Billionaire With a Twist 3(14)
But then he let go, and his face looked worried again. That furrow was back, wrinkling that perfect brow.
“I’ve been thinking about selling my shares in the company,” he admitted. “The way Chuck’s running the business, I don’t want any of my finances tied up in it, not to mention my public image. But I can still exercise some control with those shares, and I’m worried that if I give that up…”
“He’ll put out even more terrible ads?” I said. “Don’t worry, I don’t think that’s physically possible.”
“If only it were just terrible ads,” Hunter said dryly. “I’m more worried about what Chuck will do to try to recoup the losses he’s incurring. Some of our employees have been Knox Liquor workers for generations—some towns owe their entire existence to our factories—but that won’t mean anything to Chuck. He’ll slash the budget with a machete and outsource everything as fast as he possibly can if he thinks it’ll buy him more time to get out with a golden parachute.”
That definitely sounded in character for Chuck. “So selling your shares is out of the question, then?”
He sighed. “Probably. What I’d really like is to be able to hire all the old employees away and give them job security. Before I ran away to the fishing cabin, that was practically every message Martha was taking for me—will there be job cuts? Will salaries stay the same? What about the employee benefits package? Everyone’s nervous about losing their work now. If this beer thing really takes off, then maybe…” He sighed. “I don’t know, Ally. This was just a hobby ‘til half a second ago. Can we really pull this off? There’s so much on the line.”
I grabbed his shoulder, forced him to look me in the eye. “Hey. You can do this. Chuck doesn’t know shit. This is going to be absolutely amazing.”
A smile ghosted over his features. “And how do you know that, Miss Bartlett?”
I smiled back, wider. “Because I know you, Mr. Knox.”
Our eyes met, and I saw my desire reflected in the deep dark pupils of his. I barely had time to draw in a sharp gasp before he surged forward and kissed me, his warm mouth avid against mine, hungry as he nibbled my lower lip. His strong hands pressed me firmly into his chest in an embrace I couldn’t have escaped even if I’d wanted to. I moaned against his hot mouth, opening mine wider to take his tongue in deeper, my hands grasping roughly at the fine fabric of his shirt—
And then his phone rang. We both froze.
This was getting to be a habit with us.
Hunter swore, and I giggled. “You should probably get that.”
“Probably,” he admitted softly, his fingers tracing figure eights on the sliver of bare skin at the nape of my neck. He gave me a slow, rueful smile, and then released me and took his phone from his pocket. The fingers of his left hand traced along my lips as he answered the call, only slightly out of breath. “Yeah, Martha, we’re heading back now. Pizza should be fine, get the anchovies. Yes, I know that’s gross, but Ally likes it.” He winked at me. “Okay, yes, but keep the pineapple on one side only.”
All I could do was smile up at him, my head spinning from the kiss and from the feel of his fingers stroking my lips. So warm. So gentle.
Damn, but I was hopelessly in love.
Hunter hung up the phone and closed it with a snap, taking my hand. “Shall we head back? Sounds like Martha’s putting the order through right now.”
“Sure,” I said, biting back all the things I wanted to ask: Does this mean you forgive me? Does this mean we’re back together? Does this mean anything at all?
I knew what that kiss had meant to me. But what had it meant to him? And how long until I could find out for sure?
SEVEN
“Try this one, it’s got this nutmeggy taste—”
“Now, this is a quality brew!”
“—my personal favorite’s the—”
“—can’t believe this is what Hunter’s been hiding in that shed out there!”
I jotted down some notes from my unobtrusive position nearby, sipping from my own bottle of the blend we were tentatively branding ‘the Genevieve’ after Hunter’s great-grandmother. It was refreshing and cool with a lavender aftertaste, and in my opinion, perfect.
Though approximately seven percent of the attending partygoers disagreed, with opinions ranging from “too fancy” to “too plebian” to “I can’t even tell what I’m drinking.” Hence the discreet note-taking, to try to see if any themes emerged or if the nitpicking was negligible.
The scent of barbecue wafted across the lawn, mixing with that of the beer and the fresh-cut grass and the sunscreen of our three dozen guests. It was the perfect scent of summer, and I inhaled it almost as greedily as my drink. A lovely green-and-golden smell that made me believe that this happiness just might last forever.
I caught a glimpse of Hunter. He was laughing and chatting and looking more relaxed and at ease than I had seen him in a long time as he greeted people and directed them towards the tasting table. On the other side of the lawn, Paige handed out barbecue ribs to an ever-growing line of hungry customers—who then headed back to the tasting table for a little something to quench their thirst.
My hunger must have shown on my face, because as soon as Paige spotted me, she handed off her apron and tongs to Martha before loading up a plate and bringing it on over.