Page 17 of The Bourbon Bet
I want to argue, but Paige has a point. This isn’t only about my dream anymore. Dad’s house is tied up in my loan, kids are learning to love reading here, and adults are getting the literacy help they need and want. I can’t let my pride hurt all them.
The once-absurd notion kindles a defiant flame in my heart. To take Thorne’s deal might tarnish my soul, but losing my bookstore would break it. My heart races as I come to a decision. Lifting my chin, I meet my friend’s gaze. “I’m going to do it,” I say, the words taste of victory and defeat.
Paige nods. “Good. Give that hottie hell.”
A ghost of a smile pulls at the corner of my mouth. “Are we talking about Sebastian or Thorne?”
“Either. They are both sexy as sin.”
A weak smile tugs at my lips as I take in my sanctuary—a sanctuary for many others as well. This place is worth fighting for, worth compromising for.
“Yes, I’ll accept Thorne’s offer. But it’s not the end. I’ll find another way, a better way. Whatever it takes, whatever the cost, I will save Novel Idea.”
The promise lodges itself between my ribs, not quite hope, not quite desperation, but something wilder and more dangerous. I drop Thorne’s card on the countertop. Its glossy surface catches the light. I’ve always prided myself on my integrity, on playing fair even when others don’t. Now I’m stepping into murkywaters, and part of me wonders if I’ll recognize the person who emerges on the other side.
Chapter Seven
Sebastian
I stare at Novel Idea from my Bentley. The book-shaped sign above the door swings lazily in the Tuesday evening breeze. A quick glance at my watch confirms it’s nearly closing time. The once-charming facade now mocks me. “I’ll let myself out, but stay near,” I tell Tom. “I’m not sure if this will take an hour or five minutes.”
He nods, but I don’t leave. Instead, I open the middle console and remove a glass bottle of water. Unscrewing the cap, I take a huge swallow.Pretending I’m happy to see Rosalia is going to be difficult. When I’d first asked her out, it had been because of a simple attraction. Now, thanks to Thorne, nothing is simple.
The bet has poisoned what could have been. She and I are playing the same game, only for different stakes.
How am I supposed to pretend for the next six weeks? Six long weeks of forced smiles and hidden agendas until the derby party. Six weeks to either win her heart or lose my place at the head of Blackstone Distillery to my brother. I’m an idiot to risk all I’ve worked for. God knows what Thorne could do to the company if he were to take over.
My phone rings on the seat. I glance at the caller ID and my mood drops further. The ringing cuts off, going to voicemail. I wish I could ignore the memory of our last conversation as easily as this call. Yesterday, I made the mistake of answering.
“What do you want?” I’d snapped.
“Good afternoon to you too, brother,” he drawls.
“Again, what do you want?”
“The bet’s on.”
The sentence lands like a punch to the gut. Rosalia seemed different, but she is just another person willing to use me for her gain. “It’s been days. I assumed she'd refused.”
“She took her time getting back with me,” Thorne admits.
Anger flares in my chest. “You, asshole, did you pressure her?”
“No, jackass. I left her my card in case she changed her mind. The pretty little book mouse called me this morning asking for her cheese.”
The implications of the bet slam into me. And not just for Rosalia. “The distillery is more than a business,” I tell him. “It’s our family legacy, and I’ve poured my heart into making it better. I won’t let you dismantle everything I’ve built or treat our employees like nothing more than numbers on a spreadsheet.” And he would undo all the progress and prioritize profits over the well-being of the employees. Why hadn’t I considered my employees? Yes, Rosalia’s bookstore is important, but so are the jobs of those who work for me. Thorne can’t win.
My brother snorts. “You should have thought about that before agreeing to the bet.”
“This bet, it’s a mistake. For the distillery and Rosalia.”
“Get over yourself.” His voice takes on that patronizing smoothness he’s honed through countless negotiations. We’re giving her the opportunity to keep her little store, which she wouldn’t have without us.”
“It’s because of us that she’s in this situation.”
“Regardless,” he says with an air of indifference. “She agreed, and I’m halfway to winning. Start packing.”
“Fuck you, Thorne.”
