Chapter 4
Belle
Six Years Ago
My hand rests on the sun-warmed barn doors as I invite the visitor to step inside. He’s handsome. Disarmingly so. Tall, dark haired, with a devilish grin and a strong jawline that has just a hint of stubble. His shoulders are stupidly wide, and his biceps pull the sleeves of his tailored suit taut.
If I’d known he was going to be this intimidating, I would have chosen to power dress too. Instead, I’m wearing a simple cotton dress with pockets weighed down with pens, keys and scraps of paper with scribbled reminders of things I need to do before the day’s end.
I’d tried to do a background check on Ash Griffin after he called to set up the meeting, but there’s little to no information online about him or his company. I don’t know who I’m dealing with, but something tells me it would take more than shoulder pads to fell this man.
Ash stretches an arm over me to take hold of the door, and when I tip back my head to look up at him, our eyes lock.
I see flecks of amber in those hazel eyes, reminiscent of the whiskey my family have been making on this site for forty years.
I try to take a breath, but the air carrying his scent makes me dizzy.
Warm oak and rye. It’s like he belongs here.
When Ash winks, my cheeks flush. I’ve been staring at him for far longer than is socially acceptable.
“Ladies first,” he says.
“So,” I say, summoning my wits and striding purposefully into the heart of the Simmons distillery, “this is where all the magic happened.” I point to the four gleaming copper pot stills that dominate the room.
There’s a faint sweetness in the air from the fermenting grain, and the gentle hiss of valves that let off steam to regulate pressure.
“Happened?” Ash says, challenging my use of the past tense as he wanders over to one of the fermentation tanks and checks the instrument panel.
I lift my eyes to the heavens while his back is turned.
Do I really need to point out that Simmons whiskey-making is being consigned to history?
Why the hell does he think he’s here? The business I inherited from my dad is going under fast, and no one has been willing to take it on as a going concern.
I’m certainly not expecting Ash to make an offer.
“You did say on the phone you’re not in the business,” I check.
Ash crouches down, his gaze following the pipework beneath our small-time operation. “Never seen one before,” he confirms.
“Then I presume you’d be looking to dismantle the plant and sell it on,” I say.
“As I mentioned, the land is only leased. This was part of the old Simmons farm originally, but we come from a line that didn’t inherit so much as an acre.
The agreement with the current landowner is that if ever the distillery closes, the lease will be revoked, and the last of the Simmons will move on to greener pastures. ”
Ash remains crouching, his elbows resting on his knees as he turns his head. Those whiskey-colored eyes fix on me. “And do you want to move on to greener pastures?”
I’m not sure how much I should disclose about my circumstances. My newly-acquired degree is in marketing, not business negotiations with a gorgeous man. I should guard what I say, but my tongue is already wagging.
“I don’t have a choice. My father died recently, and this,” I say, spreading out my arms, “is all on me now. I was more than ready to take over when the time came, but it seems I’ve inherited a heap load of debt that just keeps growing.
The bank is threatening foreclosure, and I’ve already had to lay off most of the staff.
” I pause to swallow back regret. Much of Dad’s debt came from putting me through college. If I’d known, I never would have gone.
As Ash stands, those beautiful eyes don’t leave my face. I have no reason to trust him, but I want to.
“I had been looking for investors,” I continue, “but I’m at the stage now where everyone’s ignoring my calls.”
Barrett Emerson immediately springs to mind.
When our paths had crossed in college, I’d told him about my dad’s business.
The Emerson heir had shown what I thought was polite interest at the time, and I only found out after Dad died that the pair had been in discussions about a potential investment.
Barrett’s only twenty-one, the same age as me, but he’s now responsible for his late father’s multi-billion-dollar empire.
Maybe he was looking for an opportunity to prove himself as a businessman, but I expect Dad’s mistake was letting Barrett see the accounts.
My last pitiful emails to Barrett, asking if he’d like to resume negotiations, have gone unanswered. So, here I am.
“I don’t even know why I’m still keeping the distillery in operation,” I continue. I do know. I can’t bring myself to switch everything off. “There’s a good chance that what we’re fermenting now won’t make it into the casks, even if I could find a buyer to take our last batches.”
As Ash approaches, his face shimmers in front of me.
“I’m sorry,” he says softly, noticing my tears before I can blink them away. “About your dad.”
I sniff. “Thanks, but I’m fine. And once I sell the business, I can leave Eastham Grove and start a new life anywhere I want.
The world’s my oyster,” I add, attempting to sound enthused at the prospect of being cast adrift.
“I know there’s no point delaying things.
I don’t want to wait until I’m so desperate that I practically give everything away. ”
Ash tilts his head as he scrutinizes my features, his gaze lingering on my mouth. I have to stop myself from licking my lips in nervousness. “Does that mean if I hold off long enough, you’ll give me whatever I ask?”
My expression drops, but before I can respond, Ash smiles.
“Maybe next time you’re negotiating, don’t put all your cards on the table, Belle.
I’d hate for someone to come along and take advantage of you,” he says.
He rolls his lips as he considers his next words.
“And to be clear, that isn’t me. I’m not here to asset strip a family business. It’s not what I do.”
“Then why are you here? You don’t know the first thing about distilling whiskey.”
“Which makes what I see all the more attractive,” he says, quirking an eyebrow. “I prefer to take on projects that expand my knowledge and challenge me.”
I manage a nervous laugh. “Taking on a failing distillery would be some challenge.”
His eyes sparkle. “My thoughts exactly.”
I could be wrong, but I’d say there’s more to his wicked thoughts than distilling. Or is it wishful thinking on my part? Ash Griffin can’t be for real. If he was, he’d be all my dreams wrapped up in one.
“I’m in the business of helping companies turn their fortunes around, using the reverse engineering skills my dad taught me,” Ash continues.
“It doesn’t matter what the industry, once a process is broken down into its component parts, there’s often seemingly insignificant adjustments I can make that turn a business that was coasting, into one that flies. ”
He talks with such confidence and passion that I’m ready to be carried away on this flight of fantasy. “Do you think you can do that here?”
“From first impressions, I’d say you have a product that’s underexploited. Your plant and machinery could do with some refining to bring it up to the twenty-first century, but we could do that without compromising on quality or authenticity.”
My mouth has gone dry. “You actually want to invest?”
“Today is just a fact-finding mission. I can’t make any promises,” he says as he rests a hand on my back, turning us so we’re both facing the stills. “Why don’t you finish your guided tour, and then we’ll see where life takes us?”