Page 33 of Whiskey Kisses

“Because Daddy made a deal with the Deschamps,” I say. “They agreed to pay off all his debts if we got married.”

“Sounds medieval. I doubt Cole would have gone through with that,” she says skeptically. I’m guessing she doesn’t know that Cole has been trying to rekindle our situationship ever since it ended in high school.

“He’s pretty self-serving, as you know,” I say pointedly. And she should know—they’re cut from the same opportunistic cloth. I finally broke things off with Cole because, after months of overt mutual flirting with Maribelle, he fucked her at a party. I found out later she hadn’t been the only one, but she’d certainly been the worst. Too bad I couldn’t dump her, too. “Our marriage would grant the Deschamps a major stake in the distillery’s operations.”

“Would you listen to yourself? How is that any different from your marriage to Tristan granting the Kellys a stake?” she snaps.

“Because Tristan gave me a choice,” I hiss. “And you know what? At least the Kellys know how to run a business. Unlike our father.”

“Like you know anything about that.” Scoffing, she pulls her wallet from her purse and slaps a five onto the table. “You have never once shown any interest in business, Evie.”

“That’s not true. I had ideas, but Daddy always shut them down,” I protest. Eventually I just stopped trying.

“Because they weren’t commercially viable,” she says. “We didn’t need a line of psychedelic whiskies or whatever.”

I rest my head in my hand, exhausted by this conversation. Clearly, I’m going to need another drink. “Look, I know you’re upset, butDaddy’s the one who dragged me into all of this. If you don’t like how he’s handling things, then talk to him.”

“Fine. And Evie?”

I toss her a wary glance, wishing she’d just go already.

“If your new hubby does manage to take control of the distillery, you’d better honor my inheritance.” Her dark eyes glitter maliciously. “Because if you don’t, I promise you—there’ll be hell to pay.”

“Of course, we’d honor it, Maribelle,” I say irritably. “Jeez.”

“If you say so.” And just like that, her master façade of cool, calm, and collected returns. Sliding her purse over her arm, she steps away from the bar. “Good luck with Tristan. You’re going to need it.”

11.Tristan

When Lucky said he’d secured the mother lode of information concerning Randall Doyle’s messy finances and questionable business dealings, I wasn’t expecting a fifty-page email. Maybe I should’ve been. As the head of Saoirse, my brother now has access to some pretty crazy connections. Guys who know how to get info on anybody, anytime. After his own shit was hacked by the local Bratva a while back, he made sure to acquire a couple of guys with that exact skillset to do the same for us.

I’m readingabout Randall’s penchant for paying off government officials to overlook the distillery’s environmental sins and Maribelle Doyle-Spencer’s suspected use of a shell company when I get a text from Timmy. He’s on Evie detail, unbeknownst to Evie.

She’s still at the restaurant.

I think she’s drunk lol

Sighing,I rub my eyes and sit back in my chair.

You’re going to have to go get her

Bring her back

He responds with a thumbs-up emoji.

I’m not sure what to make of Evie today. She won’t respond to my calls or texts, as usual, but according to Timmy she left work about an hour after she got there and went straight to some café in town. She sat herself down at the window bar and proceed to drink cocktails for the next three hours, interrupted only when a “preppy baddie” stopped by. Timmy said it looked like they were arguing, and then she left.

I asked if the woman resembled Evie at all, and he said that yeah, actually, she did. Maribelle, probably. What did she want with Evie? From what I’ve gathered, there’s no love lost between them. Not surprising, considering how volatile their relationship was back in the day. Reading through Lucky’s email, though, I’m starting to realize that the elder Doyle girl is a lot more than a pretty face. She’s worked for the distillery for years, ever since she came home from college, and she seems to know its ins and outs better than anybody. Maybe even better than her own dad.

So, why did she allow him to bungle their finances so badly? Sounds like she might be dipping her toes into the money laundering game (something I don’t exactly frown upon, seeing that my own family has rocked that shit for decades), so why is Doyle Whiskey in the precarious situation it’s in now?

Because frankly, it’s even more of a mess than I realized. Randall Doyle has been making bad deals and frittering away business funds foryears. He has a gambling problem, for one thing, betting on everything from horseraces to ball games, so he’s wasted untold amounts of money there. But he’s also lost money with risky business ventures that didn’t pan out.

Like the time a small investment firm interested in curating an “eclectic collection of American liquors” approached Randall, offering to inject capital into the distillery if he allowed one of his best sellers to be included. Not only did he never see that money, but the firm went belly-up soon after. Or the time he thought building another distillery—in South Florida—was a good idea. But investing in new facilities without thorough market research can result in overproduction, which is exactly what happened with Doyle. The new distillery ended up draining capital without bringing in enough revenue to cover costs.

By the time Timmy’s car pulls up, my eyes are crossed from scanning the computer screen for so long. Shutting the laptop, I stand and stretch, wondering if we’re eating in or out tonight. I mean, thereisa ton of food in the fridge.

Evie trudges through the door, kicking off her shoes. I glance past her sullen face and smudged eyeliner to Timmy, who just raises his eyebrows and shrugs.

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