Bourbon Summer, page 3
Still, I snuggled into Tenor’s side. It was for show and maybe because I was an opportunist. When else would I get an up-close-and-personal feel of this man’s body? The wall of muscle I pressed against did things to my hormones. Gave them ideas about what else I could be doing with Tenor. As if I hadn’t imagined exactly what since I’d started working here a year and a half ago.
I’d been hired on when Brock had needed one of his “breaks.” We’d reconnected during my bourbon sampling days. Brock had probably seen the lineup of bottles and thought I had infused excitement into my life.
Tonight was a little too thrilling. I couldn’t look around the room. Could customers see Tenor’s arm around me? Cara might not know this wasn’t normal, but a lot of people here tonight would.
My mom always said one lie bled into another, and before you knew it, the cascade would drown you. As long as I perished out of Cara and Brock’s sight.
Cara recovered from Tenor’s faint insinuation that her wedding might not be the event of the season. “Oh, absolutely. Ours won’t be stuffy. It’s an outdoor wedding at the golf course. The house we’re building—that Brock is building—overlooks the course.”
“Hole nine,” Brock boasted.
Adoration filled her face and Brock puffed his chest out. “T-minus four weeks,” she lilted.
“The end of June?” I asked.
“The last Saturday.” She smiled like a Cheshire cat. “I’ll get you an invite. Where can I send it? Do you two live together? I keep telling Brock we’ll have to, like, become outdoorsy people or something. What is there to even do in town?”
“It’s downright boring,” Brock said.
Bourbon Canyon wasn’t my home, but I bristled in defense of it.
Tenor gave my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “My dad always said boredom is the sign of either a dull mind or a dull life. Fill one or the other and you won’t be bored.”
Brock’s jaw clenched and his eyes sparked.
“You can mail it here or just drop it off next time you’re in town,” Tenor continued, his easy tone belying any insult to Brock. “This is my second home.”
“You work the bar too?” Brock asked with a hint of superiority.
“I work all over Copper Summit, though I’m not at the Bozeman facility as much as I used to be. I’m one of the owners.” Tenor’s direct gaze landed on him, and I nearly felt sorry for my ex.
Tenor could be intense when he didn’t work against his innate presence. I’d watched him for too many hours in the distillation room. He was quiet and focused, always looking like he was hunting for the guys who’d killed his puppy. He stayed away from the crowds. Teller worked the tasting room with a tour, but Tenor always locked himself away in his office or at a computer.
Tenor held his hand out. “Tenor Bailey.”
Brock cleared his throat and accepted the shake. “Brock Gibson.” His voice pitched up at the end and he winced. Tenor didn’t look like he’d even been trying to crush my ex’s grip.
Cara rested her chin on her hand. “We were asking Ruby about having Copper Summit do the wet bar, but she’s not in the know. She’s just dating the boss.” She winked at me. “You don’t need the deets when you have him.”
I funneled more energy into holding my smile. This conversation exhausted me.
Tenor nodded, but his expression said they could eat shit; he wouldn’t care. “We’re able to provide wet bar service. If you’re interested in having Copper Summit help with your special day, either I or my brother Teller are the ones to talk to. But if you don’t mind, I’m gonna help my girl get ready to close now.”
“Oh yes.” Cara slid off her stool, giving Tenor another once-over, then shooting me a look at you! grin. She squeezed Brock’s biceps. “We should get going, babe. Let these two lovebirds close up.”
“I’d rather have you to myself anyway.” Brock drew his fiancée in for a kiss with flashes of tongue.
Ew. I used to be on the receiving end of that inept tongue. I shuddered.
Tenor put his mouth close to my ear. “Ignore them.”
I nodded, and as he pulled away, cool air surrounded me. The man was a furnace, and I’d been toasty warm.
I grabbed a rag and followed him to a table. He cleared the empty glasses and I wiped. The tingle of curious gazes was on us, but I continued working. I stayed close to Tenor. If Brock and Cara ever quit sucking face, they should see us together.
We moved to another empty table. Finally, Cara pulled away and wiped her lips. I should get her a set of handkerchiefs for her wedding gift.
Brock swiveled his head around and disappointment filled his face when his gaze landed on me and Tenor doing our thing and not paying attention to them.
I swiped around the table until my back was to them. “You were right,” I said quietly. “Ignoring them was best.”
“She’s insecure and he feeds off it,” he murmured. “She might even be jealous of you.”
With her looks, her job, and my ex, Cara was not jealous of me. She had a superiority complex.
Another couple got up at the table next to us. The guy smacked Tenor good-naturedly on the back, and they started chatting. I smiled at the woman. She ran the coffee shop. I usually stopped there when I came to town before my shift.
She glanced curiously between me and Tenor. Oh damn. People had noticed. How were we going to play this? How were we going to pretend to be a couple for a wedding in a small town that adored Bailey business? A lot of the guests would probably be from Bozeman and old classmates of mine—not that they’d remember me—but the happy couple was still moving to town. Would one wedding date be enough to sell the idea that Tenor and I were a thing? Could I count on Cara to be so self-absorbed that she didn’t notice?
Yes, probably. Brock might be so into his new wife he wouldn’t track the lack of me and Tenor after his wedding.
What incentive did Tenor have to keep the ruse going? He was a nice guy, but my crazy announcement had to be stretching the limits of his generosity.
I needed to freshen my cleaning rag. Tenor juggled several empty glasses. I took two from another cleared table. Relief was a breath of fresh air when Cara and Brock wound through the room for the door.
I smiled brightly. “Nice to see you again.” Might as well finish the night with another lie.
Acid churned in my stomach as I rinsed my rag and washed the glasses. Tenor deposited more glassware, grabbed the cloth, and went back to clear up more tables.
Everyone was gone. It was nearing closing time, and there were a few other bars in town that people went to for darts league, bingo, or bands. Copper Summit knew what it was—a tasting room by day and a cocktail bar by night—and didn’t try to compete with them. I appreciated the casual, quiet atmosphere. So many people from all around the world stopped in, and chatting with them had become one of my favorite things.
Tenor steadily cleaned the front while I stayed behind the bar. I got the dishes done, restocked, and cashed out the till. Using the tablet, I uploaded the numbers for the night and sent the reports to Tenor, surreptitiously peering at him from under my lashes.
He was crouched nearly to the floor, peering under a wobbly table. It’d be fixed by Monday. That’s just how Tenor was. When he saw something needed to be done, he did it. He didn’t expect fanfare or a pat on the back. He was humble. A trait that shouldn’t be rare, but in my experience with guys, it was.
He rose, uncurling that powerful body. My stomach dipped and twirled.
When he turned, his longish hair fell over his forehead. He shoved it back and pushed up his glasses. The tingles spreading across my skin rerouted, shivering down my spine and curling through my belly.
He was like Clark Kent. If he slicked back his hair and lost the glasses, he’d be kryptonite to oodles of women. As it was, the shaggy, nerdy look did enough damage to interested parties. Me being one of them.
Tenor was safe to admire from afar. He wasn’t abrasive, he listened, and he kept his distance. I didn’t have to worry that a giggle would give him the wrong impression about me. He didn’t field flirtation; I’d seen many a tourist try. Therefore, I knew there wasn’t a chance and could fantasize away.
His attention was on me, and he wasn’t slouching. He could be across the bar in three strides. He could pick me up and set me on the edge of the counter and—
Heat bloomed across my cheeks. That’d never happen.
Oh crap. I was staring. I jolted and looked around for my purse. “We’re officially closed.”
“We should talk,” he said.
The tingles and swirls were gone. Anxiety filled their place. “Yes. I got you into a mess.”
He waved my words away and came around the bar. Yep, three powerful strides. I’d need six. But he didn’t take me in his arms and toss me on the counter because he couldn’t stand one more second apart. That wasn’t a surprise. His bending to dig in a cupboard was.
He withdrew two short tumblers and a bottle of Copper Summit Gold from a bottom cabinet. That was where the Baileys stored all their special bottles they didn’t serve to the public. I’d never served a drink from there.
He poured a finger in each and scooted one over. He lifted his chin across the bar. “Have a seat.”
A shiver traced over my skin. A subtle command. He wasn’t bossy or pushy. He wasn’t loud or brash. And I ate it up like the attention-starved woman I was.
“Thank you.” I situated myself on the same stool Cara had sat on and crossed one leg over another.
His dark gaze lifted and met mine. Surely he hadn’t been looking at my legs.
I took a small sip. Copper Summit Gold was one of the best. A top-shelf spirit, it had the most complex flavor profile in our line. Vanilla, oak, and spices mingled without one element taking over. It was robust, yet smooth. Rich, yet simple. Pure bourbon, the way it should be made.
I had pitched a post describing it as so established it had the full charisma and not just the “rizz,” but Wynter had shut it down. I had thought that as the youngest sibling in the Bailey family, she’d be open to new ways to reach the just-turned-twenty-one crowd. So far, she was proving me wrong.
Cocktails were a way to capture younger consumers, and she knew that, but we’d never grab their attention with Copper Summit’s uber-polished aesthetic. We were entering the world of short video, and rizz was the terminology I needed to be using.
The golden bourbon inside my glass almost glowed under the soft bar lights. I dug out my phone and snapped a few photos. I never forgot the older crowd who loved their bourbon neat and insisted that it was a sipping drink. The counter was the best place to capture images.
Tenor watched me without saying anything. His hands were propped on the counter and he stood like he was bracing himself.
I slid through the images and held my phone out for him to see. “That’d make a good post.”
The tumbler was in focus, the amber liquid inside catching the light. But behind the drink was Tenor, strong arms braced on the bar top. He was slightly out of focus, thanks to the setting I’d used, but he captured as much attention as the drink.
He frowned. “Why would you use it?”
“It gives the drink a personal touch, and you would get the attention of males and females alike.” How many women would stare at it like me?
His brows drew together. “How?”
Was he oblivious? I fluttered my fingers around the screen. “Guys see that and think, ‘Maybe I could look that strong drinking Copper Summit Gold.’ Women look at it and wonder if you’d be the one serving it.”
The furrow between his dark brows deepened. “You can’t even see my face.”
“That adds to the mystery. You can be anyone to them.”
His lips thinned. “Junie’s the face of Copper Summit.”
“Junie doesn’t speak to everyone.” I clamped my teeth down on my lip. My inside thoughts had escaped through my mouth. I wasn’t usually that forward. I made suggestions, and when I was shut down, I dropped it. Copper Summit wasn’t my business to run. It was Tenor’s, and maybe I didn’t shut up around him because he’d already saved me once tonight. If we kept talking shop, he wouldn’t have a chance to tell me what a tragically bad idea going to the wedding was.
He was still propped on his hands, his shoulders hitched up. “She speaks to our demographic. They know her. She’s familiar. And now she’s famous in her own right.”
“I know. She’s brought a lot of new customers to Copper Summit.” I spun my glass in a circle. Junie also gave me more rein when it came to managing her personal social media. Working for her fueled so many ideas that I would love to use for Copper Summit, but my first attempts had not been successful.
“But you don’t think that’s enough?”
I shouldn’t be having this conversation with him. “I don’t want Wynter to think I’m going around her.”
“You’re off the clock. Speak freely.”
Uh, no. Unlike what Cara and Brock thought, I was not dating the boss. He was helping me out. “It’s nothing. I just think all of you Baileys are amazing and I think the public would agree.”
“By seeing my headless body behind a glass?” he asked, his tone gently prodding.
I should quit talking, but I loved my job. I loved studying the market and following the campaigns other companies used, and not just other distilleries. Anything food and beverage would do. Most entertainment industries were worth monitoring. Even fashion influencer accounts told me a lot about how different age groups reacted.
“Actually, I’d prefer the head attached. You each would attract your own audience, and you could do it without sharing much personal information. Anything would be related to the distillery and your roles within it. Even the ranch would be cool. A faces-of-Copper-Summit type thing. More than the bland headshots in your brochures.”
He cocked his head like he hadn’t heard me correctly. “Bland headshots?”
Yep, I should’ve quit speaking. Could I answer without digging more of a hole? “Don’t get me wrong, brochures work for an older crowd. Anyone older than me, at least.”
His mouth formed an amused twist. “You’re saying young people don’t like us?”
“No, trust me. All ages like you.” Shit. We’d been talking about the family and I’d singled out him. “They love the polished scraps you give them, but they’d go feral over the flannel. Every single one of you. The product needs to sell itself, but the key to growth is to build a community around the Copper Summit story, and not just the family origin, but the family as they are now. And it’d give me more content to work with.”
Tenor and his brothers, Tate and Teller, worked around the distillery, hauling out used mash or unloading bags of grain. I’d caught the show more than once. Muscles and rugged country guys making bourbon sold unsurprisingly well to both a male and female audience. Tenor wore baggy shirts, but they couldn’t hide how his body bunched and flexed when he moved, and the man moved like a melody. He’d sell some spirits.
I could take still shots, video, do interviews. Junie shouldn’t be the only face of Copper Summit.
“You’ve talked to Wynter about all this?” he asked quietly.
I lifted a shoulder. “Yes.”
He pressed against his hands. “Really talked and not just agreed with her because she’s your boss?”
“Yeah?” My voice pitched up.
Quiet, he studied me like he did with the rest of the world. When his lips pressed together, I knew he thought the same as his youngest sister when it came to updating the distillery’s brand. “I don’t want to attract an audience.” He took a drink. His mouth worked slightly as he rolled the bourbon over his tongue, then his Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed.
“Fair enough.” I understood, and I was relieved to drop the subject. I didn’t want to create waves at my job. “I don’t like to be on camera either.”
“Why not?”
I looked like a knockoff Snow White. My curls usually frizzed and my clothing was too cutesy to be a woodland princess. But I liked my style. Mom had taught me how to be a master thrift shopper. I wasn’t going to sell bourbon, and there was nothing wrong with being realistic. “I don’t have the vibe,” was all I said.
Ugh, but I knew who did.
“Maybe if Cara and Brock decide to book Copper Summit for their wedding, I can ask Wynter if we can make a deal with them. We could get some images from the event to show how young and versatile bourbon can be.”
He took another drink, emptying half the glass. “About this wedding.” He polished off the rest of his bourbon and washed the glass, his fingers deftly handling the cup and the cloth.
My pulse jumped. “About that. I think people saw you with your arm around me.”
He was going to bail. He’d been willing to save face in the moment, but that was the extent of it. Cara wasn’t his childhood frenemy. Instead of panicking, I should be helping him think of a way to untangle himself from the lies I’d told tonight.
I could always show up to the nuptials solo. Oh, sorry. Did I say boyfriend? I meant boyfriend material. Not my boyfriend.
It wouldn’t be the most humiliated I’d ever been.
“Bourbon Canyon’s too small,” he said, sounding not at all surprised. He’d probably clocked everyone’s reactions before me. “People are going to be asking Mama or my brothers about us. And then there’s the wedding. We’ll have to pretend to be together around town too.”
“You mean, like fake dating? You’d do that?” Why? He could just say no and be on his thick-thighed way. Why would one of the most-wanted bachelors in Montana let himself be tied up in a pretend relationship?
He lifted a shoulder like we were talking about which cocktail I should post next. “If we go back on it now, then Cara and your ex will most likely find out. She’ll get away with making you feel bad, and I don’t like the thought of that.” He shook his head for emphasis. “Not at all.”
