Page 41 of The Bourbon Bet
I narrow my eyes. “Do what?”
“Talk around that solid gold and diamond-encrusted spoon that’s been in your mouth since birth.”
I stand, chair scraping against the floor. “I don’t need to listen to this shit.”
Daniel makes a sit-down gesture with his hands. I’m tempted to flip him off and walk from the room, but he’d only follow. I settle my features into the carefully neutral mask I’ve perfected over the years. “Fine, fine. Please, spell out for me the ways I’m an asshole.”
He smirks. “Glad we're now on the same page. Not everyone can get a loan or have family help them financially.” I open my mouth to argue, but he points his finger at me and keeps talking. “I’m in no way saying you haven’t worked your ass off to get where you are, but during your climb to head of Blackstone and master distiller, you’ve never had to take a semester off because of bills. You’ve never had to shackle yourself with student loans that you’ll be paying off until you’re ninety.”
Daniel’s custom suit and handmade shoes hide his upbringing in one of the poorest Appalachian counties. “Hell, even with you hiring me right out of college, those first couple of years were rough. I’d come dangerously close to having my car repo’ed. And the apartment I’d rented with three other guys was…” he shudders.
The mention of a car reminds me of Rosalia being knocked from her bike during our dinner date. Does she not have a car because of the cost? Was that also why she’d ordered a cup of soup during dinner? Was that all she could afford?
I stare at the golden amber of my two hundred dollar bottle of bourbon in the lead-crystal glass. Christ, today she’d told me her dad is a barn manager. His job is essential to Kentucky life but doesn’t pay shit.
Shame crawls up my spine like ivy on old brick. I’ve prided myself on hard work and dedication, but I can’t ignore my advantages. It’s difficult to maintain my sense of righteousness when I meet Daniel’s steady gaze.
Leaning my head against the leather wingback, I glare at the ceiling and mutter, “Guess I am an asshole.”
“Yup, but underneath all the privilege and entitlement is a good guy.” I hear the grin in Daniel’s voice, but given all he’s said, I’m not so sure.
We drink in silence, though I barely taste the smooth liquor as a sinking sensation cements in my stomach.
“How are your dates with Rosalia going?” Daniel asks.
A mix of heaven and hell. “That’s a complicated question. Even more so since talking to you.”
“I’m a lawyer. I like complicated.” He rolls his wrist in a go-on motion.
“They’ve been great,” I admit.
Daniel snorts. “That’s not very complicated.”
“At least when I thought she was manipulating me, I could be pissed about enjoying her company. Now I just feel like garbage about it. Thanks.”
“That’s what you get for not listening to your lawyer,” he tosses back.
He’d warned me not to sign the contract for the bet, that it’d blow up in my face. The derby party is over a month away, and I already sense the inevitable fallout brewing.
I set my drink on the side table and shift forward in my armchair. “How can I—”
Daniel holds up a hand. “No.”
“You don’t know what I was going to say,” I huff.
“How can I get out of the bet? That’s what you were going to ask, right?” he says with a self-satisfied smile.
“Smug asshole,” I mutter.
Daniel laughs. “Your brother specified in the contract that if you back out, he automatically wins.” He points to the leather folder I’ve taken. “Reread the contract. You’ll see that stipulation in the second paragraph. I’m sure Thorne was certain sooner or later you’d want out. Most people realize it’s shitty to play with other’s lives.”
“Fuck.” I grip the back of my neck, pressing the skin together until it hurts. “What am I supposed to do?”
“So prickly,” Daniel says, not seeming the least bit bothered by my attitude. “It doesn’t seem like dating her is a hardship. And you are a good man. She’ll see that—”
“A good man wouldn’t have agreed to Thorne’s stupid, fucking bet.”
“He’s your brother. He knows how to push your buttons.”
