Cole
Cherrybomb:How is it you have so much free time to chat, Hot Rod? Are you one of those guys who watches porn on the job and only works about 30% of the day?
Ilaugh. I’m supposed to be placing a product order in my office, but I started thinking about Holly and her offer to build Jane a computer, and the next thing I knew, I was forwarding Cherrybomb a funny meme Logan sent me. I consider telling her that Monday afternoons are usually quiet at the brewery, but there are only a few breweries in the county. There’s no way the AI would let me give her that much personal information.
I’ve been messaging her a lot over the last several days, more than I expected. Maybe it’s because Holly keeps popping up in my head, and Cherrybomb is a good distraction. She’s nothing like the other women I’ve spent time with since Millie’s death, but then I’ve purposefully avoided getting involved with anyone who might be too distracting.
Hot Rod:How do you know watching porn isn’t part of my job description?
Cherrybomb:Sounds like you’re living the dream. Are you by any chance a fluffer?
Hot Rod:Not really my thing, but if you ever need the female version of fluffing, I’m your guy.
She doesn’t answer right away, but I’m not worried about scaring her off. Cherrybomb doesn’t scare easily, or at least nothing I’ve thrown at her yet has offended her.
“Hey, Cole,” Brittany says from the doorway to my office.
I glance up as I place my phone on the desk, face down. “I’m still thinking about the suggestions you made this morning,” I say. “I’m not sure a karaoke night is a good idea, but I’m willing to give it a month or two to see if it catches on.”
Brittany has been full of suggestions lately. It doesn’t take a washed-up PI to see that she’s getting bored with her job. Hell, she’s probably only stuck around for this long because she feels sorry for me and Jane. Then again, she’s the same age as me with no husband or kids. She probably wants more in her life, which scares the shit out of me. For one thing, it would mean change, and I hate change, but more importantly, I’d miss her. She’s a good friend and someone I can count on, which makes me wonder if I should be a good friend to her and encourage her to do more with her life than bartend at my brewery.
A grin lights up her face. “It’s a damn good idea and you know it, but that’s not what this is about.” She pauses and turns serious. “There’s a guy out front who’s asked to talk to you. A suit.”
It takes me a half second to realize what she’s worried about. I sit up straighter in my seat. “You think he’s an attorney?”
“Whoever he is, he has money. His suit looks like it cost double my mortgage.”
That’s not saying much. Brittany bought her grandmother’s place from her siblings for a price you’d only give to family. Her mortgage is around five hundred dollars, but even so, there’s no way I’d ever spend a grand on a suit.
“What exactly did he say?”
“He asked if you were here.”
“And you told him that I was?”
“It’s not like you’re hiding,” she counters.
I nod and get out of my chair, heaving a sigh. The Labelles sent a car for Jane on Friday, and I sent him back alone, with a message to Evelyn that made him blush. After she called to chew me out, I relented and let Jane go for the afternoon on Sunday, telling Evelyn, “See? I’m capable of compromise.”
Nevertheless, I didn’t bow to her original wishes, so I’ve been expecting some sort of legal threat. I just thought it would come in the mail.
“I guess I’d better find out what he wants.”
“He might not be a lawyer, you know. He could be a rep trying to get you to put one of his beers on tap.”
“A beer rep in a suit?” I ask incredulously as I head down the short hallway to the space behind the bar.
Brittany follows. “Stranger things have happened. Several years ago, rumor had it a Buchanan Brewery rep was making the rounds in a suit.”
I snort. “Not likely.”
Sure enough, a guy in a gray suit and a dark blue tie is standing next to the bar. I expected him to be older—at least middle-aged—but this guy, with his styled and highlighted hair, looks to be about my age.
He doesn’t notice me at first, and his gaze wanders the room as though he’s studying the place.
He must sense my presence, because he turns, and a broad, shit-eating smile covers his face. “Cole Garrison. A pleasure to meet you.”
I try to keep my expression neutral, even though I don’t trust this guy as far as I can throw him. He might not be a beer rep, but I have the distinct impression he’s here to sell mesomething. If he came to sell me on the Labelles, he has another think coming. “What can I do for you?”
