Asher glances between us, clearly entertained. “That so?”
I give Asher a sweet smile. “I don’t like to think of it as a pitch. I like to think of it as astrategic acquisition.”
Nolan leans back, deceptively calm. But the twitch in his jaw, and how his thumb taps once, then stills, is all the tell I need. He’s so mad right now. I fucking love it.
Asher liftsThe Titanand takes a sip. He raises a brow.
Then he slidesThe Miragetoward me. “If I’m drinking, you’re drinking. Fair’s fair.”
He would give me the stronger one.
I meet his gaze and raise the glass. It smells like dusk, floral, faintly sweet. The first sip is soft, almost shy. Velvet on the tongue. Lychee, white tea, and a whisper of lavender swirl together.
Then, just when you think you’ve got it—bam.
A snap of pink peppercorn. A tease of heat at the back of the throat.
Gone just as fast. A memory you’re not sure ever really happened.
It’s smooth, deceptive, dangerous in the way only beautiful things can be.
Exactly like the roles Asher built his empire on.
Exactly the kind of drink that earns its own cult following.
He leans in, eyes gleaming. “What’s your story?”
“Just a girl, with some bad bitch energy, offering the man in front of her the world.” I set my glass back on the tray. “Little birdies say you’re ready to stretch your brand. I’m here to make sure you do it the right way.”
“And why should I hire you?” he asks. “Besides the fact that you can make some very mean cocktails.”
“Because I didn’t wait for a meeting. I made one.”
A beat of silence. Then Asher smiles.
“I do love it when a woman takes charge.”
“I bet you do.”
The tension is interrupted—again—by Nolan. “Rorie’s audacious, I’ll give her that.”
Asher’s gaze doesn’t waver. “And what are you, Rhodes? Jealous?”
Nolan stiffens. His response is a shade too slow. And just like that, Asher clues in.
He raises his glass in a mock toast. “To competition. May the best win.”
I lift mine. “Oh, I intend to.”
Jeremy materializes like a magician, presenting a gold-foiled envelope. “The grand finale,” he declares, handing it over.
Asher opens it slowly—inside, numbers, projections, profits. Proof of concept. He flips through the pages, brow lifted in interest.
Then he looks up at me. “Let’s talk.” He stands, extends a hand.
I rise, placing my hand in his. Nolan watches, silent and simmering.And I swear—just before I turn away—a new emotion flashes behind his eyes.
It isn’t anger.
