Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Present day
Harrison
The incessant buzzing of people making small talk surrounds me, and I hate it.
Don’t they know you’re supposed to come to bars to drink alone like a pathetic lump on a log?
It might not be so grating if everyone spoke at considerate volumes, but several groups behave as if they’re speaking to the entire bar.
I peer into my glass of whiskey. The amber liquid is my only salvation this evening.
Normally, I enjoy a drink once or twice a week, sometimes more, such as this weekend.
I despise attending large events with oceans of chatty people I don’t know.
The first two glasses of the top-shelf liquor I drank tonight only took the edge off the discomfort I’m experiencing in this conference hell.
I’m not necessarily an introvert, but the circle of people close to me is small, and I prefer it that way.
Immediate family, a few others, and that’s it.
That’s how I keep tabs on everything and everyone.
It’s how I protect the people I love and make sure they’re safe.
I can’t pay attention to the important details if I’m spread too thin.
Usually, my brother Henry attends these conferences. He couldn’t come this year because he and his daughters had only just moved in with his fiancée, Tillie, a few days ago. I get it. They need time to settle in as a family, and his leaving now would have been a dick move.
There’s a reason Henry typically represents our company at these events instead of me.
He’s the charmer—a real Mr. Personality—when it’s needed.
Not me. There’s a running joke among my four brothers that I have a resting bitch face.
The problem is, I also have an active son of a bitch face when I’m annoyed or angry. Unfortunately, that’s often the case.
This National Building and Renovation Conference, held within driving distance of our small town, is a great opportunity to learn what’s new in the field, network, and market our businesses.
My brothers and I collectively own a successful construction and restoration company with a branch that focuses on luxury log homes.
This has been very lucrative for us. The hinge we invented and patented didn’t hurt our financial status, either.
It fits in the palm of my hand but has made each of us multi-millionaires.
It’s almost comical that such a creation has brought us so much wealth.
The income from that has been great, and I’m thankful it’s there, but having a lot of money also comes with its downside. The worst is that there are people who will go to tremendous lengths to take advantage of you. I should know. A sour taste fills my mouth as unwanted memories flood my mind.
Still, if the conference had required taking a flight to attend, I would have refused.
Distance equals more time away from home.
Home is where I want to be. It’s orderly and quiet.
Henry could have sent Holden if it had been further.
He thrives on chaos and activities like this.
The more people, the better, especially if they’re female.
Even better when he’ll never see them again.
I’ve been sitting here for about an hour and a half, and I’m eager to close out my tab and head up to my suite for the night, where I can add to my drink tally in private.
Even though I assume I give off ‘Don’t approach’ vibes, two different women have already invaded my peace and tried to strike up a conversation.
One of them outright offered me her room key. I shut down both with barely a glance.
The convention ends tomorrow after a last session immediately following breakfast. Though tempted to drive home tonight, I have the offering on legal considerations in the business in the morning.
As our company’s attorney, I should be there.
Still, I can drink away my ghosts just as easily in my suite, so when he looks my way, I signal the bartender with a subtle hand gesture, and he nods.
That’s when it happens. She walks in. A woman who immediately garners my attention. Sure, she’s beautiful, but it’s not just that. As she draws nearer to where I’m sitting, her eyes speak volumes—she’s in pain.
I rub at the ache that spreads across my chest. Fuck, I hate seeing anyone hurting like that. I wish I didn’t recognize the signs, but I do, because I’ve seen them enough when I look in the mirror.
“Closing out?”
The bartender startles me even though I hailed him a few moments ago. I force my eyes away from the woman and look at him. As I’m about to tell him yes, I’m ready to close the tab, something tells me not to.
“Actually, can I get one more, and then I think I’ll call it a night?”
“You’re not driving, yeah?”
“Nope. Staying in the hotel.”
Some guys might get pissed he’s asking, but I appreciate it. It’s the responsible thing to do. The bartender nods at me and ambles off to prepare my order.
The first two glasses helped me relax after today’s unavoidable peopling. The third, and now the fourth, I’ll chalk up to today being the thirteenth anniversary of the worst day of my life.
My attention returns to the woman, and I try not to look like a creep as I watch her.
She stops the bartender on his way to make my drinks, I presume to give her order, then continues walking.
I’m at the end of the bar, and she slides onto a stool along the short side near me.
She’s got the wall on her left, and three empty seats between us on her right. She takes no notice of me, though.
Despite that her eyes and the corners of her mouth speak of sadness, she’s really damn pretty.
Yeah, from a distance it was obvious she was beautiful, but this close there’s so much more to appreciate.
It makes me want to move nearer. She leans her head and shoulder against the wall to her left and stares off as the bartender returns with my drink.
He has two more on his tray, and I furrow my brow in confusion.
“Don’t worry, only one’s for you.” He smiles and nods toward the woman. “The lady likes the hard stuff, too.”
Now I’m even more intrigued. Of course, women can enjoy whiskey, but it’s not typically the first drink I see them migrating to. Two glasses at once, no less. Maybe she’s waiting for someone.
I glance over at her, and as if she senses me watching her, she looks up.
She meets my eye and offers me a forced smile, her cheeks turning the faintest pink.
Our visual connection breaks when the bartender delivers her whiskey.
I notice once he places her order on the bar top, he puts his hands in his back pockets, grins, and says something to her.
Her eyes widen, then he winks and walks away.
Irritation rushes over me. What the fuck did he say to her?
Confusion follows. Why the hell do I care? I don’t. Yet, I can’t tear my gaze off her.
She lifts the glass to her mouth and shocks me when she pours the amber liquid down her slender throat as if she were drinking a soda.
I swear more than half is gone with her first drink.
So, I’m not surprised when she makes a face, her piercing eyes squeezing together, and she sputters as she coughs.
“Jesus,” she mutters.
I don’t know what comes over me, because I rarely make a habit of talking to people I don’t know unless I have to. No matter how pretty they are.
“Not your usual liquor of choice, then?”
She turns her head to look at me. I imagine she’s probably trying to figure out if I’m an asshole planning to hit on her. I’m sure that happens to her all the time if she frequents bars. When her expression relaxes, and her jaw unclenches, I assume I’ve passed the test.
“You could tell?” There’s a hint of a smirk on her face, and it’s the first sign of any happiness that I’ve seen since she walked in.
“Maybe a little.” I shrug nonchalantly. “It’s an acquired taste. One meant to be sipped, not… not chugged.” I offer her a smile.
“Well, it tastes like Satan’s ass.”
I chuckle. It couldn’t even count as a laugh. When have I ever fucking chuckled?
This is the most I’ve spoken to a stranger in a bar in ages. Not that I’m at bars often. Unless I’m out celebrating something with my brothers or other members of my family, I only land at bars when I need to clear my head.
That’s really why I’m here tonight, isn’t it?
Yeah, I’m at a conference, but I could’ve easily gone up to my room and drowned my mood in the minibar.
No, I’m here because, despite all the activity and new information I’ve filled my day with today, I still haven’t been able to keep the memories of losing my dad that day so many years ago out of my mind.
He would’ve loved coming to something like this.
He’d have been here with Henry, having a blast, and he would’ve been talking to everybody.
“That’s a very colorful description. Though I’m not sure what ‘Satan’s ass’ tastes like, good whiskey doesn’t fit the bill.”
She says nothing, but stares down at her half-drained glass, then peeks over at the full one she’s yet to drink, and groans. Next, she stuns me when she pinches her nose and simultaneously tosses the second half of the first drink down. Her twisted facial expressions and clenched fists are comical.
Yet, no matter how she contorts her face, she’s still stunning.
When she recovers, she turns to me.
“I suspect this is not good whiskey.” She shakes her head. “I assumed for twelve dollars each it would be decent.”
Ah, that explains it. She got the bottom-shelf stuff.
“Why’d you get whiskey? Sorry, whiskies.” I fight back a smile, and she does as well. I notice it makes a dimple pop out on her right cheek. Fuck, that’s cute.
Without warning, her expression flattens, and pain fills her eyes again. She glances down at her hands and picks at her fingernail polish.