Redheaded Ben looked up from his plate. “It did okay. Institutional investors were slow to respond, but the price jumped and helped postlaunch, so the valuation was obviously conservative.”
Connor grinned as he emptied his bag of the gin he’d brought. Ben was a pessimist, a glass-half-empty kind of guy currently sitting on a hundred-million-dollar payday.
He turned to Blake. “How’s the new apartment?” He loaded up his plate with salad and what he hoped was a reasonable portion of the buttery risotto.
Blake stood and rinsed his plate in the sink. “Talia went overboard with the fucking plants. They’re everywhere. Can’t even take a shit in peace without tendrils of this thing hanging from the ceiling tickling the back of your head. But otherwise, cohabiting is better than I hoped, to be honest. Can highly recommend.”
“Did you need a pass to get out tonight?” Charles asked, dropping two poached eggs on Connor’s risotto.
Blake laughed and shook his head. “No, because we’re both grown adults with our own lives and respect that. What about you, Connor? Cameron still being a dick?”
Connor shrugged, chewing a mouthful of food. “He knows that once Dad retires at the end of the year, he’s out. He was a decent head of finance about fifteen years ago, before the company grew to the size it has, but I’m going to need someone a lot more dynamic.” He told them about the ride in the elevator. “He hates change. Wants everything status quo. He’s risk averse and prefers the company to be cash risk instead of having a balanced portfolio.”
“You played the long game well, Connor,” Ben said. “You deserve to take over. I don’t know how you’ve stuck with it all these years.”
“Every day is like playing chess, strategizing moves. I just stay focused on the shit that matters to me. It sucks balls to let some things slide, but I realize that while Dad wants me to take over, Cameron still has a certain amount of sway with him. So keep your friends close and your enemies closer and all that.”
Charles placed a sparkling water next to Connor’s plate. “Thanks,” Connor said.
“No worries,” Charles replied. “Donovan has always listened to Cameron. Are you worried your dad is going to spring some last-minute surprise in your new contract saying you have to keep Cameron on?”
Connor’s gut tightened. He’d had the exact same thought. “The draft CEO contract I’ve seen doesn’t have a clause in it. But I’ll triple-check it before I sign it. I’m more concerned Cameron is going to influence Dad into looking externally for a CEO replacement, leaving me where I am, or perhaps he’ll even offer to be the CEO himself.” He was sick of his uncle and needed to get off the topic before it soured his mood.
“Anybody want to try this?” he said, holding up the gin.
Blake nodded. “You’re drinking on a school night?”
Connor grinned. “Was one of the medal winners the other night. Wanted to try it. Figured sharing it with you guys was better than sitting in my apartment drinking alone.”
Charles slapped him on the back. “Told you you were a loser. What did it win?”
“Best in Class. The packaging is crisp and bright, totally stands out on the shelf…a smart touch by whoever created the design. If it tastes as good as it looks, which the medals suggest it does, then the distillery is onto a winner.”
“Is this one of the distilleries you’re thinking of buying?” Ben asked.
“Undecided. Meeting with Dad tomorrow to discuss.” His friends didn’t know his father’s history with the distillery; there had never been reason to share his dad’s business with them. They took his comment at face value.
And he certainly wasn’t ready to tell them about Emerson Dyer. He looked at the gin bottle. Should he find a way to contact Emerson and tell her what he thought?
If his father could get set off by simply knowing Connor had drunk Dyer’s gin, he could only imagine what his father would say if he knew about the thoughts Connor had harbored about Emerson Dyer.
He’d spent several frustrated hours reminding himself it was none of his business if she’d gone back to Sven’s room to geek out on the tonnage of seaweed required for ten thousand bottles of gin. Or perhaps to slip out of that black dress to reveal the body Connor had lost sleep imagining. He’d eavesdropped as they’d spoken to one another after her win, only to be interrupted by his father’s call. Not knowing what Emerson had done after he’d left was gnawing at him.
He rubbed his hand along his cheek and grimaced.
The woman had him in knots, and she didn’t even know it.
Needing to change the topic from Dyer’s Gin Distillery and distract himself, he reached for the poker set and placed it on the dining table.
“Who’s ready to play?” he said.
And attempted to push Emerson Dyer to the back of his mind.
Emerson groaned. “Why did I decide to do this? And how was I able to convince you to join me?” she asked Ali, her patient best friend, as she sweated through every available pore.
“Because it’s the only way I get to see you,” Ali replied, the sentence punctuated by gasping breaths as they finished their final set of burpees before the trainer allowed them to collapse on their mat.
When Emerson’s father had died, it was Ali who’d stayed with her that first week. It was Ali who made sure she functioned enough to keep the distillery going. And Emerson had thanked her by diving headfirst into running a business she was barely capable of, leaving little time for her friend.
“I’m sorry. It’s been a lot.”
Ali sat up on her mat and crossed her legs, her long, blonde ponytail swinging. “I know it has. I was only teasing.”
Emerson wiped the sweat from her forehead. “I’m serious. I’ve got to get on top of all this, but I still feel like
