Chapter 3 #2
When I didn’t ask questions, he continued. “You’ll miss the training window you would’ve had with her the next two weeks, but she assured me that you were competent and knowledgeable about the business.”
I nodded. Had Mrs. Crane ditched him on purpose? Had she left him hanging because he’d ruined what had likely been a meticulously planned leave?
My respect for her rose several notches. “That’s fine. I’m a fast learner.”
“She said you had experience in distilleries? Which ones?”
He didn’t know? Was Mrs. Crane the only one with access to my résumé? And she hadn’t told him? Perhaps she didn’t know about his strained relationship with the Baileys of Copper Summit Bourbon.
I’d use her lack of communication to my advantage. I couldn’t tell him I’d worked at Copper Summit in every department since I’d been a teen, but I could give him other truths.
“I’ve worked with the marketing teams of Leopard Print out of Wyoming and Raging Ears out of Idaho.
I was also involved in setting up retail distribution with a few local distilleries in North and South Dakota.
” All true. Just via Copper Summit. Daddy was generous and believed a rising tide lifted all boats.
He liked helping budding distilleries with his experience and guidance.
The back of my throat ached. Thinking about Daddy these days did that.
Myles studied me. “So why aren’t you working for them? Why are you interested in a temp position with Foster House?”
Did he always sound so suspicious? “As I told Mrs. Crane, I wanted to know if the Denver area was for me before I got locked into a lease and couldn’t move.”
“Are you from a small town?” Annoyance pinched his eyes like he couldn’t believe he cared enough to ask.
“Very small” was all I said.
One nod was all I got. “Are you interested?”
My attention sharpened. I was so interested. Oh—in the job. “Yes. I’ll even strive for five minutes early in the mornings.”
His features didn’t crack. Did he know how to smile anymore? “Very well. I can give you a tour, and for the rest of the day, you can familiarize yourself with Mrs. Crane’s workspace. She emailed instructions I can forward you and a link to her procedure manual.”
“Thorough,” I murmured. I looked down at my clothing. I’d been almost underdressed yesterday. What I was wearing today was ridiculous compared to him. “I’m not exactly ready for a day in the office.”
His gaze stroked down my body. “I can be assured you’ll dress appropriately tomorrow?”
I needed to fan myself. My internal temperature rose twenty degrees when he looked at me like that. “So appropriately.”
A slight narrowing of his eyes was all I got. He might not find me funny, but I was enjoying the small reactions I got. I couldn’t wait for the next three months.
Myles
Why was I giving this goddamn tour?
Normally I loved strolling around the old mining headquarters I’d purchased and renovated into a distillery before I was thirty.
The location had made sense, an old mine I could purchase for cheap, but more importantly, the mountains had called to me more than some empty warehouse in the city.
While the mine was being renovated, I’d planned the rest of the company. I almost wished I could do it again.
I could talk corn varieties, best sources of oak barrels, and evaporation rates all day.
I could discuss yields with farmers for hours, pricing versus age of a batch with distributors, and the best additives for flavoring with my distillers.
But my job was to run this place. To make it the best so all my employees had jobs to support themselves with.
I didn’t give the fucking tours.
But I’d be working closely with Ms. Kerrigan, so it made sense.
The excuse rang weak in my head. While Ms. Kerrigan got a tour from another employee, I could work on polishing the most important pitch of my life.
Instead, we wandered past the mashing pots while I explained where we sourced the corn from, then into our fermenting rooms, and past our stills. Finally, I took her to the barrel rooms at the far end of the place.
“Your packaging and distribution take place in the city, correct?”
Every time she asked a question, a thrill zinged through my blood. She didn’t ask normal, touristy questions. She probed my relationship with the farmers and how I’d formed those bonds with producers outside of Colorado state lines.
I wasn’t a Colorado-only guy. I was a whoever-could-get-me-a-quality-product-reliably guy. When I’d told her that, she’d only nodded, not revealing her real thoughts. Opinions I should care nothing about. I’d met her barely twenty-four hours ago.
“Yes, the process is in the city for now,” I answered. “The barrels are transported to a warehouse in town, where they’re packaged and loaded for distribution. Currently, I have contracts with local liquor suppliers, but in two months, I’ll be pitching to Mainline Grocers.”
She whistled. “The big leagues. You’ll be on liquor store shelves all over the country.”
I dipped my head. “Then we’ll expand and move packaging on-site.”
She peered at me. “You don’t like hauling?”
I shook my head. “The effort and cost are better utilized elsewhere. We’re beholden to weather and aging times. I have to make sure we’re efficient in every other aspect to optimize profit.”
Her stare intensified. “I’ve heard others say the same.”
So had I. One of many insights I’d cataloged over the years.
I’d thought about my exposure to the industry more in the last year than ever, and giving Wynn a tour of the distillery was bringing all sorts of memories back.
The woman next to me was also jumbling my thoughts. I’d seen her yesterday in the parking lot, gazing at the building with rapt appreciation. She’d been stunning by her car, four stories down. Up close, she’d been…disconcerting.
I had no issues controlling my body’s reaction around women.
I’d met none who were more interesting to me than the tasting room on the second floor.
And then Ms. Kerrigan had arrived with her apple ass in tight pants, a sweater that hinted at the dip in her waist—and how her breasts would feel in my palms—and her teasing attitude.
Maybe I’d gotten used to women fawning over me.
They vacillated between mild interest and rampant delight aimed toward my pocketbook or my dick.
Many ignored me, which was fine. Better, most times.
Ms. Kerrigan looked at me like she saw beneath the suit to the dirty kid yanked from a mouse-infested home.
The kid who knew how to use a hypodermic needle before the age of ten.
Usually when I got that feeling, I wanted to crawl out of my skin, carve the person out of my life.
But it wasn’t like that around my new assistant.
She wasn’t digging for weaknesses to hold against me.
She just saw me. Then she saw past me. She spoke to me like she was innately interested in the work I did, like she understood it and had a passion for it that wasn’t normally found in the people I interviewed.
Leave it to Mrs. Crane to find the perfect temp employee.
Fucking Mrs. Crane. She knew what she was doing when she called to tell me she was sick and had to nurse herself to health in time for the procedure she was having done. I’d upset her carefully laid plans and her detail-oriented procedure manuals, and she’d used the system to teach me a lesson.
“Any further questions?” I asked, my crankiness coming out. I hated change. I’d had enough of it, and Mrs. Crane had been my rock in a windstorm for years.
Ms. Kerrigan was a pretty crystal I wanted to admire. I wanted to hold her in my hands and find out how much she warmed the longer I touched her.
“No further questions.” The slight mocking in her tone punched me farther down than my gut. Her voice was a sultry purr, as if she couldn’t help it.
When she had first walked in and aimed a shiny smile at Braxton, I’d been tempted to fire him. I’d be a grade A asshole if I did that. Even worse if I blamed the tight black pants and hint of skin around her shoulder for my irritation.
Her hair had been up yesterday, in a tight knot behind her head. Today, strands hung loose around her face and the rest fan-tailed behind her in a clip. Casual Wynn was harder on my control than Business Casual Ms. Kerrigan.
I spun on my heel to head back to my office. “I’ll get you a passcode for the door. It’ll work when I’m in the building only. You’ll need an ID, and there’s an HR packet waiting for you to fill out on Mrs. Crane’s desk.”
“Cool.” She fell in step next to me, her head tilted away from the sunshine streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Her steps were rushed to keep up with me.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a grimace. “Everything okay, Ms. Kerrigan?” Why did I fucking care? I wasn’t normally involved in my employees’ personal lives.
“I didn’t sleep well.” She didn’t elaborate. As if the reasons behind her slumber were none of my damn business.
“I sincerely hope your calendar is clear. We’ll have some work trips to take in the next couple of weeks.”
“Mrs. Crane told me. I’m free.”
Was she single?
Her left ring finger was empty, but she wore rings on her middle fingers and her right ring finger. No necklaces, but she had three holes in each earlobe. I couldn’t say if Mrs. Crane had ever worn so much as a necklace.
I took the stairs, not bothering to see if she’d follow. I hoped she didn’t. I needed to get back in my office and remind myself that work and pleasure didn’t mix. I didn’t need to think about my assistant’s toned legs and what it would be like to get between them.