Chad gave me a sour look as he shook my hand. His grip was strong, and he was clearly trying to prove a point. “So what kind of alcohol do you have over here?” He marched over to the bar.
“I can pour you a scotch,” I offered.
“What kind do you have? Probably some expensive brand that is basically just flavored water. That’s the problem with you young billionaires. You make all this money and just spend it on the worst stuff.”
“It’s not any of your business what he spends his money on, Dad,” Avery snapped.
“Would you care for an aperitif?” I asked Dottie.
“Oh, you Svenssons are charming!” she said. “I love any man that pours the alcohol!”
I smiled at her. As annoying as my brothers found the senior citizens in Harrogate, I had a soft spot for them. Could they be inappropriate at times? Sure, but they had your back when it mattered.
“He’s the most handsome bartender I’ve ever seen,” Avery’s stepmother declared. “I’ll take a French 75 if you can swing it.”
I combined the gin, lemon juice, and simple syrup in the cocktail shaker then strained it into the tall flute, topping it with champagne.
“And he does have a way with his hands,” Avery’s stepmother said as I deftly cut a curl of lemon peel, being careful to not take any of the white. “I love a man who’s good with his hands.” Her fingers ran lightly over my hand as I gave her the glass.
Cassie glared at her mother then grabbed the sleeve of her dress. “Mom, I know you wanted to see Avery’s new place. Not that you’ve really done much with it,” Cassie said, taking off down the hall.
Avery ran after her, saying, “I only just moved in! It’s a work in progress.”
I turned back to Avery’s father.
“Are you a scotch man?” he asked me.
I liked to pride myself on being coolheaded and rational. I refused to let Chad get a rise out of me. He leaned against the mahogany bar counter. I went behind the bar and took down a crystal tumbler then a bottle of scotch.
“How about a 1980 Glenfiddich?” I offered.
“See, that’s what I’m talking about. You don’t know quality. You need to be drinking Macallan,” he insisted.
“It’s a bit overpriced, and the quality has gone downhill,” I said, raising an eyebrow. “It’s mainly all marketing at this point.”
“No,” Chad shouted, slapping his hand down on the table.
I didn’t understand how Avery had put up with him for so long. It had been five minutes and I was ready to kick the man out of my house.
“Macallan is tried and true.”
I pulled a bottle of it off of the shelf and silently poured some for him and Trevor.
“Cheers,” I said, raising my glass.
“Good-quality stuff,” Chad said, smacking his lips.
I sipped the amber liquid. Chad threw the entire thing back as if he was doing a shot at a college party. I winced. Though it wasn’t the greatest, Macallan was still good scotch; one should savor it. Trevor copied our soon-to-be father-in-law and downed his glass. I was proud of myself that I didn’t grimace.
“So tell me,” Chad said, grabbing the bottle and refilling his glass. I clenched my fist, resisting the urge to snatch the glass out of his hand. “Honestly, why on earth are you with Avery?”
“Your daughter,” I said, not liking the way his mouth curled down slightly, “is a lovely, charming young woman. She must have had very good parents to turn out that way.”
“Ha!” Chad said. “Did she put you up to that? She’s a manipulative little bitch.”
I wanted to break that bottle of scotch over his head.
“I bet she’s good in bed,” Chad said, sucking down his second glass. “You should have seen her mother. She was sex on a stick, with the nicest tits you’ve ever seen. They were my downfall. I bet they’re yours. But her pussy, man.” He poured himself another drink. “It was a religious experience. Too bad she was bat-shit crazy. Avery’s just like her.”
