Page 40 of Turning Up the Heat

“That’s why I’m here,” Tom said. “My interests and the interests of everyone in this room are the business’s interests. I’m sure you have other things you could be doing.”

“Never mind that,” John said, waving his hand as he took a seat at the head of the table. “But you mentioned some changes. What are they, exactly?”

“Our marketing research shows that customers are looking for a more specialized product. I want to change our focus from mass-produced to handcrafted.” He heard his father scoff, but he kept going. “There is a big push now for small batches, high-end products. Look at the things Rexford Rum in Miami is doing. They’re on top of the game, and they’ve done that through high-quality products. Not large vats of mediocre rum.”

The men in the room grumbled. “That would lead to a large scaling down in production. What about the lost jobs?” one asked.

“We would retrain them in actual distilling processes,” Tom said. Every time he thought about it, he became excited.

“We’re not going to change how we do things to sell this hipster, millennial rum you’re so fond of. We’ll devote all of our time and money to the change and what happens when the next trend comes along?”

Tom closed his eyes, tying to hold onto his patience. “This will take time and money, but I’ve done the research. We can do it, and we’ll be successful. I know it.”

“But what about the money for rebranding, retraining, retrofitting our machines?” John asked. “Tom, I see your vision, but it isn’t practical. That’s your problem.”

“We’re losing money and our brand is stagnating every day we do nothing. This isn’t going to be easy, but I will set us up for future success. Customers are looking for handcrafted, artisanal rum, and we can be the ones to fill that demand.”

Tom looked around the room. He could tell most of the team clearly sided with his father. They’d barely listened to him. The stubbornness of the people in the boardroom was what would bury Cain Rum, and there was nothing he could do about it.

If he was going to succeed in the rum industry, he might have to do it on his own. As the meeting continued around him, Tom was lost in his own thoughts. Maybe it was time for him to strike out on his own.

When Tom came home that evening, he was tired and frustrated. It seemed that every day at Cain Rum became slightly more burdensome than the one before. His father’s stubbornness and refusal to acknowledge that times have changed would ruin the company. They needed a plan. And it needed to be enacted soon, before it was too late. Rexford Rum was thriving because they adapted to the environment and targeted new markets. Why his father wouldn’t, he had no idea.

At one particularly dark moment that day, he’d considered packing up his office and just leaving. But he hadn’t. Cain Rum was all he knew. He couldn’t just walk away from the family business, could he? If he wasn’t part of it, then what did he have?

The answer to that was standing in his kitchen when he opened his door. But he was willing to forgive Gemma, who’d broken her promise to be in his bed, when he saw her hovering over a steaming pot wearing nothing but an apron, a black thong and a pair of sky-high red stilettos.

She looked over her shoulder at him. “Honey,” she said, her voice dripping sex. “You’re home.”

He loosened his tie and dropped his bag by the door, not hesitating to make a beeline for her. He stood behind her, his hands pushing under the apron to cup her breasts and smooth over the small curve of her stomach. He loved every part of her body and would gladly spend the rest of his life touching her. “You’d better go get ready for dinner.”

With his hands still on her, he leaned over her shoulder and looked into the lightly colored sauce simmering in a small saucepan. “What are we having?”

“Steak with béarnaise sauce and asparagus spears.”

“And dessert?”

She looked at him, her lips pursed, and raised her eyebrow. “Me.”

He hummed his approval. “My favorite. Any way we can move that dessert course to now?”

“Only if you want this sauce to burn,” she warned him. “But why don’t you go freshen up? We’ve got the next few days together before we even head to Miami.”

She was right. They did have a longer time together this week. Five days, he thought with remorse. It wasn’t nearly long enough. What he wouldn’t give to have Gemma in his home, in his kitchen, in his bed every day.

An hour later, they were seated in front of their empty plates. Gemma had unfortunately changed out of her apron, but he had no arguments against the skintight black minidress she’d put on. She’d pulled out all the stops for a romantic stay-at-home dinner, and it couldn’t have come on a better day.

“Are you okay over there?” she asked. “You’ve been quiet.”

He blew out a breath and topped up his wineglass. “I had a tough day.”

“Want to talk about it?”

He shook his head and drank his wine. “It’s just my father. I’m—” He stopped talking, not sure if he should discuss the distillery with Gemma.

“When we’re together,” she started, “I’m not just Gemma Rexford. I’m your girlfriend. I want you to know that you can talk to me if something is bothering you. And I hope I can talk to you.”

“Of course you can.”

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