Page 11 of Bad Love

"Tell me the new one's going to be good,Freddy."

His lean form shrugs. He looks as if he doesn't eat, though he has enough culinary friends in Manhattan to land the chef's table at any Michelin-starrestaurant.

"The test was not good. I massaged the recipe, and it was—" Frederick does that weird French finger-kissing thing. I clap him on the shoulder and walk to the now-open office door at the end of thehall.

"If I called him Freddy, he'd rip my arms off." Monty's low rumble greets me over the clinking of the canning machine running in thebackground.

My best friend refuses to wear jeans. His lower threshold is chinos with a pressed shirt. Which, coupled with perpetually troubled blue eyes and wild hair and a beard that makes my scruff look tame, gives off the impression someone grabbed him from a cave somewhere deep in the mountains, drugged him, and shoved him into a Brooks Brothers collection before he could wakeup.

But don't let the look fool you. Monty has a brilliant brain and drive. He graduated first in his business class—something my grandmother took notice of since Monty spent all his school breaks around ourhouse.

Monty’s parents didn’t have the means mine did. They also didn’t have much interest in helping him with his education or anythingelse.

Which was why minedid.

I shut the door, sealing out the sounds of the brewery. "Strawberry made a killing last year. I figured we could do some limited releases of other infusions too. Blackberry's nearlyready."

"And our gracious brewmaster went with your ideas." My friend reclines in the chair behind hisdesk.

"Yup." I open the file drawer. Without looking, my hand finds the mini basketball and lobs it into the net on the back of the door. “The flavored beers are good. But we should do something bigger. Exotics. Fruits you can’t find anywhereelse."

"If no one else can source it, how do we? Besides, your small brew uses local producers, which customerslike.”

I retrieve the ball. "True. If we source globally, we need to tell a story around it.” I think of Kendall's scent from the car. “If it’s worth it, people will do anything to haveit.”

Our easy banter has evolved over the last half decade, and there’s a rhythm to it. Most of our best ideas for the company come this way, through kicking things back andforth.

“There’s a problem. Someone's gotta execute. We’re at full capacity, and we don’t have the budget to hire more staff. Especially with the annual shareholder meeting less than a quarter away, the focus’ll be ontightening.”

I setup for another shot.Swish. “That’s what Deacon’sfor."

A rumbling sound at my back has me turning. Monty’s hands form fists on the desk, his posturetense.

“The man already does half your job. You want him to take something else on? You can talk tohim.”

“This is a great opportunity for the company,” I toss. “Deacon doesn’t like selling morebeer?”

"He doesn't like selling more beer and getting zero credit for it. And I don’t blame him. Having Deacon do the rest of the marketing director job while you focused on PR and advertising was supposed to be temporary. A transition after you came back fromtraveling."

"So?"

Monty stares me down. "So, it's been three years. You can't tell your family you're running marketing for the company while we pay someone else to do it. Head of marketing’s not only new recipes and social media. It’s building a budget. Working with staff.Distributors.”

The reality is I’m not cut out for that. The shiny, glossy stuff I can handle. The HR and accounting and logistics… I’d be setting the company up tofail.

“We’re protecting the board—which, let’s be real, is mainly my grandmother—from information that would displease her,” I tellhim.

His eyes are serious. "No one’s more committed to family than you. There aren’t a lot of guys our age who take their grandmother for brunch twice a month, who spend their downtime helping their mother make calls for her charity, but we’re running a business. It’s time to stop pretending and give Deacon the job and the credit. The board meeting’s coming up. It’d be the right opportunity to make itofficial.”

“No,” I say, automatic. I’m not letting my grandmother think I can’t manage my directorposition.

Monty sighs. “Back when we were in college, we talked about starting a company. Everyone in school wanted to make the hard calls. To have the responsibility. But you… it’s your family. Your fuckinglegacy."

Monty’s words land like an arrow in my heart, and I rub my face to hide my reaction. I crack a smile that takes more effort thanusual.

“Nepotism’s for Roman emperors and modern assholes, Montgomery. Every successful modern company from Coca-Cola to Google is built on promoting people who do exceptional work. Responsibility should go to whoever’s earned it. You’re the one who makes sure the people out there get paid every month. I'm an ideasguy."

I take one more shot,miss.

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