eyes at her.

“There’s no chance of him getting his job back?” I asked.

Honestly, I was thrilled by this new development. I’d been bugging Cal for months to leave the winery and come work with me, and it seemed like I was finally getting my wish. The circumstances were a little fucked up, but I’d take what I could get .

With a sigh, Amara simply shook her head, and I nodded in response.

“I’m not going to ask what happened,” I said, “because quite frankly, it’s not my business. I did, however, actually come here to discuss my business.”

I’d had enough of the feelings talk. Now it was time to get down to the real reason for my visit.

“Lay it on me,” Amara said after taking a sip of her water.

“I want to buy a piece of Delatou land.”

Amara’s brows rose toward her hairline. Clearly, that wasn’t what she’d been expecting from me, and I succinctly launched into my whole business plan. I could tell she was impressed, and a little seedling of pride rooted and began to sprout in my chest.

“I’d also love to offer you a partnership opportunity,” I said once I’d finished my spiel. “What you’re doing here is impressive, and I’d love to work with you on this. Hell, maybe one day we could even branch out into spirit-based cocktails.”

It was clear she liked the sound of that from the small smile on her face, and I could practically see the wheels spinning in her mind. Even so, when her face once again settled, I could tell she was going to say no. Call it that sixth sense for reading people I’d picked up as a football player, but Amara was not on board with a partnership. While I wanted to work with her—truthfully, I wasn’t doing this thing without a partner—all I really needed from her was a deed to the land. As long as she could come through for me on that, I could find someone else.

Then, a little gleam appeared in Amara’s eyes, and I mentally braced myself.

“Delia. ”

“Your sister?” I asked, confused. “What about her?”

“She’s been begging me for a project for ages,” Amara said, face brightening. “I think this would be perfect for her. She’s a marketing whiz and has been looking for a way to become more involved in the family business. Right now, she manages our social media, but I can tell she’s getting restless. This isn’t quite what she had in mind, I’m sure, but I think you two would work well together.”

“No.”

It came out harsher than I intended, but there was no fucking way I was working with Delia Delatou.

Amara raised a brow. “No?”

“She’s too…young,” I said, wincing at the weak excuse. “And don’t think I forgot about the shit she pulled at my cabin over Memorial Day.”

I didn’t fuck with people who fucked with other people for sport. In my eyes, Delia Delatou was a loose cannon, and I wasn’t getting within fifty yards of that shit.

“She’s only a year younger than me,” Amara reminded me. “And that’s all water under the bridge.”

I snorted. It may be water under the bridge between sisters, but I couldn’t forget the way Delia had dared Amara to make out with me , knowing our history, while my best friend and the man who was ass over boots for her sat right next to me. The whole thing left a sour taste in my mouth.

“I’m not doing it,” I said firmly. “I’ll find someone else.”

Maybe Cal would want to be my business partner. Just go full send on working together.

“Just meet with her,” Amara said. “Please. ”

“No.”

“I’ll sell you the land if you do.”

“Are you…bribing me?”

The fucking balls on this woman.

“No,” she said, though we both knew she was. “I’m making you an offer. Meet with Delia, and I’ll sell you the land. I’m assuming you’ve got your eye on a particular parcel.”

With a sigh, I shifted and withdrew the piece of paper from my back pocket, tossing it onto the table between us. Amara picked it up and unfolded it, studying the copy of a plat map of the other end of the peninsula, where I’d outlined the land I wanted in red. It was the perfect spot. High on a bluff but flat enough to construct the distillery and a parking lot. It’d offer a two hundred and seventy degree view of the water, and wasn’t too far off the main road.

“How much?”

“I’ll have to ask my dad and get back to you.”

“See that you do,” I said, rising to my feet.

“Get that meeting on the books with Delia and I will,” she shot back.

“You drive a hard bargain, Delatou.”

“I’m more than just a pretty face.”

“Don’t I know it,” I murmured as I dropped a kiss on her cheek. When I straightened, I added, “For what it’s worth, kid, I’d give Cal a chance to explain. When he talked to me about you, he was completely spun out, and that was months ago.”

Amara perked up, clearly surprised. “He talked to you about me?”

I gave her a sad smile. I wasn’t playing the go-between here. “ Just talk to him, Mar.”

And then I was gone, pausing only briefly at Amara’s assistant’s desk to get contact information for Delia. As she handed it over, I was gripped by the sense that she was passing along my death sentence.