Page 42 of The Bourbon Bet
“Let her get to know you. The real you. That’s how you’ll win the bet. Then Thorne will be gone, andyoucan renew her lease. Hell, give her the damn building if that eases your guilt. Just not before the bet ends because if you do either, you automatically lose.”
“I’ll try.” I drag my hand from my neck into the back of my hair and pull. Rosalia does seem to like me, at least sometimes, but enough to give up her bookstore?
“You need to do more than try. If you lose, Thorne will have total control of Blackstone Bourbon’s largest distillery.”
I open the file and stare at the contract. The weight of my actions is nearly physical. I’d let my pride and competitive nature cloud my judgment, and so many people could end up paying the price. Agreeing to the bet was a damn disaster.But self-reproach will have to wait. Right now, I have to concentrate on fixing my mess.
“I’ll win,” I say, tucking my uncertainty under my determination. “I’ll do my best to show Rosalia the real me, but…” I pause, rubbing my jaw, searching for the right words. I stand, pacing the room and stop in front of the window. The rain trickles down the glass. Each drop follows its inevitable course, just as I had followed mine without question.
“But what if the real me isn’t enough?” The worry escapes before I can stop it.
Daniel raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
I turn to face him, leaning against the windowsill. “The real me is the guy who agreed to this bet in the first place. The real me keeps people at arm’s length. The real me is…” I gesture vaguely at the vast, empty house around us. “This. Alone.”
“Sebastian—”
“I saw her face today, Daniel. When she was leaving. I put her in this impossible situation because I can’t stand my brother.” My voice drops. “She’s being forced to choose between her dream and her integrity, and it’s my fault as much as my brother's.”
Daniel sets his glass down. “You can still make this right.”
“Can I?” I look at the contract resting on the end table. “The more I get to know her, the more I see what I’ve done. She doesn’t deserve any of this.” I let out a hollow laugh. “And the irony is, the more I see that, the less I deserve her.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“Win the bet. Get Thorne out of our lives. And then…” I trail off, staring back out at the rain. “And then try to make amends, knowing she may never forgive me if she learns the truth.”
“And if she doesn’t forgive you?”
I don’t answer. I don’t have to. We both know that some messes can’t be neatly cleaned up, no matter how much money or privilege you have. And this one might cost me the first genuine connection I’ve felt in years.
Chapter Eighteen
Rosalia
I greet two women entering Novel Idea. They ask for the romance book club schedule, and after discussing the month’s pick, they wander off to browse the shelves. The conversation reminds me of what arrived in the mail yesterday.
Turning to Paige, who’s sitting on another tall stool behind the check-out counter, I lean down and grab two novels from underneath. “Remember a few months back when I mentioned that I was thinking of reaching out to authors whose books are selected forthe book clubs?”
She nods, and I run my fingertips over the top glossy dust jacket of the signed book. The weight of it in my hands feels substantial, a tangible reminder of the author’s generosity and the community I’ve built within these walls.
“They’ve all been very kind and appreciative that their books are featured in my clubs. A few have even sent me swag that I’ve shared at the meetings. This month’s author sent two signed copies.” I hand the top hardcover to Paige.
She slides off the tall chair and jumps up and down a few times, nearly shouting, “Oh my God! Will you do a giveaway? Please, say friends and family can take part in it. ”
April’s romance author is Paige’s all-time favorite. I point to the books she’s holding. “You don’t need to. That one’s for you.”
“For me?” Paige squeaks, holding it tight to her chest. “Are you sure?”
“Of course. You’re my closest friend and the one who introduced me to her books.” Her books are sweet and sexy, and the characters linger long after the story ends.
Paige opens the title page and gasps. “It’s made out to me. You shouldn’t have. What you should have done was auction the book. Use the money to buy this building. I love this author, but I love you more. You have to stay on this street. In Kentucky.”
Tears sting the backs of my eyes. “I want to stay too. And your idea’s great, but one book can’t save my store.”
Paige’s eyes light up, and she slaps her hand on the book cover. “Hey, that’s an idea! Why don’t you reach out to more authors and see if they’ll donate signed copies for an auction? You could raise money to save the store.”
I chew on my bottom lip, considering. It is tempting. My mind races, picturing dozens of signed books and special editions from various authors lined up on shelves. A flutter of hope rises in my chest. Then reality crashes in.
