Page 3 of Brewing Up a Bad Boy

“Watch the shop. I’m going to talk to him. If it looks like I’m about to do something stupid, intervene.”

Merle didn’t budge. “Define stupid.”

“I won’t know until it happens.”

She tucked her hair behind her ear, took a deep breath and then walked purposefully out of the backroom, aware that Merle was behind her. But straight-up truth, all she saw was Alistair.

Sitting alone at a table near the front of her shop. His posture was perfect, as it was when he was nervous.

Or around his parents. His family had high expectations of everyone.

Including the woman she should be. She’d joined Lancaster-Spencer believing she’d have a chance to try her innovative tea blends, but they had stuck her in a job that frankly felt like Chandler Bing’s onFriends...sort of nondescript, doing nothing.

The influence they had on their second son was immense. He felt he never measured up, but frankly, why anyone would want their approval was beyond her. His father was arrogant, looking down his nose at everyone else. His mother was vain, working hard to keep her social standing ensuring that everyone she met was aware of it. And his brother...

George actually wasn’t that bad. He carried himself with the same bearing as his parents, but you got the sense he actually cared about people.

Alistair had been this fun-loving, sexy bad boy. Always doing what he wanted and taking her along on the ride of her life. Until their marriage, when he’d done a complete personality change.

So who was she getting today? The bad boy who’d romanced a shy girl and made her believe her love could smooth his rough edges? Or the proud, restrained second son of the aristocratic Miller family? Or the playful man who ran down a deserted street with her after they’d been kicked out of a pub for being too drunk and dancing on a table?

Catching her eye, he gestured to the chair opposite himself. He stood, pulling out the chair.

Stiffening her backbone, she told herself all she had to do was listen to him. But she knew the hardest part would be to remember what she wanted. She wasn’t going to even attempt to please Alistair. That Poppy was long gone.

Nothing worth having was easy to get. Despite his privileged upbringing, that was one lesson that Alistair had to keep learning. Right now, walking away from Poppy and WiCKed Sisters would be the sensible thing. But he couldn’t do that.

The lies he’d told were all coming together in the perfect shitstorm. And at the center of it was Poppy Kitchener.

She hadn’t even changed her name when they were married. Which was cool, a lot of women didn’t. But that had been one more mark against him in his mother’s eyes.

He was wound up from the exchange with Merle. Therapy had helped him start this journey, but there was still so much work left. Walking away would help. Removing himself from the stressful situation. Except he was pretty damned sure if he walked away from Poppy, the chances of getting her to talk to him again would be shot.

Meanwhile, the owner of the bookshop kept glaring at him between helping customers.Serafina.She was the one with the handmade manifesting journals. He’d thought about buying one.

Word around town was that these three were witches. Something that still surprised him; Poppy had never really seemed to have any interest in anything spiritual when they were together. Truthfully, he probably wouldn’t have noticed even if she had. Given his history with Poppy, he wouldn’t blame her for putting a hex on the journal.

Joke’s on her, he thought wryly. He’d already hexed himself. If there was a way to fuck up a good thing, then he inevitably found it.

Poppy walked over to him. She wore a pink satiny shirt dress with red rhinestones on it. The V-neck of the dress was respectable, but he knew the body underneath that demure dress. Had lain awake at night remembering holding her in his lap, the heat of her against his body.

Not now, he reminded himself as he held out a chair for her. He needed every single etiquette and deportment lesson he’d ever received. He had to be the epitome of a gentleman. Not the man from years ago, who’d taken one look at the woman he was meant to persuade to sell his family her tea-blend recipe and almost forgotten his name.

Not this time.

He wasn’t going to allow it. He couldn’t. They both needed closure, and Poppy deserved some real compensation and acknowledgment from Lancaster-Spencer Tea Makers instead of having her family and her own name erased from the blend that they’d crafted and cultivated over the years.

“Thank you for coming back to talk to me.”

Poppy gave him what he thought of as aPoppy look. It was polite but told him he was on thin ice and had better not screw up.

“Explain this fake-married proposal. You said it was for business. Weren’t we real married for that?” she asked with more than a little bite.

Poppy came to play. For the first time, he realized just how much she had changed from the woman he’d courted and married almost ten years ago. Her new attitude was going to make everything more difficult. But he liked it.

“Lancaster-Spencer is aware of Willingham’s offer,” he said, remembering the email his mum had sent last night outlining what they knew about the offer, made by their biggest competitor. His brother George had texted over more details and a generous counteroffer.

“So?”

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