Chapter 5 #2
“I thought…you said you’d be giving me all of the brewery’s resources. Shouldn’t that include its bank account?”
My father shakes his head. “I’d be doing you a disservice if I made it too easy. I wasn’t given any of the advantages you’ve had. I made a man of myself. I want you to do the same.”
Another reminder that he wanted a son—a carbon copy of himself.
I take a deep breath, hold it, and then slowly release it. “All of the staff quit. It’ll take at least until the end of the year to replace them. The new hires will have to turn in their notices. We won’t be able to open until New Year’s Eve, at the earliest.”
“Then I suggest you have one helluva New Year’s party,” he says with a grin.
“I’ve found a brewer, but—”
“You did?” my father asks. He leans forward in anticipation, as if Briar Boot Camp finally became worthy of his attention in its last sorry episodes. “Who?”
“I can’t say yet. He hasn’t resigned from his current job.”
“Someone interesting?”
I think of Liam watching me punch that bag. Liam with a hair tie on his wrist and a history of anger management classes. Liam, who makes the best beer I’ve ever tasted.
“Yes. Someone very interesting.”
“You’ll bring him to our next family dinner,” he says, making it clear it’s not a request.
“But the next one is practically on Christmas.”
I hope that’ll pacify him.
We usually have dinner every Friday evening, except it’s not happening this week because my mother is getting a chemical peel. That’s not the official reason, but it’s the real reason.
The Friday after that is December 22, two days before Christmas Eve.
What are the chances Liam will even be in town?
I know for sure that Hannah will be traveling for the holiday.
For all I know, Liam might be going to New York City with her.
With any luck, he is, because I do not want him attending any family dinners at Sterling Manor.
Yes, my parents named their house. There’s a sign out front and everything. They also serve dinners that require multiple sets of silverware. Something tells me Liam would laugh his ass off if asked to identify a salad fork.
No, he’ll never respect me if he comes to one of those tedious family dinners.
I’ll always be the little rich girl with the silver last name, the silver brewery, and a proverbial silver spoon in her mouth.
Briar Sterling, sitting beneath the wooden recipe for success that will probably fall down and crush her someday.
My father clicks the annoying Christmas song back on, laughing to himself as he bobs his shoulders to the beat.
“I’ll ask him,” I say tightly.
“There’s one more stipulation,” Uncle John says.
My father grins as he shuts the song off again.
“You’ll like this one. Your old friend Melly’s back in town.
She’s one of those influencers. You know, with ‘social media’”—he makes air quotes with his fingers—“and she’s doing some freelance writing on the side for The Asheville Gazette.
She’s agreed to write an article about the changing of the guard at Silver Star as a favor to us. Isn’t that sweet?”
I feel my hands start to tremble, but I straighten my back. “Yes, but there’s no need. I’d rather she didn’t.”
His merry expression takes a hit. “You and Melly went to boarding school together for twelve years. You lived in the same dormitory.”
No need to remind me. I’ll never forget her.
My parents don’t know what she did to me, but something tells me my father would have asked me anyway—as a test of my mettle.
“It’s part of the deal. Take it or leave it, honey,” my father says. “This is the offer. My final offer. If you walk away now, I’ll sell the brewery.”
It’s obvious he views himself as a game show host offering a couple of exciting last-minute twists to entertain the audience.
The next time I’m at his house, I have devious plans for his Wi-Fi router. He’s so technically unsavvy, it might take him weeks to fix it.
“Well?” Uncle John asks.
I clench my teeth and nod. “I’ll sign.”
I loop the letters across the page, feeling every bit like I’m selling my soul.
I go straight from the lawyer’s office to the bar across the street.
Unfortunately, it’s closed. They’re all closed, because it’s not even noon on a Monday.
So I walk a few blocks farther and head into Sunshine Diner, which has an enthusiastic name but is a bit disappointing inside—plastic cushioned booths that probably squeak if you sit on them, a red jukebox with worn buttons, and a droopy Christmas tree with sad plastic ornaments.
I seat myself at one of the small off-white tables, and when a server comes by, I refuse the food menu and order a double whiskey.
“Are you sure?” the middle-aged server says, wrinkling her nose as she adjusts her frilly half apron. “It’s not very good.”
“It’s good enough for me.”
I’m already feeling sorry for myself. Why not give myself another reason for self-pity?
“Suit yourself,” she says with a shake of her head, then steps away from my booth.
I press the bruised area on my knuckles, thinking about how it felt to sink my fists into that heavy bag last night.
Then I pull out my phone and text Hannah, letting her know what happened and also that I might not be able to make it to Tea of Fortune this evening.
If I go, I know they’ll make my problem theirs.
I want to be the one who comes up with a plan for keeping the brewery open. I need to be. I’ll accept help from my friends, but only after I do the legwork. Being a nepo baby twice over is bad enough—I won’t accept another unearned favor. Not unless I have something of my own to offer.
Before I put my phone away, I send one last text:
I’m going to figure out a game plan, and then I’ll get in touch.
“I am a badass bitch,” I mumble under my breath.
My phone buzzes, but I don’t check the screen.
Instead, I pull out the BIG IDEAS notebook I’ve been carrying around since listening to a podcast about the habits of highly successful people.
One of the habits they recommended was to write down all of your “big ideas.” So far, the only idea I’ve jotted down is to offer special dinners in the barrel room. I want to decorate it with soft lighting, flowers, and a plush rug to create a unique romantic experience.
Liam would obviously scoff at the idea, but this is exactly the kind of thing that will bring in more money. Besides, he doesn’t care what other people think, and he said I shouldn’t either.
“I am a badass bitch,” I repeat, my pulse quickening as I open the notebook and flip to the first empty page.
The server returns with my double whiskey, plus an egg and cheese on a biscuit.
“I didn’t order this,” I say, baffled.
“It’s to make up for the bad whiskey,” she insists, her expression making it clear she’s not going to budge. “I’ve got kids your age. I won’t let you drink without eating, doll.”
To my horror, I feel heat burning my eyes.
“Thank you,” I say, glancing at her name tag. “Thank you, Sharon.”
She shocks me by squeezing my shoulder.
“I’ll tell you what I wish someone had told me twenty years ago.” Her blue gaze is fierce. “He’s not worth it. The ones who make you drink never are. A beautiful girl like you could have any man you want. You don’t need to settle for someone who’s gonna jerk you around and play games.”
She walks away before I can tell her it’s not about a man.
Except…it is about a man, and he has been playing games. Ever since I was born, it feels like.
I’ve always lost, but I’m not going to lose this time.
I want this brewery.
I want to prove myself.
I take a sip of the whiskey, cringe, then take another, my mind churning. My father said we’d have to put on an impressive event to keep the brewery open. He played it off as a joke, but it’s factual. If I want to keep Silver Star open, I’ll have to put on one hell of a New Year’s Eve party.
But it has to feel like a big deal. He said Melly would write about the changing of the guard, and that’s exactly what this needs to be: out with the old, and in with the new.
The quickest beers to make are pale ales and wheat beers…
I’ve done enough research over the past year to know it would take about two weeks for Liam to make a beer like that.
On New Year’s Day, we could have our first new beer.
If Liam’s willing to start immediately.
If he’s even willing to take the job, given the new curveballs my father just threw.