Page 17 of Whiskey Kisses For the Mountain Man
CHAPTER FIVE
OWEN
She's standing in front of me, eyes blazing, chest heaving in that vintage red dress that hugs every curve of her body, demanding my cooperation. In the middle of the fucking distillery. With every employee within earshot frozen in place, pretending not to listen.
And all I can think about is how goddamn sexy she looks when she's fired up.
What the hell is wrong with me?
"Mr. McKenna?" Her voice cuts through my thoughts. "I asked you a question."
I'm torn between wanting to tell her to go to hell and wanting to drag her back to my office and show her exactly what her little display of dominance is doing to me. Neither is appropriate.
"My office," I grunt, brushing past her without waiting for her response.
I hear her exhale sharply behind me, followed by the quick tap of her boots as she follows. I push open the door to my office and hold it for her, trying not to notice the way her vanilla and cinnamon scent fills my nostrils as she passes.
The moment the door closes behind us, she spins to face me.
"Son of a nutcracker, what is your problem?" she demands, her hands on her hips. "One minute you're offering to help me with Christmas lights after our meeting, and the next you're ignoring me and storming out of your office like I brought the plague instead of coffee and cookies."
She doesn't curse. It's both amusing and oddly endearing, the way she substitutes with these ridiculous phrases.
"Are you done?" I ask, crossing my arms over my chest.
"No, I am not done, Scrooge!" She takes a step closer. "I've been nothing but professional despite your Grinchy attitude. I've rearranged my plans to accommodate your schedule. I even brought you treats and coffee, which you didn't even have the decency to acknowledge!"
Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes bright with indignation, and a strand of that chestnut hair has fallen across her face. I have to shove my hands in my pockets to keep from reaching out and tucking it behind her ear.
"I was avoiding you," I admit bluntly.
That stops her mid-rant. "What?"
"I was avoiding the meeting. I was hoping if I didn't show up, you'd reschedule." I move past her to sit at my desk, putting a barrier between us. "I didn't expect you to track me down."
She blinks, clearly thrown by my honesty. "You were... but last night, you agreed to meet me this afternoon. You said you'd help with the lights after our meeting."
"I say a lot of things I regret in the moment," I mutter.
Her expression hardens. "So you were just lying to my face?"
"I was..." I struggle to find the right words. "I was trying to get rid of you."
"By agreeing to help me today?"
I run a hand through my hair, frustrated. "Look, I don't do Christmas. I don't do festivals. And I definitely don't docorporate sponsorships of town events. Ezra knows this. He's dumping this on me because he thinks it'll be good for me, but it won't."
"What's so terrible about working with me on a festival?" she asks, her voice softer now. "Is it really that much of a burden?"
Yes, I want to say. It's torture being around someone so full of holiday cheer when the very thought of Christmas makes me want to drink until I can't remember my own name.
"I've got other priorities," I say instead.
"Like what? Brooding?"
I glare at her, but she doesn't back down.
"I get it, you know," she continues. "Not everyone loves Christmas. But this is business, Owen. Professional. The distillery made a commitment, and now it's on us to follow through."
