Page 41 of Whiskey Kisses

To my surprise, Ms. Bianchi smirks. “Myrtle didn’t likehimtoo much, so I would take that man’s opinion with a grain of salt.” She glances at me. “Respectfully, dear.”

I laugh a little, folding the letter back into its envelope. “She always was a good judge of character.”

“Yes, she was, and quite discerning,” she says. “Myrtle used a trust to manage the transfer of the estate’s ownership because she didn’t want anyone coming between you and that house.”

“Is it safe to assume that no one knows about this, then?” asks Tristan.

“Yes.” Ms. Bianchi nods. “That’s exactly right.”

13.Tristan

After leaving Evie in the capable hands of Ms. Bianchi to finish sorting through the will and its accompanying documents, I make my way to the Chatham County Recorder’s office. I’d like to examine the official records of all the Doyle family's properties, maybe suss out the location of this elusive “silent” distillery.

Also, I need to ensure that Randall fulfills his end of the deal by handing over everything he’s supposed to when he transfers control of the business. He can keep his home and his personal belongings, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he tries to conceal something crucial to the distillery. He’s shady like that.

Shady enough that I’m glad, also, he doesn’t know that Evie just inherited Myrtle’s estate. He’s a little too close to the Deschamps and I don’t want those fuckers knowing where Evie’s gonna be. Not right now, anyway. They’ll probably all find out eventually.

I’m pulling into the parking lot of the recorder’s office when I spot Maribelle emerging from the building. She does a double take when she sees me getting out of the Suburban, waving as she turns to come my way. She looks like a real society wife these days in low heels and a classy, knee-length dress, her shiny, auburn hair just brushing her shoulders.

“Tristan Kelly,” she purrs, stopping a few feet away. Her sly grinhasn’t changed one bit, nor has the way she looks at me, like she’s one hundred percent down to fuck if I am.

“Maribelle.” I give her a polite smile, remembering what a firecracker she used to be. “Doyle-Spencer, is it?”

“It is.” She slips her phone into the little purse hooked on her arm. “What’re you doing here?”

“Here in Savannah, or here at this office?”

“Here,” she says with a little laugh, gesturing to the office building. “I think I know why you’re in Savannah.” She cocks her head. “Something about you trying to take possession of our distillery?”

“Sounds about right.” I pull my briefcase from the passenger seat and close the door. “I’m sure Randall’s told you all about it.”

She shifts, raising an eyebrow. “You do realize he’ll never allow that, right?”

“I’m not discussing this with you, Maribelle,” I say firmly.

“And why not?” she demands, bristling. “You think I don’t know exactly what’s going on? What’s goingwrong? I’ve worked at our distillery for years, Tristan, and it wasn’t to secure a paycheck. It was to secure our family’s legacy—not so easy to do when you’re the only one who seems to care.”

Interesting. Maribelle’s always had a sharp tongue, but I seem to have really hit a nerve. “Are you suggesting that your dad’s not committed to the distillery’s legacy?”

“Committed, yes, but capable? That's another matter entirely.” She glances toward the sky like she’s hoping it’ll give her the strength to go on. “You have no idea how hard I worked to maintain Doyle Whiskey’s accounts, to make new connections of influence all throughout the South, only to have Daddy squander it with his bullshit.”

This just gets juicier and juicier, doesn’t it?Before, I would’ve assumed that Maribelle had her father’s back in all this, because they used to be close, but then I found out about her money laundering and scheming. And while I don’t blame her bitter rant, it’s surprising she’d blab like this. Leaning against my ride, I gesture for her to go on.

She pauses, casting a suspicious glance at me. “What?”

“You seem to be building toward something, so what is it?” I prompt, thinking of the pictures Lucky sent me.Who have you been seeing, Maribelle? What’re you up to?

But she softens again and takes a step closer, her lips curving into a flirty little smile I knowalltoo well. “Not so fast. You’re the enemy, here, remember?”

“Nah, I’m an old friend.” I set my briefcase on the roof of the SUV, sliding my hands into my pockets. “You can trust me.”

“Is that what you told my sister to get her to marry you?” she asks with a smirk. “Kind of shameless, using your history like that, considering.”

“Considering what?”

“How badly she used to crush on you.”

Anticipating my opponent’s next move has always been easy for me. It’s one of the reasons it’s hard to catch me off guard in the ring and in life. But Maribelle’s revelation is a sucker punch to the heart. “What?”

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