Page 60 of The Bourbon Bet
I’m not so obtuse as to miss that he is also referring to himself. But Thorne is my damn brother. Tiffany was my wife. Neither of them showed me an ounce of loyalty. How can I trust a friend who works for me?
I hear how paranoid I sound, but I can’t stop. It’s like a sickness, this need to find the angle, the hidden motive. And as if reading my mind, Daniel says, “If I left Blackstone, if you didn’t sign my paychecks, would that change things? I could put my two weeks in now.”
“Yeah, it’d make a difference. I’d be pissed.” I mean it. Daniel is our best lawyer. And I do trust him with Blackstone Bourbon. However, the offer to leave does mean something. Maybe Daniel is a real friend. “And I get your point.”
“Cool. Does that mean I can finally give you the friendship bracelet I made us?” Daniel quips, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
“Only if it’s made from gold thread,” I counter with a smirk, folding my arms across my chest.
Daniel chuckles. “Elitist asshole.” The bartender sets three of our drinks on the bar, telling us she needs another minute to make the last cocktail. “Did you have to order Rosalia a Vieux Carre?” he asks.
I shrug. “She wanted to be surprised. And at least I didn’t get her a Commonwealth.”
“Shit, we’ll be waiting until dawn.” Daniel takes a sip of his drink and leans closer. “What I’m about to say is as your friend, not as a Blackstone’s lawyer, got it?”
Ignoring my drink, I focus on Daniel. “Okay…”
“Loan her the money. Then she won’t need Thorne. Sure, she’ll have to move, but so what? There are other great locations besides Whiskey Row. Then she could be with you for you.”
My gaze moves over the crowded room, ignoring the details and people, considering the suggestion. The idea holds appeal but has two major flaws. “No, if my brother found out I’d cheated—”
“And you don’t think he’s stacking the deck?”
“I’m certain he would, but I can’t see how.” I push away from the bar, pace a few steps, then return. Thorne has visited Rosalia at her bookstore, and I’m certain he orchestrated that fight between us during our horseback ride. “Even if he is cheating, I can’t do what you’re suggesting. If I give her a store, I’d never know if she’s with me out of obligation.”
Daniel tilts his head back and forth as he takes a sip of his drink. “Yeah, I can see that.”
The bartender returns, sliding Rosalia’s drink across the bar. I shove a fifty in the tip jar. “Come on, we’d better get back.”
With drinks in hand, we weave our way through the crowded ballroom, dodging dancing couples and chattering guests. As we near the French doors leading to the rose garden, I catch a glimpse of Anna and Rosalia talking. I freeze mid-step, watching her from afar.
Rosalia laughs at something Anna says, her head tilted back, exposing the elegant curve of her neck. The sight hits me like a physical blow. My breath catches in my throat. I have to force myself to breathe normally, to keep my expression neutral even as my heart hammers against my ribcage. She’s captivating, radiant in the moonlight against the backdrop of roses, somehow outshining even the night’s splendor.
“You going to stare all night or actually give her that drink?” Daniel murmurs beside me.
I shoot him a glare, but start moving again. “Remember what we discussed. Not a word.”
“Your secret’s safe,” he says with a wry grin that tells me he’s enjoying my discomfort far too much.
Taking a steadying breath, I step out into the garden, the cool night air a balm to my heated skin. Rosalia turns at our approach, and when her eyes meet mine, the smile that curves her lips makes my chest tighten with a dangerous mix of desire and doubt.
One thing becomes crystal clear as I hand her the drink, our fingers brushing for a fraction longer than necessary: I’m playing with fire. And despite everything I’ve built, everything I stand to lose, I’m not sure I want to stop the burn.
ChapterTwenty-Five
Sebastian
After a hectic week with barely any contact, I finally have Rosalia all to myself, starting with a late lunch at the iconic Galt House hotel. Thunder Over Louisville has arrived, marking the official kickoff of the derby festivals. After that, the countdown to Derby Day will seem to accelerate, along with Thorne’s deadline. But right now, walking beside her through the Galt House lobby, I’m determined to focus onlyon her.
Rosalia’s steps slow. I match her pace. The light click of her boot heels against the marble is a counterpoint to my heavier footfalls. Her gaze is fixed on the hotel, while mine is on her, drinking in her beauty and recalling our kiss that night at the gala.
“Listen,” she whispers. “It’s like a symphony of memories, the same sounds I remember from when I was here once as a kid.”
“And now we get to add our own voices to the mix,” I say, guiding her toward the elevators that’ll take us to the restaurant.
We arrive as a group is exiting. I step aside to let Rosalia enter first, then press the button for the twenty-fifth floor. As we rise, the elevator continues to fill at each stop until we’re packed shoulder to shoulder like the crowds along the river.
The murmur of my name comes from somewhere behind me, followed by the quiet rustle of someone shifting, and I feel eyes turning in our direction. A woman near the back whispers something to her companion, and the familiar tension of recognition fills the small space.
