Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
LIAM
Briar wraps one hand around her hip, capturing a few locks of her long golden hair. My gaze follows the motion before I manage to tear it away.
“Aren’t you telling me what to do right now?” she asks.
I hold back a smile. Whether she realizes it or not, she’s giving me what I wanted by challenging me. Showing me she’s capable of holding her own. Which is good, because I meant what I said—
I’m not letting my little sister down again. I’d take this job even if it were for the McDonald’s of breweries.
Which, honestly, might be a step up from Silver Star—the pretentious plaything of Don Sterling.
Yeah, I know a bit about Briar’s father, and what I know doesn’t impress me.
He opened Silver Star knowing jack about beer, and it shows.
Fully organic beer? Please. It’s not like they’re selling vegetables from a farm stand.
Organic beer is a buzzword, a gimmick. A marketing ploy aimed at big city people, who can be tricked into paying more for the same thing.
But if Princess wants to keep her beer organic, we keep it organic.
Hopefully she’ll be more open to some of my other ideas than the corporation in charge of Big Catch has been.
They value consistency over creativity, which has made working there an endless slog of the same, the same, the same.
So much so that it was actually exciting when someone spotted a rat racing through the back room a few weeks ago.
I’m more than ready to catch a curveball. And from the look on Hannah’s face when she spilled the whole story of Silver Star earlier in that closet, she knew it.
Briar shifts her weight from foot to foot like a prizefighter, making me smile. “There, I knew you could get pissed off if you tried. Your old man deserves it. He didn’t stand up for you the way he should have.”
Eyes bright with anger, she replies, “You don’t know anything about my relationship with my father.”
“Nope. But can we both agree that he’s an even bigger asshole than me?”
Surprised laughter gushes out of her, causing her hair to dance around her face, and she lifts one of her hands to her lips in wonder—as if it’s the first time she’s ever laughed.
I remember what that hand felt like in mine, small and soft.
Too small for the gloves I’m carrying, but they’re the closest the gym’s got.
Her laughter has faded, but her face still wears the imprint of it. Her brown eyes are warmer now, and her cheeks are flushed from coming in from the cold. She looks…
Nope, not going there. It doesn’t matter how she looks. She’s going to be my boss, and while learning from past experience isn’t my strong suit, Hannah has made it clear our truce is toast if I touch another of her friends.
There are billions of women in the world, and most of them don’t know Hannah exists. It shouldn’t be a hard rule to follow.
I focus my gaze just beyond Briar, on one of the heavy bags hanging from the ceiling. My finger drops to my wrist, and I snap the elastic band I keep there for refocusing my attention.
“I shouldn’t have laughed,” she says with a soft smile. “He’s…well, I wouldn’t call him an asshole. He’d say one of his strengths is thinking beyond others’ feelings. It’s part of his recipe for success.”
I snort. “Sounds like the kind of thing an asshole would say.”
“You’d know, I suppose, but there’s no arguing with success.”
I shrug, finally looking back at her. “Sure. Seems to me he’s so successful his whole staff quit, and he passed the brewery on to you so it wouldn’t make him look bad.”
“It’s not like that,” she says earnestly, taking a step toward me.
I take a step back on reflex, and her cheeks get pinker.
“I wasn’t going to, like, throw myself at you. I just…” Her blush deepens. “Oh, I’m making a horrible impression.”
“I don’t make a practice of caring what people think of me. Couldn’t recommend it more.”
“I have to care what people think of me,” she says, folding her arms. They form a shelf for her perfectly shaped—
Look away, you idiot.
I focus on the heavy bag behind her again. “No, you really don’t. If someone doesn’t like you, fuck ’em. Why waste any energy on a person who doesn’t like you?”
“I’m going to be the boss,” she says. “I have to care what people think of me.”
I snort again. “You think your father gives two shits what anyone thinks of him? He’s so unlikeable a brewery full of people just quit on him. And no offense, Princess, but if all this energy you’ve put into being likeable were working, they wouldn’t have walked out on you either.”
I let myself focus on her then. Her features have hardened, and her chin is pointed up. Good. If she’s going to succeed in this industry, she needs to learn to look and act tough.
“Maybe I don’t like you,” she says.
“That’s fine. As we’ve established, I don’t give a shit. Hannah asked me to work for you, not become your new best friend.”
Her pretty pink lips fall open.
If Hannah were here, she’d laugh and say, Making friends, Liam?
“Now, are you going to hit something or not?” I ask.
“I have half a mind to hit you.”
I grin at her. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”
She scowls at me and then pads closer. For a second, I think she’s going to round up and punch me in the chest. It would be kind of cute if she tried, and I wouldn’t hold it against her. We could both agree I’d deserved it. Instead, she snatches the gloves from me.
I hold back a smile as she pulls them on.
They’re too big, but she doesn’t complain. I get the sense this woman doesn’t complain about anything, other than me.
“How’s the fit?”
“Terrible,” she says. “Now, what do I do?”
“Turn around.”
Her eyes meet mine, and fear flickers in her gaze for half a second. “You want me to put my back to you?”
She might as well have gripped my throat and squeezed.
“Did someone hurt you?” I ask, my voice harsh. Not because I’m pissed at her, but because I’m filled with the need to destroy whoever did.
“A lot of people have hurt me,” she says, her voice soft but crisp, and the roiling feelings inside me dial up from ten to an impossible thirteen.
“I mean, did someone…take advantage of you?”
“Not in the way you’re probably thinking.”
“But something did happen.” I didn’t mean for it to come out as a growl, but I don’t like the thought. Don’t like it one bit.
“It was in high school,” she says, rubbing her arms as if she’s suddenly chilled. “It’s no big deal.”
“Oh, it’s a big fucking deal.”
She tips her head, looking at me with surprise. “It’s okay, Liam. It happened, like, twelve years ago. Maybe longer.”
I press my lips together in displeasure.
“I talked to this guy at the Christmas party who was still pissed off because a chick he knew in high school ruined his senior-year science project. Twelve years ago. I’m guessing whatever happened to you is worse than that.
You’re allowed to have feelings about it. ”
She nods. “Okay, thank you. I don’t want to talk about it, though.”
Suddenly, it’s all I want to talk about. I want to know what this person did to her, and also where they live. It’s not a logical thought, but there it is.
I pluck the elastic band on my wrist again.
“We won’t,” I say after a long moment. “But, just so you know, I wasn’t going to do anything while your back was turned. That’s not my style. The heavy bag is behind you. That’s where we should start.”
She nods, but before she can turn around, I stride forward to stand beside her. I’m a hell of a lot taller and broader than her, and I don’t want her to feel physically intimidated. Fear is only something I covet from my enemies.
Her hair is still down around her shoulders, her waist. Fucking everywhere. I deny myself the urge to “accidentally” brush my hand against it. While I’d like to know what it feels like, it wouldn’t be a very intelligent research project.
“Do you have something to tie your hair back with?” I ask.
“No. My scrunchie fell out.”
“That’s okay. I’ve got something you can use.” I pull the hair band off my wrist and hand it to her.
“But…” A startled expression fills her eyes. “Oh. No, thank you. I don’t want to use some other woman’s—”
Laughter spurts from me. “Oh shit. You think I stole this off some woman after sleeping with her? Now I’m really wondering what Hannah’s told you, but no. It’s mine. Snapping it against my wrist helps me shift my focus when I need to. Feels better than a rubber band.”
“Oh. Thank you, then,” she says, sounding embarrassed.
I hand the band over, our fingers brushing, and I watch with fascination as she picks up all of that hair and easily twists it into a loose bun at the base of her neck.
My mouth goes dry, and I force myself to look away, wishing like hell I still had the band on my wrist so I could snap it.
I clear my throat, then say, “Are you right-handed?” She nods tightly. “Left foot in front of the right, then bend your knees.”
She takes the position, just as I described it, and glances back at me for guidance. “Lift your other hand up to protect your face.”
“You think the heavy bag is going to hit back?” she asks dryly. This time she’s joking intentionally, not being na?ve the way she was about the bike.
“Might do, if you hit it hard enough.” I pause, studying her stance. “I’m going to touch your arm now, Briar. Is that okay?”
She turns her head, her gaze fiery. “Don’t start treating me like I’m made of glass. If you do, then I know I’m in trouble.”
I nod in agreement and adjust her arm, careful not to let my hands linger.
“Okay, one last step…”
I pull out my cell phone.
Her eyes round when she notices what I’m doing. “Let me guess, you’re going to take a video of this so you can show Hannah and make fun of me later.”
“Nope,” I say, “but that’s not a half-bad idea.” Then I play “Eye of the Tiger” on my phone.
Her laughter sounds delighted this time—and I’d bet everything I own that this particular sound has never filled this particular space before.