The woman’s brown eyes scanned me from head to toe, and her lip curled slightly. “Temperance Schaefer,” she said, making no move to shake my hand. “And you are?”
“Delia Delatou,” I said, slipping my hand through Owen’s arm. “Owen’s business partner.”
I wanted to say more, to tell this woman that I washisin every sense of the word, but I’d be damned if I stooped to that level. She wouldn’t get those admissions from me before Owen himself did.
Temperance raised a brow, glancing pointedly at where we touched, then up at Owen. “Business partner?”
“Yep,” Owen said. “Delia partnered with me on the distillery. We’re even building on her family land.”
“That’s…cute,” Temperance said, and I wanted to rip her hair out.
I grew up with four sisters. I wasn’t a stranger to jealousy, especially not since my sisters and I were so close in age and best friends on top of being family. But growing up around that many women, after a while, had anesthetized me to the effects of that particular emotion. We’d fought over boys and clothes and literally everything else so often in our teen years that few things phased me these days. I genuinely believed there was room at the table for everyone in whatever industry you happened to be in. Men were already making it their personal mission to pigeonhole us into being homemakers and solely responsible for child rearing, so we shouldn’t be treating other women the same.
But this woman? And women like her? They were responsible for sending feminism back to the suffragette movement.
“We’re not even open yet and already have over fifty thousand combined Instagram and TikTok followers,” Owen said proudly, covering my hand comfortingly with his. “And it’s all thanks to Delia. Did you know she has her own wildly successful social platforms?”
“Oh really?” Temperance purred. “I’m not sure I’ve heard ofyou.”
I shrugged. “You can find me at DeliaDIY if you ever want to see what I do.”
I bit back a grin of satisfaction when her eyes widened.
She’d clearly heard of me, had probably scrolled my TikTok for costume and party favor ideas. Though, I doubted she got her hands dirty with any real DIY. To me, she seemed the type to pay someone to do that for her. But I could guess fashion and lifestyle were a different story. I’d made a killing from brand deals by doing try-on hauls, get-ready-with-me videos, and decor reveals. I’d bet good money she religiously watched my videos.
“I’ll have to check it out,” she said noncommittally, waving a hand dismissively.
“I think you could really benefit.”
I gaped up at Owen. Those exact words had been floating in my own mind, but I’d had zero intention of ever speaking them. For him to come to my defense like that in such a small way? We’d come so far from the early days of our partnership.
I wanted to hug him then, to wrap my limbs around his body like a monkey in a tree. To press my lips to his and imbue the kiss with every swirling emotion inside me.
I was absolutely crazy for this man, and it was time I started acting like it.
Thanks to the seemingly endless glasses of bubbly after dinner, I was a little unsteady on my feet by the time we dipped out of the gala and returned to our hotel. I couldn’t help the slight sway of my body with the elevator as we rode up to our floor.When we stepped out, I made my way down the hall, knowing Owen would follow, and grateful a moment later that he had. As we neared the door to his room, the spike of my heel caught on the carpet and I stumbled, throwing my hands out to hopefully break my fall before my face did.
Only, the impact never came. Instead, strong arms wrapped around my waist and hauled me back into a warm, solid wall.
“Be careful, Whiskey,” Owen breathed against my ear. “Can’t have you breaking that pretty face of yours.”
I spun in his arms, heart rate kicking up at our proximity, though I was emboldened by the alcohol coursing through my veins. “You think I’m pretty?”
Owen chuckled, a disbelieving sound, but he sobered his expression quickly. “You’re the most stunning woman I’ve ever laid eyes on, Delia. Inside and out.”
“Prettier than Temperance?” I practically spat her name.
“Ahh,” Owen said knowingly. “So that’s what this is about.”
“Is not,” I protested weakly, dropping my gaze to the space—or lack thereof—between us.
A finger tucked under my chin, slight pressure tipping my head back until I met Owen’s eyes.
“It’s okay if you’re jealous, you know,” he said softly. “Means you care. Means you want me. But I also need you to know there’s nothing to be jealous of.”
“You sure?” I asked petulantly, breaking our stare to fix on a random point over his shoulder. “She sure looked cozy and perfect hanging off your arm when I came back from the bathroom.”
“Look at me.” The demand in his tone brooked no room forargument, and my eyes snapped back to his in an instant. “When you’re in the room, no one else exists. And when you’re not around, I’m wishing you were.” He leaned his forehead against mine. “God, Whiskey. When are you going to put us out of our misery?”
