Page 80 of Whiskey Kisses

“Exactly. You’ve had more girlfriends at twenty-six than your father had ever,” she says with a smirk.

“We can’t all fall in love with our high school sweetheart.”

“Oh, stop,” she chides, sweeping her dark, shoulder-length hair into a ponytail. “That’s no excuse for sleeping your way through Boston.”

“Ma, please,” I say with a grimace. “You make me sound like a slut.”

“Not a slut, just a serial monogamist.”

I’m thinking conversations like this are why people go to therapy. “Have you been talking to Maeve about me?”

She wrinkles her nose. “What?”

“Never mind.”

“But Evie Doyle. Goodness, I haven’t thought about her in years.” Leaning back in her chair, she crosses her arms over her chest. Her gaze seems to shift past the screen and toward some distant memory. “Such a sweetheart, always following you around when we visited the Doyles.”

Following me around?I don’t remember it that way. We all hung out together, a rowdy gang of kids going from one adventure to the next. But then again, Maribelle could see Evie’s crush on me, so maybe Mom did, too.

Suddenly her pale gray eyes take on a glossy sheen, and she claps her hands to her cheeks.Here come the waterworks. This, I expected. “I can’t believe you got married! Tell me you took pictures, at least, Tristan.”

Nodding, I pick up my phone and scroll through my photo album until I reach the day of the wedding. It’s weird to look at these photos now, when Evie and I were still so stiff around each other. I choose a couple of the best shots and text them to my mother.

She peeks down at her phone when the message chimes through, a pleased smile playing at her mouth. “I can’t believe it!” She practically sighs, looking at me for a split second before returning her moony gaze to the photos. “She is just beautiful, honey. When can we see you two? Tell me you’re not staying down there?” A look of slight horror crosses her face. “I’ve already lost Maeve to the West Coast.”

“We’ll come up once things are stable with the distillery,” I promise with a chuckle. “And Maeve isn’t lost. She’s just getting that shithead out of her system.”

Mom’s laugh peters out into a frustrated groan. “He really is a shithead, isn’t he? So selfish.” She’s always been neutral when it came towho we dated, but I guess her true feelings are showing now that said shithead has convinced her only daughter to relocate to the other side of the country. “Thank God you ended up with someone we know, someone you trust. Someone sweet and kind.”

“You haven’t seen her in years, Ma.” I cock an eyebrow. “How do you know she’s sweet and kind?”

“Because people don’t changethatmuch,” she says. “Evie always reminded me of her mother, both in looks and temperament. Just good people, through and through.”

A little voice in my head urges me to tell my mother the full truth of why I got married, but I resist. If she’s happy with my choices, I’m not gonna bog down her mood with shitty details. Not now, when we can’t even talk face to face, and maybe not ever.

Because after the talk Evie and I had last night, all of that is starting to feel pretty damn irrelevant, anyway.

After breakfast,Alex and Malachi drive Evie and me over to the distillery’s offices to meet with management. I’m glad she’s with me, although getting her to agree to this wasn’t easy—she’d balked at the thought of coming with me at first.

“It’s your family’s legacy,” I’d said. “Even if my name’s attached to it now.”

“And I’m proud of that. But I’ve never had any interest in running Doyle Whiskey and you know it,” she protested when I first brought it up. “Why do you think Daddy had such a hard time getting me to come work for him?”

“Doesn’t matter how you feel. It’s yours now, and there are responsibilities that come with that.”

“You mean, it’syours.”

“It’s ours. Isn’t that what you told your sister yesterday?” I’d reminded her. “I’m not asking you to decorate an office and put in the hours. I just want you to show your face and remind the management team that there are still Doyles involved with Doyle Whiskey—just not the one they’re used to.”

Evie seemed to mull that over.

“My family might own the distillery now, but like I said, you’re a part of that family. You’re in a unique position here, and your opinions matter.” When she seemed to soften, I went in for the kill. “This isn’t my forte either, you know. I’m used to winning in the ring, not the boardroom. But Dad and Lucky trusted me to acquire the distillery and oversee this transition, so that’s what I’m trying to do. It’d mean a lot to have you by my side.”

Now we’re sitting in the conference room, waiting for her father to arrive so he can introduce me to the team. I was pleasantly surprised when Randall accepted my request to join us for this, albeit reluctantly and with a great deal of resignation, but now he’s twenty minutes late and there’s been no word from him. When my latest call goes to voicemail, I get to my feet and call the meeting to order.

Lucky’s always been the businessman, not me, so I’m definitely feeling out of my depth here. With the exception of the general manager, Scott Hutchins, I don’t know anyone. In fact, I didn’t know him before yesterday either, when I looked him up in the staff directory and introduced myself. Once I explained the situation, he sent email invites to every manager reporting to him— sales, quality control, finance, and HR—and asked them to attend today’s meeting. Scott told me that it’s been business as usual at the distillery, which doesn’t surprise me. Randall Doyle would never want to admit that something was wrong, even if it meant putting his employees in a precarious position by keeping them clueless.

It is, however, astounding that unlike most businesses of this size, Doyle Whiskey has no acting board of directors. I mean, even Kelly Logistics has a board of directors. According to Evie, there was one comprised of family long ago, but Randall’s position as the only living child of his parents put him in control and kept him there. I’m starting to see why the distillery is where it is. There’s been no one to hold Randall accountable.

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