10. Connor
10
CONNOR
I walk over to my window and look out at the sky. It’s empty of clouds, stunningly blue, almost the same color as her eyes.
“She here yet?” Dad asks, walking into my office. Daisy’s here. I sent her the jet, had confirmation that she’s on it, and I’ve been location tracking it on my cell for the last few hours, so I know it landed ten minutes ago.
“Should be here any minute,” I tell him, running my hand down my beard, walking back to my desk and picking up my cell, not looking at anything really because my mind is on high alert.
“Why are you nervous?” Dad asks, looking at me through narrowed eyes.
“I’m not nervous,” I say with a huff, then throw my cell back on my desk and walk over to the mini whiskey bar in my office. It’s before noon; otherwise, I would take a shot.
“You’re rubbing your beard. It’s your tell.”
I look at him like he has gone mad.
“Pfft. It’s not my tell. Is your old age making you think crazy thoughts, old man?” I ask him, before I walk back over to the window and look out again. He’s right, though. I feel fidgety, nerves cycling through my body, and I have no idea why. Actually, I do, and it has everything to do with the curvaceous redhead who’s about to walk into my distillery.
“I might be old, but I know my son, and at the moment, you’re almost jumping out of your skin.”
“I’m just vibrating at a high frequency, that's all.” I shrug, like it’s no big deal. It’s something I’ve learned over the past few days of my research. I downloaded some books on wellness and chakras and things I still don’t understand entirely, but I wanted to have some knowledge for when Daisy arrives, so she doesn’t think I’m totally inept.
“What the hell does that mean?” he grumbles, frowning at me.
“Nothing.” I wave off his question. “I just have a lot on my plate.” Even though that’s true, I thrive on the demands the distillery brings. I’ve been working here my entire life. It’s the baby my father started, and now the child I’ll develop and grow. Dad’s starting to step back, preferring to spend more time with Victoria and her goats, and that works well for me, because I always wanted to be at the helm.
“Maybe you need another massage. She’ll be here soon. Victoria is dying to try it out,” he says, and my jaw tics.
Another massage? I imagine Daisy’s hands on my body and swallow roughly. Or should I say, near my body? I huff a laugh, just thinking about it all. She was almost too scared to come near me during my treatment. Not to mention, last time we saw each other, we were nearly at each other's throats. My dad looks at me like I have grown a second head. My inner thoughts are probably playing out in my features. Maybe I’ve gone completely mad.
“We’re here!” I hear Victoria yell out from the front doors, and I jump and pace to my desk.
“Well, shit,” I hear him mumble. “You better get yourself under control before she takes one look at how eager you are and walks straight back out.” He shakes his head at me, and I take a breath. I have no idea what the hell is wrong with me. I’m acting like some kid eager to get his rocks off. Not Connor fucking Whiteman.
“Boys?” Victoria yells again.
“In here,” Dad calls out as he takes a seat in an armchair in my office, with an eye on both me and the door.
“Oh, here you are. Boys, this is Daisy. Daisy, you have already met Connor, and this is his father, Tanner. As outlined in the brief we sent, Tanner and Connor own the distillery and are both looking forward to the expansion,” Victoria explains, and I stand, feet rooted to the floor, eyes on her as she walks through my office door.
She almost sparkles as the sun from my window coats her in amber. Her smile is wide, looking totally comfortable, in control, and so fucking beautiful. I swallow down my admiration, straightening my stance, pulling my shoulders back, standing tall, and I take a breath in to try to appear like my professional self. Not the ogling asshole I actually am when it comes to her.
“Nice to meet you,” she says, looking at Dad with a big smile and shaking his hand. I can’t breathe again. She looks better than the last couple of times I saw her. To be fair, both times, she was in some type of uniform, both at Sunshine and then also at the stadium.
This time, her hair is loose, long and shiny, her face glowing. She’s wearing tailored black pants and a black top, which looks both corporate and sexy as hell. Her belt cinches her in at the waist, highlighting her hourglass shape, and I need to swallow my groan that threatens to escape because deep curves and a body to grab on to have always been my weakness.
“Daisy.” I say her name in greeting, and I watch as her gaze falls to me and those bright blues that I’ve been dreaming about meet mine. I physically feel my chest expanding. I could barely sleep last night in anticipation of seeing her again. I’m not ashamed to admit that I thought about fisting her vibrant red hair when I gripped my cock in the shower this morning, coming harder than I have in a long while.
“Connor,” she says simply, our words not laced with malice, but far from friendly. It seems we might still be at odds with each other. I notice Dad and Victoria looking between us, no doubt wondering what’s going on, so I continue.
“How was the flight?” I ask, my body suddenly wanting to get closer. I step toward her, trying to remain professional and taming the small grin that pulls at the sides of my mouth. Flying private isn’t something everyone experiences in life, and while we do it often, because it’s more efficient and easier, I expect this is Daisy's first time.
“Well, it was my first time on a private jet, and it was pretty fabulous,” she says, and her genuine honesty is refreshing. Anyone else would be acting like it’s a simple thing and no big deal, that they themselves travel private all the time, or some have the opposite response; they have their guard up, almost acting like we’re showing off by having our plane transport them. To her, it just is, and I hear my dad’s chest rumble in what I think is a small laugh. When I look at him, his eyes are dancing as he glances between me and Daisy and back again. Shit, she even has my old man under her spell.
“Well, Tanner and I need to get to another appointment, so Connor will show you to your accommodations, where you can freshen up and unpack. Your bags are already there, and then we have dinner with the four of us at our bar in town tonight before we hit the ground running tomorrow,” Victoria explains, and I watch Daisy nod, her tense swallow the only hint I get of her slight nervousness. I raise my eyebrows at Victoria’s sudden change of plans. She was meant to show Daisy around and get her settled. I have meetings and appointments, but Victoria gives me a sly grin as she steps toward the door.
“Nice to meet you, Daisy,” Dad says, giving her nod before looking at me with narrowed eyes, then he follows Victoria out the door to go who knows where.
“Nice to meet you both. See you later at dinner,” Daisy says, her manners appreciated as we watch them go, and then it’s just the two of us.
“So you’re friendly to them and not me?” I ask her, and her head whips around to look at me.
“Well, so far, they haven’t been jerks and insulted me or my mother’s business, so I’m taking them at face value,” she fires back, and I can’t help the smirk that comes to my face.
“First day on the job, and you’re calling your boss a jerk? Very professional.” I lift an eyebrow.
“Not boss. I’m an independent contractor hired by the distillery to do a job, for a set fee, for a set time period,” she states, full of confidence.
“My distillery, my rules, Daisy.” As I step closer to her, she squares her shoulders. She grins then, like I humor her, and I’ve never wanted to kiss a woman more than I do right now.
“I’m more than happy to turn around and walk straight back out that door, Connor. You need me, remember?” Stepping toward me slowly, her hands find her hips, and my jaw clenches at her closeness.
“And go where? Back to Sunshine, that’s falling apart around you?” It's a low blow, and she shakes her head, unamused.
“Sometimes, you find diamonds in the rough,” she says, and no truer words have ever been spoken. “Besides, I’m sure your girlfriend would love to have you back in the city. She’s such a super friendly woman.” The sarcasm is clear as day.
“Not girlfriend. Not friend. Not even an acquaintance,” I tell her, my eyes not leaving hers for a second. “Simply a favor for a friend.”
She watches me carefully, no doubt to see if I’m being honest.
We stand in front of each other, both with fire in our eyes. I’ve never spoken to a staff member like this. I never explain myself to anyone. Hell, aside from Sawyer, I’ve never spoken to a contractor or supplier like this either. But this woman gets so far under my skin, I can barely concentrate.
“I have meetings, so let me show you around so I can get back to it,” I say, acting like she’s an inconvenience, when all I want to do is talk with her all day. Swiping my cell from my desk, I stride out of my office, with Daisy hot on my heels.
“This is our main corporate office. We have boardrooms, staff spaces, and all the administration for the distillery and our distribution here. Your office is down the hall.”
She looks around, taking in the space. My steps are quick, as I have things to do, important people to speak with, so giving Little Miss Sassy Pants a tour is the last thing I should be doing. My strides are long, and I hear her almost running in her heels to keep up. I feel like an asshole, but this is how we work best, I’m starting to discover.
“Through here…” I say, opening a large timber door that leads to the main distillery. “This is where the magic happens.” Pride fills me every time I enter this space. I like to think I’m smart and well rounded. I had good grades throughout college, and I’ve done well as the CFO of Whiteman’s, but I’ve never been prouder of the business. Our growth plans, both locally and internationally, are ambitious, but I plan to meet every last one of them.
As we walk through, I can’t help but notice her looking wide-eyed and taking it all in. She doesn’t have her phone out taking selfies, doesn’t look bored, and she eyes over everything with interest. As she looks around, I take the opportunity to drink her in. Her lips are painted soft pink, and that Cupid’s bow teases me a little. With her short stature, I’m almost a giant next to her. Then there’s her aroma. It smells vibrant, intoxicating, and I want to drown in it. When she looks back at me, I blink, having been caught staring at her, and I turn looking around the space myself, but not before I see her smile.
“So this is where you actually distill the whiskey?” she asks, looking back around at all our equipment.
“It is. Dad is our main distiller. We produce a few different varieties and products, then through here are our aging rooms.” I take her down another hallway, and I see her mouth agape as she glances around at room after room of barrels.
Her brows pinch. “You have a lot of stock?”
“We do small batches, mostly, but a lot of them. It keeps things exclusive. We want to ensure that not everyone can get their hands on a bottle of Whiteman’s.”
“You can sell it for a higher price that way too, I assume?” she asks, and I raise my eyebrows, impressed.
“Yes, we can command higher prices. But it also helps us maintain quality.”
“Do you store any barrels off-site?”
I almost hum in approval. I love the way her mind works. Who would have thought that this curvaceous hippie would have the business mind of a shark.
“We have a variety of storage facilities, both here on-site and in other places around the country.” I nod to her, not giving too much away.
“Minimizing risk? Shortening lead times and distribution channels?” she asks quickly, and I nod once again, appreciating her smart intellect and quick thoughts. Before I can get caught staring at her again, I push on.
“We have an on-site restaurant through here,” I tell her, taking her through another door, where she can see the main space. “It’s empty for the moment. Our chefs are busy preparing for the night of bookings we have… And then we have a large outdoor area. We do tastings, both inside and out, and run tours of the production rooms when we’re not distilling.” I open the large French doors and walk outside.
“It’s beautiful.” She looks around, taking it all in. “These gardens are amazing.” Walking ahead of me, she moves into the distillery gardens that I can see from my office. The sun hits her hair, the red even more vibrant in the sunlight.
“My grandparents built this. The roses have been here for years. Generations, really.”
She bends over and smells them, closing her eyes and taking in the scent.
“What do you do with all this space?” she asks as she looks over the vast amount of green lawn, the various pockets of gardens, and the small hidden-away floral oases we have.
“It’s just gardens.”
I can see her thinking, and I’m already wanting to know what’s happening inside that head of hers.
“They smell amazing. Do you have any other gardens?” Daisy asks, looking around. Our land is vast, and there’s a lot of room here.
“We have a large food garden that our chefs utilize. They have all sorts of vegetables, fruits, and herbs—”
“Herbs?” she asks, seemingly excited. “Can I take a look?”
“Sure. It’s just over here.” Stepping to the side, behind the kitchen, we walk through a little garden gate. I haven’t been back here for a while, and it’s grown in size from the last time I was here.
“Wow,” Daisy says as she tentatively walks through the garden. “You have lemongrass, chamomile, ginger…”
I watch her inquisitively. She’s in her element now, talking about herbs and plants, and I start to see her passion come through.
“We also have our own beehives for our own honey.”
She looks up at me and smiles wide, like I hung the moon, and I feel my chest push out slightly.
“Your own honey?” Her eyes sparkle in delight.
“Well, whiskey and honey do go well together,” I tell her, my voice sounding a little rough, and I swallow.
“That they do.” Again, she’s seemingly deep in thought as she walks back toward me.
“Are you into whiskey?” I ask her. I have no idea if she even drinks. Probably something I should have asked before I hired her, and now that I think about it, I’m dying to see my whiskey on her lips. Fuck, the vision is already making me ache for it.
“I don't really drink,” she admits, and I stand still, my fingers twitching to touch her.
“Like ever?” I ask, frowning.
“Well, yes, I have before, on the odd occasion, but generally, no, I don’t. I try to limit the amount of toxins in my environment, although…” With a pause, she looks at me. “It appears I have come to the wrong place for all that.” Her subtle dig at me is almost humorous. I add funny to her list of attributes that’s growing by the minute.
“Now you’re calling me toxic. Name-calling your new boss, Daisy. Tsk , tsk ,” I tease.
“Not boss,” she says, shaking her head, and I smirk.
“If not your boss, what am I?” I gloat, and she grins.
“Oh, so many things…”
I shake my head, the two of us clearly pushing each other, yet having fun with it now.
“How long does a good whiskey age?” she asks, coming to stop not far from me, but also too far away. I try to tame my satisfied smile. This is what I like about her. She asks good questions. She’s smart as well as sexy.
“We have a variety of ages. My favorite is our seventeen-year-old batch,” I tell her honestly.
“Why is it your favorite?”
“It was the first batch I made with Dad. Did it on my eighteenth birthday.” The memory of that time makes me smile.
Her grin widens. “It sounds like it’s special, then.”
“Yeah, well, it also makes me feel old.” I laugh, knowing that at thirty-five, I’m at least a decade older than her. “Let me show you the spa space.”
“Great,” she says as we walk in comfortable silence through the gardens to the other side of the distillery.
“So the fit-out is almost complete,” I tell her as we walk inside. The mood here is different. It’s all deep-brown woods from our recycled barrels, cream-colored stone, very earthy and raw, yet has curves that make it look soft and inviting. Our builder, Griffin, did a fantastic job, and now Victoria has added some final touches to it, but for the most part, it’s a blank canvas, ready for Daisy and Victoria to add what they need to it.
“Wow, another amazing space.” Looking around, she reaches out and touches the finishes.
“A little more aesthetically pleasing than the Sunshine Space Wellness Clinic, I think we can both agree,” I murmur, not able to help myself. She throws me a look over her shoulder, her eyes narrowing, but remains quiet as her lips thin. I miss having her volley back an insult. But there’s no denying it. The Whiteman Distillery Spa is top-of-the-line luxury.
“We have three rooms, plus restrooms and showers. An office and the front reception space. Then the back door…” I say, pacing ahead down the corridor to a door at the end. As I step outside, Daisy follows.
“This path takes you directly to our natural mineral springs,” I tell her, pointing to the raw rock pavers that make a path through the back of the distillery and through a gate at the fence into Marie’s Place next door, where the mineral springs are located.
“Mineral springs?” she confirms with a gasp, and I nod.
“Thermal springs, lots of minerals or whatnot. Very good for the body.” I don’t really know the exact benefits, and I smile, seeing the surprise on her face.
“Okay, that's amazing…” she says, a little gobsmacked, and I can see her brain moving a million miles an hour, so I decide to give her a reprieve.
“Let me show you to your place. I have a few meetings to get to, and you probably want to unpack and have some time before dinner.”
She follows me back inside, and we walk through the garden to where Dad’s old house sits right next to mine.
“I think staff will be the biggest issue. I’m assuming that Whispers doesn’t have a lot of options in regard to experienced and trained therapists?” she mentions as we walk.
“No, not really. We have Williamstown, though, a bigger town an hour or so away. I think we might find some good people there,” I tell her, although I don’t really know.
“Okay… do you have an option for staff quarters?”
I raise my eyebrows for a second time this afternoon.
“We have options…” I nod, thinking of both Dad’s old place here, where she’s staying and Marie’s Place next door that we could utilize. “What are you thinking?” I ask her as we reach the front porch.
“It might be worth considering bringing in regular experts from the city for a week or two at a time,” she says, and I barely have time to think about it before I’m nodding. Hudson is doing something similar at the hospital, with medical professionals, something that both Dad and I thought was a brilliant idea.
“Great idea,” I say, liking that option. We’d not only get the expertise, but potentially world-class people right here in Whispers, making it a spa destination of choice for many.
“It’s just a thought.” She shrugs. “I know you have enough patrons coming for the whiskey, but it certainly couldn’t hurt to have world-class therapists on a fly-in fly-out basis.”
“I like anything exclusive. I like having things that no one else has. Having a rotating visitation schedule of people not only from the city, but potentially worldwide would really set us apart. People come for the whiskey but stay for the wellness.” My mind now races with possibilities, the marketing slogan sounding solid.
“I’ll work on it. I have some contacts I can call.” She nods, and I grin. I knew she would be amazing. She’s thinking big, and I like it.
“Well, here’s your place.” Opening the door, the two of us step inside. Our cleaning people got it ready for her, and it looks sparkling and refreshed.
“Wow, this is stunning,” she says, looking at the large open fire, the huge chandelier on the ceiling, and the vast amount of space.
“This is Dad’s old place. I’m next door,” I tell her, pointing to my place, which you can see through the window. “Your bags are here. Choose whatever bedroom you want. Bathrooms have towels and full amenities, and the fridge should be stocked. Victoria has left a welcome pack here for you, and all of our numbers are listed on the paperwork.” Glancing around, I make sure everything is perfect for her.
“Great. Thank you,” she says, smiling. And this smile, it’s sweeter than most of the others she’s given me. It warms me up inside.
“I need to get back to work, but I’ll come and get you around six to take us to the bar for dinner,” I add, even though I would rather stay and talk with her than go to my next meeting, which is about issues with our barley supply, something we continually have so many issues with. It’s immensely frustrating.
“Sure, um, what’s the dress code?”
I can’t help but let my eyes wander over her quickly before they snap back to meet hers, and I see a slight pink coloring her cheeks.
I clear my throat. “Anything you want to wear will be just fine.” Then I quickly turn and walk out the door. I pace straight down the footpath, and my steps don’t falter as I stride to my office. I have a million things to do before I leave for dinner, and after spending time showing her around, I have even less time to do them.
But she’s here. In my distillery. And the distillery has never looked so good.