“By seeing my headless body behind a glass?” he asked, his tone gently prodding.
I should quit talking, but I loved my job. I loved studying the market and following the campaigns other companies used, and not just other distilleries. Anything food and beverage would do. Most entertainment industries were worth monitoring. Even fashion influencer accounts told me a lot about how different age groups reacted.
“Actually, I’d prefer the head attached. You each would attract your own audience, and you could do it without sharing much personal information. Anything would be related to the distillery and your roles within it. Even the ranch would be cool. A faces-of-Copper-Summit type thing. More than the bland headshots in your brochures.”
He cocked his head like he hadn’t heard me correctly. “Bland headshots?”
Yep, I should’ve quit speaking. Could I answer without digging more of a hole? “Don’t get me wrong, brochures work for an older crowd. Anyone older than me, at least.”
His mouth formed an amused twist. “You’re saying young people don’t like us?”
“No, trust me. All ages like you.”Shit. We’d been talking about the family and I’d singled out him. “They love the polished scraps you give them, but they’d go feral over the flannel. Every single one of you. The product needs to sell itself, but the key to growth is to build a community around the Copper Summit story, and not just the family origin, but the family as they are now. And it’d give me more content to work with.”
Tenor and his brothers, Tate and Teller, worked around the distillery, hauling out used mash or unloading bags of grain. I’d caught the show more than once. Muscles and rugged country guys making bourbon sold unsurprisingly well to both a male and female audience. Tenor wore baggy shirts, but they couldn’t hide how his body bunched and flexed when he moved, and the man moved like a melody. He’d sell some spirits.
I could take still shots, video, do interviews. Junie shouldn’t be the only face of Copper Summit.
“You’ve talked to Wynter about all this?” he asked quietly.
I lifted a shoulder. “Yes.”
He pressed against his hands. “Really talked and not just agreed with her because she’s your boss?”
“Yeah?” My voice pitched up.
Quiet, he studied me like he did with the rest of the world. When his lips pressed together, I knew he thought the same as his youngest sister when it came to updating the distillery’s brand. “I don’t want to attract an audience.” He took a drink. His mouth worked slightly as he rolled the bourbon over his tongue, then his Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed.
“Fair enough.” I understood, and I was relieved to drop the subject. I didn’t want to create waves at my job. “I don’t like to be on camera either.”
“Why not?”
I looked like a knockoff Snow White. My curls usually frizzed and my clothing was too cutesy to be a woodland princess. But I liked my style. Mom had taught me how to be a master thrift shopper. I wasn’t going to sell bourbon, and there was nothing wrong with being realistic. “I don’t have the vibe,” was all I said.
Ugh, but I knew who did.
“Maybe if Cara and Brock decide to book Copper Summit for their wedding, I can ask Wynter if we can make a deal with them. We could get some images from the event to show how young and versatile bourbon can be.”
He took another drink, emptying half the glass. “About this wedding.” He polished off the rest of his bourbon and washed the glass, his fingers deftly handling the cup and the cloth.
My pulse jumped. “About that. I think people saw you with your arm around me.”
He was going to bail. He’d been willing to save face in the moment, but that was the extent of it. Cara wasn’t his childhood frenemy. Instead of panicking, I should be helping him think of a way to untangle himself from the lies I’d told tonight.
I could always show up to the nuptials solo. Oh, sorry. Did I say boyfriend? I meant boyfriend material. Not my boyfriend.
It wouldn’t be the most humiliated I’d ever been.
“Bourbon Canyon’s too small,” he said, sounding not at all surprised. He’d probably clocked everyone’s reactions before me. “People are going to be asking Mama or my brothers about us. And then there’s the wedding. We’ll have to pretend to be together around town too.”
“You mean, like fake dating? You’d do that?” Why? He could just say no and be on his thick-thighed way. Why would one of the most-wanted bachelors in Montana let himself be tied up in a pretend relationship?
He lifted a shoulder like we were talking about which cocktail I should post next. “If we go back on it now, then Cara and yourex will most likely find out. She’ll get away with making you feel bad, and I don’t like the thought of that.” He shook his head for emphasis. “Not at all.”
“People are going to talk.”
His right eye twitched and a cloud of tension rolled over him. “And this time, I’ll be in control of the narrative.”
What other times hadn’t he been in control? He wasn’t talking and it wasn’t my business to ask. It wouldn’t take much to convince people. The town’s grapevine would take over and fill in the blanks. Fake dating Tenor Bailey. He wouldn’t have to do much to be better than all my real dates.
