3. Chapter 2
Chapter 2
Keaton
“Congratulations, you’re once again gracing the front page of every tabloid in the country.” Regina Grady slapped a stack of glossy magazines onto her mahogany desk and leaned back in her chair, the blue eyes I had inherited from her bleeding contempt. Her dark brown bob and the cream Armani jumpsuit she sported made her look like forty rather than sixty. That, and innumerable nips and tucks.
“I look good, too.” I stood on the other side of her desk, feet planted on the silk carpet, shoulders squared, pretending the lofty view didn’t turn my stomach. Every other person would’ve been glued to the floor-to-ceiling windows, drinking in the sight of Glam City’s skyscrapers, the ocean, and the bustling streets fourteen floors below.
Not me. Heights scared the crap out of me. That’s why my office was located on the first floor.
“Oh, joke all you want, Keaton.” Regina turned back to her computer. “Now that Kimball will become CEO, you can do whatever you want.”
I stared at her. “What’re you talking about?” My sister might’ve had a degree in computer science and could hack into the FBI database, but she didn’t know squat about leading a company.
“You don’t seem to care about Lincoln Grady Distillery, so it’s in better hands with her. We can’t just throw away centuries of traditional whiskey making because you drop your pants every opportunity you get.” She typed away, not looking up at me. I hated when she did that. Not facing someone when you talked to them was disrespectful.
That’s exactly what she wanted. She wanted me to know that she was at the top of the food chain.
That’s rich coming from you. I almost said it out loud. She was the main reason why I was so messed up. Why I couldn’t do serious relationships.
“Don’t care? I’ve worked day and night to get us where we are!” My voice had risen and taken on a sharpness it hardly ever did. The woman across from me was one of the few people who could get me riled.
Regina let out an affected laugh. “Oh, come on, son . These pictures right here”—she tapped at the tabloids—“are proof that you’re willing to put off our best client for a little fun.” Finally, she looked at me. “Stuart dissolved the contract.”
Screw me. How had things gotten so out of hand?
I took a deep breath. “I brought Charlotte home because she was drunk, not to—”
“Spare me.”
Of course she wouldn’t believe me. She never did. “I’ll fix this.”
“Oh no, you leave Stuart alone. I’ll fix it.” Regina’s eyes grew even colder. “Your father and I had a chat about whether you’re the right candidate for the role of CEO, and more so, the owner.”
“You know I am,” I growled.
“Yes, I really thought you were. But what you did last night changed my mind.”
I clenched my jaw so hard my ears rang. I’d been waiting for the day I could take over Lincoln Grady Distillery since I was a kid. I was this close, now the Dragon threw me a curveball?
“Your father and I decided to give you one last chance.” Regina folded her hands on her desk.
I lifted my chin in anticipation. “Name it.”
“You have to get married. If you last a year, not only the CEO position is yours, but we will also hand over our shares to you.”
Adrenaline dumped into my system, nearly making me slam my fist on the desk. Married for an entire year? She couldn’t be freaking serious.
Despite the war raging inside of me, I forced myself to stay calm. Blowing up would only prove her right. “Done.”
If my answer surprised Regina, she didn’t show it. “Good. I’ll have Violet set up a contract.”
“That it?” I had to get out of here.
“Yes, you’re dismissed.”
Whatever.
I spun and stalked out of Regina’s office. It wasn’t until I sat in my Elysium, weaving my way through lunch traffic and the maze of skyscrapers, when it hit me what I’d done. I had just agreed to throw away my bachelor life. Why on earth did I do that?
Because Lincoln Grady Distillery meant everything to me. It wasn’t just a whiskey company—it was our family’s legacy, decades of perfecting the recipes. My great-great-great-grandfather had established LGD in 1888, and it had since been passed down through the generations. Now was my turn, and I was bent on taking over for reasons no one needed to know.
Was it worth sacrificing my freedom, though?
My phone buzzed in my slacks.
“Mr. Grady, you have a new message from an unknown number,” Angelique, my in-car voice assistance, purred. “Would you like me to read it to you?”
“Yeah.”
“The message reads, ‘Take over Lincoln Grady Distillery, and you will regret it. Back off. And don’t think about involving anyone.’ Because the message was sent from an unknown number, it can’t be replied to.”
About a thousand sarcastic answers bombarded me. This wasn’t the first threat I’d received. The sender either didn’t know me at all or was an imbecile. Sending me threats only made me more determined to take over LGD.
“Delete the message,” I said, overtaking a white SUV that drove slower than my dead grandmother.
“Message deleted.”
Who was so set on stopping me from taking over LGD that they sent threats?
Whoever it was—they were messing with the wrong guy.