“Thanks, Rae. I appreciate the support from all of you. I swear that woman irks me so badly. Did you know she’s staying with your mama?” I blurt out, and the shocked expression on all of their faces proves they hadn’t heard.
“You’re fucking kidding me,” Bailey says, her anger obvious in her expression. “How fucking dare she.”
“Apparently, Indigo is looking to move to Crossroads.”
Billie spits out the latte she’s just taken a sip of. “I swear to our dear Lord Jesus Christ, I am going to end that bitch.”
“You and I both, sister,” Raven says, and the scheming look in their eyes has me smiling for a completely different reason.
I love them and how easily they’d fight for me. Suddenly guilt washes over me at the fact that here they are, willing to do whatever it takes to ensure my happiness, meanwhile I’m lying to them about my relationship status with Jase.
Maybe it doesn’t have to be a lie. Maybe I can take Jase up on his offer of making it real. “You know what?” I say, stopping in my tracks and making Billie crash into my back. “We’re going back. I need a new dress that’s going to tell that bitch not to mess with my man.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Jase
Iwoke up this morning feeling hungover, even though I hadn’t had a drop of liquor in over seventy-two hours. To make matters worse, my cock has been painfully hard for nearly a week, from the memories of Monroe in my arms, her sweet mouth against mine, and the way her body melted into me like she wanted it just as badly. And then, just as fast, she pulled away. Freaked out, shut down and ran away.
I spent all that night wondering where I’d gone wrong. What I’d done that made her flee. Things were perfect. Every kiss, every touch. My lips against hers and my tongue on her pussy, devouring it the way I'd craved since our night together.
Now, standing behind the polished bar with a clipboard in my hand, I try to bury myself in inventory. Bottles clink as I shift them around, tallying crates of whiskey, tequila, and vodka, pretending like the memory of her isn’t messing with my head.
The front door opens, the bells above jingling, and a woman with all the confidence in the world strides in with a telling smirk across her face. Her bright auburn hair falls in smooth waves over a suede jacket with fringe detailing on the sleeves,matching the red cowboy boots on her feet. She looks exactly like the kind of woman who owns a bourbon distillery and has driven investors crazy, begging to do business with her.
Funny thing is, she doesn’t want a damn thing to do with it.
A few weeks ago, I went up to Raleigh to work on finalizing a deal with a local bourbon distillery I’d been pursuing. Though trying to score a meeting with the owner to offer him a contract, which I thought would be beneficial to us both, was harder than expected.
To my surprise, the new owner, Lacey Lane, a young and ambitious woman in her early twenties, inherited the business from her father a few months ago after his sudden passing. The poor girl had no idea how to run the business or what owning a bourbon distillery entailed. She had been away in Nashville for school when she dropped everything to put her father’s affairs in order. That and the fact that she had a toddler was one reason she was hesitant about keeping her father’s company, Lane & Co.
When I met her at the distillery, the meeting I was hoping to have with her father, who I'd assumed had been dodging me, I immediately saw how she’d potentially ruin the company in a matter of months without guidance.
So, I offered Lacey an opportunity she couldn't refuse. To exclusively sell her family’s special reserve bourbon in my bar and in turn, I’d give her forty percent of the earnings for the next five years on top of a twenty percent down payment for the production. I’d considered it a win, not to mention it would ensure Stingers Tavern made its mark in the world of renowned bars and taverns.
“Jase King,” she says with a grin, sliding onto a barstool. “Your bar looks even better in person than in the pictures you sent me.”
I set the clipboard down and wipe my hands on a towel before extending one out to her. “Appreciate that, Ms. Lane.I hope you brought some of that special reserve Lane & Co. bourbon with you.”
She smiles, shaking my hand, her bright green eyes flickering with excitement. “Two samples,” she says, pulling a sleek black case onto the bar. “This is the small batch we’re rolling out specifically for you, and this one’s our single barrel. I think your clientele will love it.”
I set two glasses down before her, and she delicately pours us both a taste. The bourbon is a beautiful amber color, catching the light like liquid fire. The scent is a warm, inviting blend of vanilla and oak, with a subtle hint of caramel that teases the nose. I swirl, sniff, and let it burn smooth down my throat. The velvety texture coats my tongue, followed by a gentle burn that lingers pleasantly. Damn good. Exactly what I want for Stingers.
I take my time savoring the taste as Lacey eagerly awaits my response. “It’s perfect,” I tell her, and instantly her lips turn up in a bright smile.
“I’m so glad you agree. Honestly, I was surprised by how much I was enjoying the entire process. I’ve been at the distillery every day since the last time we spoke, making sure everything is in place and going perfectly to be ready for you. I can have the special reserve cases available as soon as next month.”
I look over at the calendar hanging on the staff bulletin board. I was hoping she had a different answer for me. Bailey’s planning a New Year's Eve celebration, and I was hoping to have the cases ready for it, but it sounds like we may have to schedule another special event for this.
Grabbing our drinks, I follow Lacey to the table closest to the bar. We’re in mid-discussion about the contract and timeline of production when the door opens again. My shoulders tense. The air is suddenly cold, tense, and reeks of jasmine and lavender. I know it's her before I even turn.
“Jase?” That voice hits me like nails down a chalkboard.
Indy strolls in like she owns the place, with her blonde hair styled perfectly, fur coat draped over her shoulders, and eyes fixed on me. She doesn’t even look at Lacey sitting beside me, just zeroes in on me.
“I’ve been trying to reach you,” she says, sliding closer, her tone soft and sweet like she thinks it would undo everything between us. “I miss you.”
She trails a hand down my chest, her fingers toying with the buttons of my henley. I set my glass down on the table with a sharp thunk. “Indigo, what the hell are you doing here?”
