Lush (The King Cousins Book 1) (The King Brothers 4) Read online

  Axel had no choice but to fire Howard. In typical Axel fashion, it did not go over well. I kinda hope he can work it out with the old man. He’s been running the place under Axel for so long, I suspect it’s going to fall apart without him. And if anyone deserves a second chance, it’s Howard, who’s given his whole life to our family. But Axel won’t listen to reason.

  Griffin really needs to know all this, because while he already is well aware that Mike is a terrible human being, he currently has no clue that the guy tried to mess with our family business. So when he hears that Cassie’s been hanging out at my bar with the scumbag, he’ll understand how serious the situation is and my familial obligation to warn him will be concluded.

  Except that he doesn’t give me the chance.

  As soon as he finishes taking my blood, Griffin actually shoves me out of his clinic. I am so astonished by the manly display that by the time I rally he’s already slammed the front door in my face. I pound on it, yelling that I really do need to tell him something, but he’s just not having it.

  Well, hell. Fuck it, then. He’ll just have to figure it out himself.

  Aaaaaand the following day he finds out. Griffin shows up right after work somehow knowing about Cassie and Mike. The dude is wrecked. I proceed to get him very wasted. After all, I do feel a certain amount of responsibility; it was in my bar where the crime occurred.

  “I cannot even believe I was so fucking stupid,” Griffin grumbles after his second glass, staring into the beginning of his third like it might reveal what the hell Cassie had been thinking. Better the glass than me, I guess.

  Thinking I might cheer him up, or at least distract him from his misery, I say, “Hey, Grif. Wanna see something cool?”

  Griffin stares at me, his eyes struggling to focus. Yeesh. The last time I saw him this wrecked was … wait, maybe never. “Do I have to?”

  The ungrateful wretch. Coming around the bar, I haul him off his stool and steer him toward the back. Nodding to my other bartender to hold down the fort, I lead Griffin back past my uber-cool man lair—also known as the back meeting room—and into the storage section.

  Griffin slumps against the wall like he has no will to live. “Why are we here? If you make me do inventory now, I swear to—”

  “Oh, quit your whining. You and I both know you and Cassie will work things out. Now shut up so I can show you a secret.”

  Griffin straightens, the first glimmer of interest flashing across his face I’ve seen all day. Good. Progress. “A secret? There are no secrets in Ovid.”

  “There is this one,” I say. Then add, “Well, for a little longer, anyway. So keep your drunk trap shut.”

  Taking the keyring out of my pocket, I unlock the second secret door that I keep hidden behind a stack of empty liquor boxes. Throwing open the door with a flourish, I turn to Griffin, sketch an elaborate bow, then motion him inside.

  “You are the first brother I’m showing this to.”

  Now he really perks up. “Really?”

  “Yeah.” And it’s technically true. I’ve never shown anyone this room before—but I suspect Noah’s long ago broken in here.

  Griffin steps inside, then cries out in shock. He turns slowly, jaw hanging, taking in the barrels and barrels of bourbon I’ve got crammed in every nook and cranny of the place.

  “What is this?”

  Suddenly, I’m a little nervous. “You know that bourbon I make?”

  He nods.

  I wave at the room. “Here it is.”

  He gapes at me. “But this is … how much is this? There’s got to be nearly …”

  “Forty-two barrels,” I say, pride coursing through me. It’s a massive amount for just one person to have created. It’s taken me years to make this much by myself, long, painstaking, gloriously fun years full of experimentation and failure and success. Every penny of profit I’ve made from the bar has gone into producing this bourbon.

  And now, in just a couple days, I’m going to secure distribution for it.

  “What’s going on here?”

  The nerves flutter in my stomach again. “I’m starting my own label. This is the first batch. A month ago, I sent off a case to this distributor to see if they’d want to distribute my label. And, well, turns out they like it because I have a presentation next week with them. If I succeed, they’ll sell my product once it’s fully-matured and bottled.”

  Griffin’s eyes widen. “So that’s what Lipton Sr. meant when he mentioned you had a loan with him when I was with Cassie at his office. You’re actually going to make a business of this? Why didn’t you tell any of us?”

  I wince. Michael Lipton is a dick, but his father’s an even greater douche nozzle. He runs the only bank in town and puts that bad guy from It’s A Wonderful Life to shame. I still can’t believe he gave me the loan, frankly. But I gave him a five percent equity stake and two cases of the first batch. Apparently, that was enough to sway him.

  It would have been preferable had I gotten a loan elsewhere, but bar owners from tiny towns aren’t exactly creditworthy to most lending institutions. Options were limited.

  “I didn’t want to jinx it. Y’all have been drinking it for a while, but I didn’t want to share my plans until they were concrete.”

  He stares at me for a while. “So this presentation is pretty important, then?”

  I nod. “Northwood Beverage, Inc. is the largest independent alcohol distributor in the country. They could get me into places that would take years to get into on my own. That they even agreed to hear me out is insane. But apparently, one of the employees—the woman I’ve been emailing for weeks now—raved about it and pushed me through.”

  Griffin smiles, the first positive emotion out of him all afternoon. “That’s awesome. I’m proud of you, bro.”

  “Thanks, man,” I say, throwing an arm around his shoulder and leading him out of my secret room. Locking the door behind me, I pile the boxes back in front of it before we head back to the bar.

  That was actually … rather simple. Part of me has dreaded telling my brothers because I couldn’t bear to hear them knock their ridiculous brother’s dream. I’m the clown of the family, and that’s not exactly what springs to mind when one conjures the image of a successful businessman.

  I should have known they’d support me.

  Buoyed by the knowledge, I spend the rest of the week preparing for the presentation. By the time Sunday night rolls around, I’ve practiced it so many times it’s beyond memorized. No way are they turning me down. They’re going to roll in here tomorrow morning, hear me out, and sign me on the spot.

  I just know it.

  But when the knock comes Monday morning, it’s not someone from NBI standing in the doorway.

  It’s Stone Cold Barbie.

  Chapter Seven

  Jude

  A curious sense of foreboding overtakes me as I slam the door to my rental and head for Abernathy’s bar. It’s nearly a week later, and I’ve spent the time mostly holed up in my hotel room in Savannah. After getting a slate of STD tests at a clinic on Wednesday, I wait for Bartender Boy to contact me with his own results, but he doesn’t. It’s still probably too early for either of us to have them, but the not knowing is messing with my head and preventing me from focusing on the deal.

  Charles calls multiple times a day for updates. Like I have any. I’m still not precisely sure what he wants from me. I already checked out the bar. I mean, for heaven’s sake, I really checked it out. Beyond intimately. I know more about that place than any potential business partner has any right to, to be quite honest.

  Not that Charles can ever, ever find out about that.

  Since that night in the bar, I’ve only returned to Ovid once. After finishing my tests, I made the two-hour drive back to the town, thinking I might as well at least pay lip service to Northwood’s order that I get the dirt on the situation.

  But I only made it as far as the tiny cafe in town. The moment I walked in, all eyes turned on m
e. Call me crazy, but a gal knows when she’s being watched. So much for flying under the radar. Since I figured I’d attract more attention if I immediately walked back out after being noticed, I slunk into an available booth and had lunch. Not one but three people asked me how I stumbled into Ovid; I had to lie and say I was just passing through. Hopefully, I won’t run into any of them again.

  The rest of the week I spent deflecting Northwood’s increasingly pointed questions. He barely accepted my made-up story that I took a quick glance at the inventory room while pretending to go to the bathroom one night at the bar and couldn’t find any Old Abe’s.

  And now here we are, thirty minutes from the meeting if Northwood’s last text about his ETA is any indication. I wanted to arrive before him to smooth things over if King somehow found out about my interlude with one of his staff. We don’t need that particular revelation to happen in Northwood’s presence.

  Mustering my resolve, I step up to the bar door and give it a sharp rap. I wait impatiently, my foot tapping on the step, forcing myself to maintain my composure. First impressions matter, especially in business. The door finally opens, and a man steps out.

  It’s Bartender Boy.

  We gape at each other. No. No no no. This is too early for an employee to be here. No bartender shows up for his shift at 9 am.

  His surprise turns to delight. He smiles, the corner of his mouth lifting as he trails a long look down my body. “Well, well, well if it isn’t the mystery woman, herself. I had quite the delectable dream about you last night. You were wearing the most delightful cowboy hat—and nothing else. Exquisite. I don’t think any woman has ever ridden me quite so hard, even in my dreams.

  “I have to say, I never figured you’d deliver your test results in person. But if you try real hard, I might be convinced to go another round. Unfortunately, though, sweetheart, now really isn’t the best time for me. Come back later and you’ll come a lot. Wink wink.”

  “What are you doing here?” I snap. But I already know. The foreboding has transformed into sudden nausea. I know exactly where this is going. Instinct told me from the very moment I first set eyes upon him, but I chose to ignore it. And now we’re both going to pay the price.

  He chuckles, leaning against the doorframe and folding his arms across his chest. Instead of answering, he studies me again. Unmistakable heat flashes in his eyes as he takes in my charcoal suit, belted tightly at the waist with a wide belt and topped off with my good-luck four-inch black Manolos.

  “Eyes up here, buddy,” I say, snapping my fingers in front of his face.

  Reluctantly, he drags his gaze back to mine. “What was that?”

  I roll my eyes. So typical. “What. Are. You. Doing. Here? Do I need to draw a diagram for you to properly comprehend the question?”

  He shrugs a shoulder, still leaning against the door. “Well, seeing as how I own this place, I don’t really find it particularly surprising that I’m here this morning. The better question is, what the hell are you doing here? I kind of never expected to see you again in my life—not that I’m complaining, of course.”

  Oh, God. Exactly as I feared the instant he opened the door. This man, the guy I practically devoured on a bar stool, the man I’ve been having waaaay too many erotic dreams about this past week, is Nathan King.

  I am so screwed. This is the mother of all fuck-ups, the epitome of idiocy, the summit of stupidity. I can’t even begin to quantify the magnitude of my fuck-up.

  Maybe I hallucinated it. Yeah, that’s it. This is all a bad dream. I haven’t just flushed my career down the toilet for one hot fuck with a stranger.

  “What do you mean, you own this place?” I ask, just to be damn sure my world is ending.

  That smile widens again. Damn him for making me want to kiss that unfairly sexy mouth. Damn me for being distracted by the sight of it!

  “Well, hell, sweetheart, you seemed like such an intelligent woman. I never thought I’d have to explain the concept of ownership to you. You see, the notion of private property is the bedrock of American civilization. Without it—”

  “I swear, if you don’t shut up right now, I’m going to swipe that smirk right off your face.”

  “Only if you use your lips, sweetheart.”

  I jab a finger under his nose, so furious and horrified I’m actually speechless. He tries to nip my finger, the beast. Does he have no idea how catastrophic this is? Why isn’t he freaking the fuck out right now?

  Oh, wait. That’s because he doesn’t have a damn clue who I am. I start pacing back and forth on the top step, rubbing my temples, because of course now I have one hell of a migraine. I deserve it.

  “This can’t be happening,” I mumble. “I must be having the worst nightmare of my life. Yes, that’s it. I’m going to wake up any second now. I repent, God. Now let me wake up.”

  “You know, sweetheart, if you wanted to be sent straight off to a blissful slumber, all you had to do was ask.”

  I grind to a halt, and glare at him. This is his fault. “You told me you didn’t own this place!”

  He shrugs again. “I lied.”

  “Why would you do such a thing?” I cry, mystified. Who the hell lies about something like that? Especially to the one person who really needs to know the truth!

  “Because when women find out you own a business, they get a little squirrelly. Sometimes, I just like to fuck a gal without worrying about getting trapped into a relationship.”

  “That’s highly ridiculous. And honestly a little offensive. Believe me, if you had been honest—something you’re probably incapable of, anyway—there would’ve been no danger of that.”

  He finally sobers, straightening up from the doorway. “Okay, look. This little tête-à-tête or reunion or whatever the hell this is, has been entertaining, but can you just tell me what the hell you’re doing at my bar at nine in the morning on a Monday?”

  I laugh. Because it’s a little funny now. In the saddest way. I shove a hand at him. “Jude Shaw, your NBI partner liaison.”

  He pales. Finally. Now he gets it. “You’re the person I’ve been emailing for the last five weeks?”

  I throw up my hands. “You’re the one who created Old Abe’s? But it’s so good.”

  “And what, I’m incapable of making anything good?”

  “You’re entirely bad, and you know it,” I huff.

  He laughs. The sound is so sexy I get completely sidetracked and just stare at him like a drooling fool. He winks at me like he knows exactly what effect his laugh has had on me. And I’d be furious with him for pointing it out if I weren’t more disgusted with myself for being distracted in the first place.

  When he finally speaks, his voice has dropped a full octave. “You have to admit this is hilarious.”

  Oh, sure. And so is the implosion of my career. “This isn’t funny; it’s an utter disaster! What would my boss think if he found out we’d slept together?”

  “Who cares? Why would he give a single shit whether I’ve been balls-deep inside you during the sweatiest, filthiest sex of our lives?”

  “Oh dear God, stop,” I say, horrified. But too late. His words elicit a memory of him buried deep inside me, his eyes burning into mine and his breath panting against my face as he thrusts and thrusts and—Please, Lord, save me from this man. I clear my throat, giving myself a much-needed mental shake, and say, “It matters because it’s completely unprofessional, that’s why! My impartiality has been compromised.”

  He grins slowly. “Why, Miss Shaw. Are you saying that I compromised you? You know, I don’t think I’ve ever taken a woman’s virginity before. Popped her cherry. Swiped her V card. Removed her—”

  “Oh my God, you’re completely useless,” I say.

  “Now that’s just hurtful. I’d say you found me very useful when I was thrusting—”

  “Don’t you even dare think about finishing that thought.”

  “Too late. I already did in full, X-rated glory,” he says, winking at
me and glancing meaningfully down my body.

  “Now you stop that. This is serious,” I groan, trying to convince myself I don’t find his innuendo funny, even though it’s horribly inappropriate. “We—no, I, obviously—have to figure out what to do about this.”

  He sighs. “What’s the big deal? Just don’t say anything to your boss. There, problem solved.”

  “Nothing is ever that simple with Northwood.”

  “Jude, it’s just sex. Your boss doesn’t have any right to know a single thing about your personal life.” His eyes suddenly narrow when I don’t respond. “That is correct, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, of course.” And it is, but Northwood nevertheless has a way of sniffing out personal details about his employees.

  “Good. Because I don’t get involved with unavailable women.”

  “Really? I’m pleasantly surprised.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, this whole ice bitch routine is going to have to end as well. I haven’t done anything to warrant the nastiness—especially not in your boss’s opinion. It’s not my fault you’re pissed at yourself for sleeping with a guy who turned out to be your client.”

  My shoulders slump. “Okay, you’re right. I apologize; my behavior toward you has been uncalled for. The condom thing has had me freaked out, and now I mortifyingly learn that you’re the person I’m supposed to work with.”

  Nathan blinks in surprise, like he never expected me to apologize to him. Guilt rolls through me; I really have acted unprofessionally from the start. I need to get us back on track.

  “All right, listen,” I say. “This is how it’s going to go. You and I, for the duration of this endeavor are going to pretend as if we’ve never even met each other before, let alone bumped uglies. And I don’t just mean to other people; that includes ourselves as well. As far as I’m concerned, when my boss arrives, whenever the hell that’s going to be, it’ll be the first time I ever meet you. Got it?”