Page 20 of The Bourbon Bet
After a brief wait, our drinks are ready, and I navigate around packed tabletops and cords snaking from outlets to laptops. Rosalia has removed her red cardigan. The matching tank top is lacy and fitted, reminding me of lingerie. I picture her in matching panties, sprawled on my dark green sheets like a Christmas gift.
I squeeze my eyes shut briefly, confronting the maddening truth that my attraction to her persists despite everything. If anything, seeing her fight for her business makes her more appealing. That’s just fucking fantastic. I’m supposed to be protecting myself, not finding more reasons to admire her.
“Here.” I plunk her chocolate dessert masquerading as a coffee on the table, then sit with my arms crossed.
She accepts the drink but doesn’t meet my eyes, her fingers fidgeting with the handle. “You could have gotten these to go.”
I glance toward the photographer, but she’s gone. “Um, why?”
Rosalia waves a hand at me. “You seem unhappy. Annoyed.”
More like conflicted. Part of me understands why she’d agreed to my brother's deal, but another part still feels the sting of being used. Either way, I can’t let these feelings complicate things further.
Alienating her won’t help either of us. I need her to choose me over Thorne’s deal.
“My apologies,” I say. “It has been a rough day.”
“What happened?” Rosalia asks. She blows on her mocha latte and takes a careful sip, her lips parting slightly as the liquid meets her mouth.
I’m captivated by the simple act, and a warmth that has nothing to do with coffee spreads through me. To dispel it, I take a much too big drink and let the burn cool my heat for her. Ineedto remember that she accepted Thorne’s terms a few days after he offered, which tells me she didn’t even try to negotiate or find another way. The sting of betrayal sharpens, cutting through my conflicted feelings. If she’s willing to use me, maybe it’s time I stopped playing the gentleman.
I’ll try a move from my dad’s book: fear. Make her second-guess stealing from me. It’s shitty, but in the end she’ll keep her store and I’ll get rid of my brother.
What I need is a story. Something that will make her think twice about crossing me without being too obvious about it. I glance outside and see a pear-shaped, balding man shuffling past the window, thick glasses sliding down his nose, mumbling to himself as he adjusts his crooked tie.
He disappears from view, and an idea pops into my head. I arrange my face into a stern expression. “I found out this morning that my receptionist was stealing office supplies. I had to fire him. And press charges.”
She draws back. “For stealing paperclips?”
“Pens and notepads, too,” I add as if that makes the action reasonable.
Rosalia holds my gaze like she’s trying to read between the lines. “I see,” she says slowly, sipping her latte.
I swear a small smile is hiding behind her cup. She knows I’m full of shit. I blow on my coffee to hide mine.
She sets her mug down and asks, “R-red s-staplers as well?” Her impression of Milton fromOffice Spaceis spot on, and genuine laughter escapes me.
“I let him keep the Swingline. I didn’t want him to burn down the distillery.”
“Smart.” She sucks in her lips, but laughter breaks free. The sound is beautiful, like sweet tea on a hot day.
I should be calculating my next move, but all I want is to hear that sound again. So much for intimidation.
“Did your sister like the books you picked out for her?” She asks, settling back in her chair, seeming more relaxed.
“Yes. They arrived the day before she left for Thailand. She loved your beach read recommendation. She’s trying to get me to read it.”
“You should. It’s a fantastic story.”
“I’d love to, but it’s too easy to lose track of time when I’m thoroughly engaged. And this time of the year is incredibly busy at the distillery.”
I can’t help it. My gaze takes in her lacy tank top, travels to her neck, to her cupid’s bow lips, and then rests on her eyes, which are focused on my mouth.Our knees accidentally brush under the table, and I catch Rosalia’s quick intake of breath. A thrill zings through me. Maybe she isn’t immune to me either.
I grin and that breaks the spell. She leans back as if needing space and focuses on her mug. After a beat, she pivots. “I have big hopes for Novel Idea,” she says slowly as if choosing her words carefully. “I don’t want it to be just a one-off thing. I want it to be the start of something bigger, something that can make a real difference.”
My stomach drops and I struggle to read between the lines. I’m unsure if there’s hidden significance in what she’s saying. Is she revealing why she’s agreed to help Thorne, or is this merely small talk?
“One store can touch a community, but imagine what a network of them could do,” Rosalia continues, her eyes taking on a distant, dreamy quality. “Spreading the joy of reading, providing access to books in underserved areas, creating a chain reaction of literacy and empowerment... that’s the dream.”
