11. Lindee
LINDEE
I am not drunk.
I’ll admit to feeling better than I did earlier, although that’s not exactly a high bar.
But I am not drunk.
Mostly because I got cut off after just one. Sure, it was a massive margarita—bigger than the normal extra-large size on the menu—but both April and Rosario refused to give me any more after that one. Nonetheless, it was enough to make a lot of the anger subside.
Errrr…not subside, but take a backseat. Help me get him out of my mind.
There are more important things going on in my life.
I didn’t want to be involved in this silly little spat to begin with.
The only reason I attended the meeting was out of some misguided solidarity with my sister. That’ll teach me.
Most of my afternoon was spent at Taco ’Bout Trouble, ignoring any and all hints of responsibility.
While that felt good while I was there, in the middle of it, now that I’m heading back to the distillery, guilt starts to gnaw at me.
I left my team high and dry today. They are all wonderful, capable distillers, but that doesn’t mean I should ditch them.
Or all the work that comes along with being the boss.
Work that I’m starting to feel like can wait until tomorrow.
I’m already this far behind, so what’s a few more hours of ignoring it? Nothing, that’s what. Decision made—to the distill-lab I go.
Keeping my head down, I slip inside the back door of the production area, hoping I won’t be seen by one of the night workers.
We run a smaller crew on second and third shift than we do on first, but we’re still a twenty-four hour, seven days a week operation.
Fermenting doesn’t follow a forty-hour work week.
Meaning that at any point in time, there is someone here, doing something.
Not in the distill-lab though. That’s my own personal corner of the world.
The small room started out as an office for the production manager when this wing was built in the 1970s.
Except, every production manager we’ve ever had prefers to be out with the stills instead of behind a desk.
It sat empty, other than housing miscellaneous junk from over the years, until my father discovered my love of the process.
So, like any good Dad, he set me up in here, with my personal chemistry set, leaving me to experiment and create to my heart’s desire.
Little did he know it would lead to Wink it was a big ask. But there’s also no way he changed his mind that fast. Nor that he acted on talking to the star himself.
“Need me to prove it?”
Pulling his phone from his pocket, Brandt holds it up, showing it off like he won the blue ribbon for best pie at the fair. His eyes are still deep and soulful, sucking me in for a second. They’ll hold me hostage if I let them, and I know I need to keep my distance. He’s dangerous.
He’s also not waiting for an answer.
Next thing I know, he’s got it on speaker, the sound of ringing filling the air. Then a voice comes through the line. A voice I have heard a hundred times before. Just never this up close and personal.
“Hey, Brandt.”
Holy shit—that’s Dustin Wild. As in the Dustin Wild.
“Hey, Dustin, need your help for a second,” Brandt says, loud enough I think he can probably be heard in the lobby. “I’ve got Lindee Murray standing here with me. Can you tell her what we were just talking about a minute ago?”
“Hi, Lindee.”
“H-h-hi…” I squeak. OMG, that’s Dustin Wild…
“Brandt and I were just talking about possibly bringing one of your brands on as a sponsor.”
Everything goes quiet. Everything except the pounding of my heart against my chest. Speeding up, the throbbing is the only thing I can hear. Each beat punctuated by Dustin’s words.
Possibly bringing one of your brands on as a sponsor…
Brandt wasn’t lying.
Which means maybe he wasn’t lying about everything else.
“Hey, Kenzie’s calling,” Dustin cuts back in. “We’ll figure out details later.”
The call disconnects, Brandt completely unfazed by the lack of goodbye. I, on the other hand, am still trying to process this.
“You’re going to let us co-sponsor the tour?”
One side of Brandt’s mouth lifts, contradicting the seriousness in his eyes.
“It’s not that easy. There are contracts, secondary rights, and lawyers, and it could get kinda messy…
so I thought I’d do one better. I talked to Dustin about giving y’all a custom drink at Fire Lights, the honky-tonk he owns on Broadway. ”
“You can do that?”
“Just did. You heard the man.”