EIGHTEEN
MEREDITH
I can’t sleep another night in his bed. The futon should be uncomfortable. I should be tossing and turning like I always do. Instead, I curled up last night wrapped in his scent and passed out until my alarm went off.
Now I’m finally done for the day. The past twenty-four hours have felt like a week. Tomorrow is the second part of my brew day.
I finish mopping the floors and put all my cleaning supplies away. At the bottom of the stairs, I eye the office with the light still on. Did he fall asleep up there?
“I’m heading out, Calder,” I call.
A chair scrapes against the floor, and the wheels creak seconds before he pops his head out. My stomach dips. He has the same flinty expression as the day he first entered the brewery, but the clothes he’s wearing are wildly different. His crisp jeans are more worn after a few days of helping with chores, and his tight shirts are somehow tighter, like his muscles were holding back in the city. But a new furrow creases his brow.
“Is something wrong?” I ask.
He jogs down the stairs and stops in front of me. “Why didn’t you tell me how bad things were?”
“I told you, I don’t know how it is.” I tip my head back so my confusion is fully visible. He’s using his McBossy tone, like I outright lied to him, when I have no idea what he’s talking about. “That bad?”
“This place. The fucking ranch. It’s amazing the doors are still open.”
Shocked, I rear back. His heated tone is aimed at me. “It can’t be that terrible.” Ransom would’ve said something, given me some warning. “We have distribution deals, and we’re busy most nights. I mean, the winter gets a little slow, but that’s normal.”
“He gave you a hell of a fucking raise when you started working here again.”
Defensive heat licks across my neck. “He set the salary. I would’ve worked no matter what.” Has he spent all afternoon and much of the evening stewing up there, letting me do all the work before dumping his angst on me? “If I didn’t live in Scandal, I’d barely make ends meet with what I’m paid.”
“But you do, because you live in their house. Did he pay for your car too?”
“My douchey ex sold it to me.”
His right eye twitches, and my indignation pumps hotter, turning to anger. I’ve had a long week, my future feels too uncertain and I don’t like being back in that place, and now I have to deal with him?
“You were just waiting to blame me again for anything, weren’t you? What’s the matter? Realized you might’ve had some responsibility in the rift between you and Ransom and decided to take it out on me?”
“You know nothing about that.”
“According to you, I know about everything. It’s like I tossed my sister onto your dad.” I poke him in the shoulder.Ow.“I don’t know what you want to be angry about—if it’s the funeral, or that your brothers haven’t shown yet, ormaybeyou’refiguring out it was you three who kept the feud going for much longer than it ever needed to—but I don’t need your shit.”
I stride away, my heart pounding, and retrieve my purse from behind the bar.
He’s a thundercloud at the base of the stairs. I could get hit by lightning before I walk out the door. “We need to talk about the books.”
“I’m a brewer, not a bookkeeper,” I say, circling the bar.
His long strides eat up the distance between us, and he traps me between him and a chair. “Did you know this place is failing?”
“Of course not.”
“Are you sure? You could buy it dirt-cheap from him and have your chance to do what you want. I’m sure your credit is pristine.” He’s closer now, hovering right over me. I like it too much, how his shoulders block out the light. How he’s so close I can see the dark striations in his eyes. Close enough to smell him, like I’m wrapped in his sheets.
But he’s infuriating.
“Jules Creek can’t be doing that bad.”
“He’s been taking out loans for years.”
My mouth drops. Disbelief holds my horror at bay. “No. He couldn’t have.”
