“I have, and I can highly recommend the All-In Burger, or the tuna if you like it rare. What can I get you to drink?” The bartender walked toward them. “Gin?”
Emerson looked along the modest gin selection before scrunching her nose slightly. “I’d love a cosmopolitan, and would you mind switching the triple sec for Cointreau and keep the lime juice to a little shy of half an ounce please?”
Gins he represented were on the shelf, and it bothered him a little that she hadn’t seemed to find any of them appealing. Not that he was mad at her, more that for the first time in his life, he was aware of just where his products stood in the quality pecking order.
He ordered a beer for himself. “You know your way around your cocktails,” he said in admiration. “What’s the secret with the Cointreau?”
“Triple sec can be…sharp. And since bars tend to use a lot of cheaper, really sharp limes, it can be too much. But switch it out for Cointreau and it’s smoother. More nuanced. There’s a hint of delicious orange that comes through.”
Connor couldn’t help but watch her mouth as she spoke. She was wearing a deceptively nude gloss, and he wondered what it would taste like, what she would taste like without it. He turned his stool to face her properly.
“How was your week?” he asked.
“A masterclass in how to keep your head just above water. I graduated as an expert.”
Connor leaned forward and took the hand that was in her lap, relieved when she clasped her fingers around his. “Some weeks are like that, I guess.”
Emerson shrugged. “I suppose. I’ve only been doing this for two months, but it’s a steep learning curve.”
Her fingers were warm and soft. “Give it time. Is there anyone in your organization you can rely on to help out?”
“Not really. Everyone else is tapped out, too. I think it’s the double-edged sword of working in a smaller company, especially a family-owned one. It’s a tightly controlled structure, but it struggles when someone is absent.”
“Ours is still a family business, but it’s a multi-hundred-million-dollar business, so we have a bigger structure. More people who think they need to be involved in every decision.” Thoughts of his uncle flitted into his mind, and he quickly dismissed them.
Emerson grimaced. “Right now, I feel like I’d benefit from a few more people. My dad—”
“Here are your drinks, folks.” The bartender placed their drinks on coasters in front of them. Connor squeezed her hand one last time before letting go.
“Thank you,” Emerson said, reaching for her drink. “Anyway. Cheers. And thank you for asking me to dinner. I’m so glad you did.”
Connor tapped his glass to hers. “Cheers. And I’m happy you’re here.”
They sipped their drinks for a moment, and Emerson moaned. The sound reverberated through his chest. “Oh my. That’s so good.” Emerson offered the glass to him. “Try it.”
His eyes were locked on her as her tongue ran its way slowly across her lower lip. Lucky fucking tongue.
He took the glass she offered and took a sip. “Better than I expected,” he answered honestly. “I tend to stick to whiskey for a spirit. You were about to say something about your dad before the drinks arrived.”
“If you remember, I mentioned in my speech how my dad passed away recently.”
Connor nodded. That flutter of guilt that he already knew so much about her family returned.
“Well, because it’s a family business, the share is split equally between the three of us, but my father requested in his will that I take it over. I’m the oldest. Jake and Olivia both have their thing. It’s what I always wanted, but…”
“It’s hard?” Connor filled in.
“No, it’s not even that. I don’t mind the hard work. It’s just…lonely. And decisions that my dad made every day seem huge to me. Like I might break something precious if I don’t make the right call.”
Connor was struck by the way she viewed her family business. Precious. Finch Liquor Distribution was just a company to him. A hugely profitable one, but still just a company.
“And you had some of those issues to grapple with today?” Connor asked because he was concerned for her and because he couldn’t help being curious about what possible difficulties the distillery could be facing.
“Yes, but nothing I can’t handle…get through…manage. Whatever. You know what I mean. But I thought I’d have so much more time with my father to learn; I’m not sure I’m ready.”
If he pressed her now, he could get the kind of information that would help him make a better offer should the time ever arise. Vulnerability was always a weakness when it came to a negotiation. But the truth was he didn’t want to manipulate her. He’d done shady things to get the deal he wanted before. And yes, he wasn’t proud to admit that at least one deal he could remember had taken advantage of a grieving family who couldn’t decide what was best for their business.
Yet as Emerson looked at him with growing trust in her eyes, he couldn’t do it.
“I’m sure you are doing an admirable job.” He reached for her hand again and squeezed it tightly.
“I hope so,” she said, straightening on her bar stool. “Nobody wants to go down in family lore as the person who destroyed the family business.”
The server arrived and ushered them to their table, where they finished their drinks while checking out the menu. After they’d ordered, the burger for him and the seared tuna for her, Emerson placed her forearms on the table and leaned toward him. “Tell me more about yourself, Connor.”
He couldn’t help but notice the way the move pushed her breasts high beneath the cut of the sundress. Round and full. Wait, she’d asked about himself. “What would you like to know?”
“What’s the first movie you remember watching as a child?” Emerson took a sip of her drink.
“Easy. Star Wars. My stepdad, Derek, couldn’t wait to watch it with me. I’m sure there were others before it, but I loved Star Wars.”
Emerson grinned. “Me too. Which character did you want to be?”
Connor thought for a moment. “Luke, obviously. What about you?”
“You’re going to laugh.”
“Princess Leia?” he asked. “Got one of those cosplay bikinis in your closet?”
She shook her head. “Nothing so predictable. Chewie.”
“You wanted to be Chewbacca?” Connor began to laugh.
“All the way. My mom got this brown fur material and made the costume. I had a mask. I even had the gun belt thing. I learned everything about the Wookiee warrior…I learned about his planet Kashyyyk…and sometime, which isn’t now, I’ll show you my amazing impersonation.”
Connor grinned. “You speak Wookiee?”
“I speak Shyriiwook. There are many Wookiee dialects.”
Connor tried to reconcile the beautiful and slightly bohemian woman sitting opposite him letting out the guttural groan of a nearly seven-foot-tall, aggressive ball of fur. “Are you still into the whole”—he waved his hand as he grasped for the word, but it didn’t come—“thing?”