“So, you met with Owen last week,” she said without preamble.
I nodded.
“And how’d that go?”
Next to her, Chloe’s brow furrowed. “Wait, back up. We’re talking about Owen Lawless here, right? Why did you meet with him?”
“Yes,” I said, then quickly brought her, Ella, and Brie up to speed on the partnership opportunity Amara had passed off to me. I explained how I nailed the proposal presentation and how I knew I had it in the bag but Owen wanted to talk to Cal first.
Amara snorted at that. “You knew Cal wouldn’t reject you,” she said to me.
“Well…I hoped. I know I’m not exactly his favorite person after that shit I pulled Memorial Day weekend, but…”
My second oldest sister waved her hand dismissively. “He lovesyou, Lia. He’s past all that, and he knows you’re more than capable of taking this on.”
I grinned widely. “Which is exactly what he told Owen. You’re looking at the new half-owner of a distillery!”
My sisters erupted into cheers, Brie sliding an arm around my waist to squeeze me from the side, the other three reaching out to pat my hands—Ella—or ruffle my hair—Chloe and Amara. Then Amara raised her coffee to the center of the table and the rest of us followed suit.
“To Lia!” she cried, and we all clinked glasses. Her gaze locked with mine, one of those golden eyes winking as she said, “I have a good feeling this is going to be everything you’ve been searching for and more.”
God, I hoped she was right.
After breakfast disbanded, I was hyped up on caffeine and adrenaline. I made a quick pitstop at home for my laptop and other things I’d need for my and Owen’s meeting with the architect today, then headed into the city to go over a few things with him beforehand.
I gave Owen no warning that I was coming in early, and his brows drew together when he opened the door, sparing a quick glance for his watch.
“You’re early,” he said.
“I’m aware,” I responded, pushing past him and making a beeline for the couch cushion I’d come to think of as mine after only two visits to this place.
I had a feeling Owen and I would be spending a lot of time ensconced within these four walls, so I was grateful his furniture was comfortable—and that he kept a fully stocked bar cart nearby.
“There’s something I want to talk to you about,” I said when I was comfortable, my laptop open on the glass-topped table.
“Okay…” he said skeptically as he came to sit across from me.
“I’d like to document the process.”
“What process?” Owen asked.
I rolled my eyes, irritated by him playing dumb despite the fact that I offered no context. “Don’t be stupid, QB. It’s not cute.”
“I’m not a QB anymore,” Owen grumbled, and it seemed as though I’d pressed a sore spot.Interesting.
“Don’t care,” I said. “What I’m saying is that I want to document, well…everything. The meeting with the architect. The day we break ground. The entire build, designing the interior, distilling the spirits. All of it from start to finish.”
“Why?”
I answered his question with one of my own. “Have you looked into me at all? Like, checked out my social media?”
“A little…” he admitted, but I could tell from his tone that he was fibbing to some degree. The thought sent a little thrill through me.
“So you’re aware that I’ve taken my followers through every single day and detail of upgrading my house.”
“Yes…”
“I want to do that here. Build a following before we even open. With your pretty face and my marketing prowess and social media management skills, we’ll have people busting downthe doors the second we’re open for business.” I sighed heavily, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of my nose in annoyance. “This was all in my proposal.”
