Reckless Heart (The Hearts of Sawyers Bend #8)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

AVERY

M y small, cluttered office didn’t feel like the place to have a serious meeting, but I couldn’t think of another option.

I sure as hell wasn’t going to do it around any of my other employees.

Definitely not in the taproom where anyone could walk in.

This time of the morning, we were unlikely to have a crowd, but in a tourist town, you never knew.

There were a lot of reasons people visited Sawyers Bend, and the active foodie and brewery culture in the area was at the top of the list. I’d had more than one group stop in for a breakfast beer.

I was stressing about the location of the meeting, because I didn’t want to think about the reason we were having it in the first place.

I mentally reviewed my arguments, hating that my mouth was bone dry and my heart thudded in my chest. Why should I be nervous?

I’d fired more than a few employees since I’d started my brewery. Why was this one any different?

Because it was. Hiring Matthew Holt was arguably the worst mistake I’d ever made, both as a woman and a business owner. Matthew had to go. It had taken me far too long to reach that conclusion, and my gut told me he wasn’t going to go quietly, hence the dry mouth and pounding heartbeat.

The pen I fiddled with slipped out from between my fingers, rolling across the desk to fall on the floor, and I added sweaty palms to the mix.

“Fuck, Avery, get your shit together,” I told myself. “Everybody messes up. Time to clean up and move on.”

Firing Matthew was the right thing to do. My gut knew it. My head knew it. So why was I dreading saying the words? I couldn’t answer that question, and as knuckles rapped on the doorframe, I knew I was out of time.

I looked up to see Matthew’s familiar, charming smile spread from ear to ear, a shock of his golden blond hair falling in his eyes.

“What’s up, boss?” he said, folding his lanky frame into the chair beside my desk. “I was just about to head out to the Orchard to go over plans for the Halloween party. The new fall brew is going to make a splash. It’s fantastic. We make magic together.”

He winked, and my stomach squeezed, reminding me exactly why I was firing Matthew.

We hadn’t developed the recipe together , unless you counted his standing behind me, second-guessing every choice I made as collaboration, which Matthew did.

As far as I could see, his presence had only served to get in my way until he could take credit once the job was done.

And I was pretty damn sure that if the new recipe wasn’t as amazing as we thought it would be, he would quietly slide into the shadows, leaving me to take the blame. Because that was how Matthew worked.

I’d finally reached the point where I could recognize the formula: step one, compliment me enough to get me excited, so I’d work my ass off; step two, swoop in and take the credit. But this was my brewery. My work. And I was done letting him manipulate me.

“Matthew,” I said, threading my fingers together and resting my hands in my lap. “I appreciate everything you’ve done here at Sawyers Bend Brewing, but I think it’s time we part ways.”

I expected shock and anger. Even rage. I was prepared for it. I didn’t expect Matthew to fold his arms over his chest and lean back in the chair, giving me a gentle, condescending smile.

“Ave, baby, I think you were right to break things off between us. At least for now. I haven’t given up completely.” He winked again. How had I ever found this man charming? “But you can’t deny that I’m a hell of a brewmaster, and I’ve made all the difference around here.”

A spurt of rage burned through my chest, firing hotter as I had to concede and recognize he wasn’t wrong. Not entirely. He was a great brewmaster. I’d learned from him, and Sawyers Bend Brewing was better for his tenure here. But that wasn’t the whole story. Being good at his job wasn’t enough.

I tried for a professional smile. I could guess from his expression that what I managed was more of a stretch of my lips over gritted teeth .

“Matthew, you’re an excellent brewmaster. But at the end of the day, I don’t think our visions match. I think you’d be happier somewhere bigger.”

Matthew shook his head and tried again. “Ave, sweetheart?—”

His use of my nickname grated.

“My name is Avery, and I’m not your sweetheart. Do I need to point out that this is part of the problem?”

He gave a confused shake of his head, and I didn’t know if he was being obstinate or if he just didn’t get it.

I had a feeling it was door number two, which didn’t say a lot about my taste in men.

I was pretty sure he had no idea what a dick he was.

How could he when he had so much to offer?

Brewing expertise and orgasms—what more could a woman want?

How about mutual respect, or letting me run my own goddamn business rather than coming in once I’d gotten some traction and trying to take over the whole place?

I’d had such high hopes when I hired Matthew.

He had the kind of experience I needed to take the next step in the world of craft brewing.

Sawyers Bend Brewing had been barely more than a hobby back then.

I’d been able to cover expenses only because my brother Ford had strong-armed our father into cutting me a break on the rent.

I’d hired my first employee a few months before I took the leap and brought in Matthew as brewmaster.

Even now, we still worked in small batches and served a local market. I created the recipes, worked with artists on the labels, and ran the bottling machine. I had a hand in every aspect of the business. I didn’t care how much expertise Matthew had. He wasn’t taking any of it from me.

He’d been great at first. A team player eager to help me expand my reach.

The change had started slowly. A lingering hand on my shoulder, or one of those flirty winks.

Late nights talking beer and strategy. My hormones had gotten the better of my business sense.

I’d been going through an endless dry spell.

Running my own place on a shoestring budget didn’t leave me much time for socializing, and I had a strict policy about hooking up inside the industry.

The brewers in the area had created a strong community, including places smaller than mine, all the way up to national corporations.

In this world, being a Sawyer wasn’t an asset, not when I was also a woman in a traditionally male-dominated field.

The last thing I needed was a messy romantic relationship to get in my way.

But the first time Matthew kissed me, standing right here in this office, I’d given in to the flash of lust. For a while, things had been great.

We’d run the brewery together. It had felt like a partnership.

Things had been good in bed and great at work.

And then, little by little, Matthew started taking over.

I hadn’t noticed at first. He’d encouraged me to focus on recipe development and let him handle little details and small tasks until eventually it was Matthew representing the brewery while I was in the background, working my ass off and getting none of the credit.

Slowly, the suspicion had grown that Matthew didn’t want me. He wanted my brewery.

On top of that humiliating realization, it had occurred to me that while we worked well together, I didn’t really like being with him that much.

To be fair, the sex was pretty good—a hell of a lot better than no sex at all—but it wasn’t life-changing.

And neither was Matthew. He was an asset to the brewery, but as a person, he was boring.

All he could talk about was himself. What Matthew wanted, what Matthew thought.

He wasn’t interested in being a partner. What he really wanted was an audience.

Two months ago, I ended our personal relationship. He’d taken that so well that it had confirmed that his real interest lay in Sawyers Bend Brewing. Once orgasms were off the table, my vision cleared, and I realized that Matthew’s skills as a brewmaster weren’t enough to put up with the rest.

“You know we make a great team,” Matthew said, bringing me back to the conversation. “I can’t leave you on your own, Avery. This place will fall apart.”

The soothing tone in his voice had my hand itching to fly up and smack the smug expression from his face.

“I was hanging in there before you showed up, Matt. I’ll make it work without you,” I said, managing to keep the fury out of my voice.

“You won’t be able to hire another brewmaster with my experience,” he said, shaking his head. “Not with what you’re willing to pay.”

“Probably not,” I agreed with a hint of a smile. “One of the things I’ve realized over the last year is that I miss being the brewmaster.”

Matthew scoffed.

“Avery, you were barely making it before I showed up.” He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees, his expression so sincere, I knew he believed what he was saying, which only made it that much more infuriating.

“You could be so much more than a small-time brewer. You have so much talent. You have an instinct for the process, for flavor and timing that’s unique and can’t be taught, but you just need guidance. With my help, you can be so much more.”

“I don’t want to be more.” My chest burned as I spoke the lie. I did want to be more. I just didn’t want the more Matthew envisioned.

I’d known this was over the day he let it slip that his long-term plan was to build up Sawyers Bend Brewing to sell to a multi-national.

Hell no. Not happening. Did I want to reach more beer lovers with my craft brews?

Abso-fucking-lutely. Could I create great beers?

I had no doubt. But this was my place. I hadn’t built it up from nothing, so I could sell out and let a conglomerate slap my logo on their beer in exchange for a fat check.