Page 20 of Whiskey Darling
Flynn is commanding, which doesn’t make my job any easier because I balk at being told what I can and cannot do. Worse, my innate sense of perfection makes it’s hard accepting my own mistakes.
But, more than anything, I hate being told I’m wrong.
Lack of subordination was an issue with Connor Morgan. That man despised my independent, headstrong nature, making a point of highlighting any weaknesses he discovered. To humble me, he argued. I disagreed. And rebelled.
Flynn is more intense than Connor. Much scarier. Especially when his eyes narrow every time they land on me. I want to please and impress him more than anyone I’ve met in my entire life. Today, I failed miserably at that.
He’s the boss.
My boss.
I wait.
And wait.
Until I can wait no longer.
I must take charge of the situation. That’s just how I am.
“About the photos. It’s inexcusable, but you can be assured nothing like that will ever happen again.”
Flynn’s body stiffens, his fingers tightening around the glass of whiskey. His voice is a gruff rasp. “I don’t give a damn about that right now.”
“If you doubt my abilities or think I’m incapable of handling an account of this size, I can—"
“Allie? Be quiet for a moment.”
I lapse into stunned silence.
Flynn sips his whiskey. Time eases by. Is he angry? Annoyed? It’s driving me crazy that I can’t read him.Jesus, it’s just a few photos.
“Honey,” I mutter, as a way of a peace offering.
His back becomes more rigid, but he still doesn’t turn around. “Darling.”
Hearing him say my name so softly makes my stomach do crazy flip-flops. “My idea.” I swirl my glass so the ice softly clinks. “The one I didn’t tell you about before. It’s honeymeade.”
Flynn’s head tilts just enough that I can see the fringe of his thick eyelashes. The line of his aristocratic nose is thrown into profile. “Explain.”
“There are honeymeade barrels at my family’s winery. If we put your single pot still whiskey in them, age it for about two to three years here in California, I believe we’ll create something magical. Something women will fall in love with. If women buy it, men will love buying it for them. It will be better than wine.”
“Are you able to transform wine drinkers into whiskey lovers so easily?”
My shoulders lift in a shrug. “I’ve convinced plenty of women that whiskey is a far better choice. People say it’s my superpower. Do you have a superpower, Mr. Alexander?”
He rotates toward me, the glass empty now and dangling loosely in his hand. A genuine sparkle of amusement lights up his eyes.
He places the glass on the bar counter, and in a few steps reaches the chair I’m lounging in. Leaning down, he smiles slightly.
Why do I suddenly feel like his prey?
My heart pounds so hard I fear it will leap out of my chest. I sit up straighter as his breath stirs my hair. His scent is one of bergamot, pine, and the sharpness of whiskey. It’s the scent of a predator, and I’m drunk off it. I know the cologne he wears because I’ve memorized the aroma. “Tobacco” by Tom Ford will forever be associated with Flynn.
My God, he smells good enough to eat.
“You wanna know my superpower,” he murmurs, bracing his weight on the chair arms. “Okay, Allie Darling, I’ll play this game. With just one finger, I could make you fly. Do you understand? One. Finger.”
Flynn lifts a lock of my hair. It curls around his hand as if commanded to do so.
