Page 10 of Bourbon and Secrets

I turn my head to look at my sister. She isn’t the same person I grew up with, but she also is in some ways. She’s a little taller than me, thinner too. Her blonde is darker than mine. It’s clear she takes the time to get highlights, but it’s been a while with her roots growing out. The brim of her hat is low enough to keep a shadow on her face, but I’m surprised that not even Marla asked what happened.

Marla backs through the swinging kitchen door with a tray of food in one hand and a single mug in the other. Sliding the mug in front of Maggie, she pours her a hot cup of what smells like hazelnut coffee. When she returns the carafe to the hot plate behind her, she moves around the counter and toward the tables. It’s the corner booth that gives me an unsettled feeling. Usually, it would be retired fire and police department guys playing poker, sometimes it would be a packed-in group of high schoolers, but today it’s Wheeler Finch and Waz King.

Finch & King is the most celebrated brand in horse racing. It has a hand in every facet of the industry from breeding and training to racing and gambling. Wheeler Finch is respected. Maybe even more than that. He’s revered. And it isn’t just that he has an obscene amount of money. Or the fact that he makes sure everyone knows it too. It’s the simple fact that he helps make other people wealthy.

Every piece of the horse business has some touchpoint to Wheeler Finch. And the day that the King brothers came to Fiasco was when that started. Tullis and Waz King were horse trainers who helped deliver triple crown winners—horse training, jockeys, and building teams that delivered year after year. The King brothers provided horses, while Wheeler Finchtied it together with sponsors, off-track betting, and any other piece that had the ability to cash out. There have always been rumors about how Wheeler conducted business and how the Kings manipulated other trainers. Finch & King Racing is a powerhouse.

The only piece of it that ever mattered to me is that Tullis King took one look at my mother and decided she was what he wanted. And our lives were never the same.

I watch as Marla drops off two plates to their table without a smile. I know she isn’t a fan, but in Fiasco, there are some people you just don’t cross. Finch and King are those people.

When she comes back, she puts a small empty glass in front of me, and then for the first time since I stepped foot in here, looks me in the eye as she pours water from the sweating pitcher.

I let out a sigh before I ask, “How’ve you been, Marla?”

“Sounds like a question for someone who wants something and not like a question from a person who really wants to know the answer.” She raises an eyebrow.

For fuck’s sake. “Okay, then. May I have a coffee?”

“We have water,” she says, turning back toward the kitchen.

I sniff out a laugh.This fucking town.

“Told ya,” Maggie says with too much amusement.

If they both only knewwhyI left to begin with, maybe they wouldn’t be such dicks about it. I glance over to the corner booth again before I lean into my sister’s space, hovering right near her ear. “I’m here for a month.”

Maggie glances at me without much reaction.

I had planned to keep my distance—headline at Midnight Proof and do what I was hired to do in regard to Blackstone. But that was before. So I continue. “I had plans to stay in a little apartment while I was here, but not anymore. Until you tell me what you’re involved with, I’m moving back into the house.”

Maggie barks out a laugh just as Marla slides a plate of steaming French toast, doused in bourbon-soaked peaches and topped with whipped cream, onto the counter.

“I don’t think so,” she mumbles.

My mouth waters and stomach grumbles just smelling that breakfast. I had a bag of almonds on my drive here overnight and nothing since. I’m a naturally thicker girl, but I follow macros and eat every three hours so I can manage exactly where I want my curves to remain. Overindulging is one thing, but forgetting to eat, that’s entirely out of character for me.

I’m not going to argue with her here. “See you at home, Maggie,” I say as I shove away from the counter. I purposely avoid making eye contact with anyone, especially the two powerful men in the corner booth. My pocket vibrates with a text as I’m leaving.

“Your room is a gym now,” Maggie calls out over her shoulder. She’s such adick.

I ignore the heads turning in my direction, shrugging off the way it feels not to be welcomed here, and pull out my phone.

BLACKSTONE

Rosie Gold, looks like I’ll be seeing you at Midnight Proof this weekend. How about a little something to hold me over...

Chapter 4

Lincoln

“Not many peoplefind fractions and chemistry sexy, but what ends up in those barrels over there is called ‘the heart’ for a reason. It’s what remains after a variation in temperatures can condense and vaporize what came from that massive container of mash and yeast.” I point to the side of the room we had just come from. Fuck, I get a semi just talking about this shit.

The photographer smiles at me, and I know just by that one look, I’ve got her undivided attention. And it has nothing to do with the way bourbon is made. But when I focus back on her colleague, a sour expression onThe New York Timesreporter’s face has me worried. “Mr. Foxx, that’s all well and good?—”

“Lincoln,” I interrupt and hold my hand over my chest.

His mouth forms a thin line, like he’s not interested in personal stories about how we make our brand. “Lincoln. I’ve heard all about the science behind bourbon. The math, the percentages of corn and wheats or whatever else sets a mash bill apart. There’s nothing new you’re going to tell me that I haven’talready heard from a number of other master distillers or found with a few web searches.” Turning off his phone that he’s been using as a recorder, he pockets it. “This is a feature about distilleries popping up all along the East Coast and, to be quite frank, the angle I’m working with is that great bourbondoesn’thave to be made in Kentucky.”

---