Neat (Becker Brothers, #2)(13)

You could tell a lot about a person by reading their favorite book.

I made a mental note to pick it back up before bed tonight, so I’d have something to talk to my new, grumpy boss about on Monday. Then, I made my way back downstairs.

“Two champagne flutes, as requested,” I announced, setting them on the folding table left behind by the previous owner. It was the only piece of furniture in the shop, save for the metal folding chair beside it.

Chris popped the bottle of champagne open, both of us smiling at the familiar sound. He poured me a glass first, and then one for him before setting the bottle down and holding his glass in the air.

“To my amazing, hard-working, talented-as-fuck best friend and her dream becoming a reality,” he said. “May this studio be everything you’ve ever wanted and more.”

I touched my chest. “You’re so sweet. But no, you can’t host a grand opening.”

He was just about to take a sip, but he paused, poking his bottom lip out. “Oh, come on. Please? You have to get the word out somehow. Just let me throw one, eensie-weensie grand-opening party with some glitter and booze and then I swear, I’ll never ask to host an event again. I’ll let you make the studio as boring and emo as you want.”

I chuckled, rolling my eyes before I clinked my glass to his. “Fine. But no glitter, and no techno music.”

“Your loss,” he said on a shrug, taking his first sip before he did a little twirl, taking in the studio in all its naked glory. “So, work at the distillery five days a week, and you get to run this bad boy on the evenings and weekends. That was the deal you made with good ol’ Patrick Scooter, am I right?”

“Yep,” the word rolled over my lips with a pop. “Which basically means I’ll be doing what I loathe more than anything for seventy percent of my life, and what I love for the other thirty.”

“Life is about balance,” Chris offered with a teasing grin. He leaned a hip against the folding table, watching me over the rim of his glass before he took another sip. “How was your first week at the glorious Scooter Whiskey distillery?”

“Annoying. I have a stupid uniform, and had a two-day orientation that I’ll never for the life of me understand why I didn’t get to skip, considering who I am.” I sighed. “Oh, and, you’ll never guess who’s training me.”

“Logan Becker.”

I opened my mouth to tell him who, only to pop it closed again. “How could you possibly know that?”

Chris cocked a brow. “It’s Stratford, honey. Not like this town doesn’t know everything about everyone. Logan has been the Lead Tour Guide for two years now. Of course, he’s training you.”

“Huh,” I mused. “Well, then you can also imagine how awkward it is.”

“Oh, you mean because your families used to be best buds back in the day and now loathe each other?”

“Don’t be cute.”

“Impossible not to be,” he said with a wink. “But honestly, it can’t be that bad. You are both far removed from your parents’ drama, aren’t you? Logan Becker always struck me as the most level-headed of those brothers. He was always the one trying to stop them from fighting.”

“But he never backed down from one, either.”

“Touché.” Chris took a drink of champagne. “Was he an asshole to you?”

I thought that question over, battling with whether the answer was yes or no. He was a bit rude, especially when he asked me why I was even there at all. Then again, with the way I dressed that first day and the prissy better than everyone attitude I walked in with, I couldn’t blame him.

“No?” I finally said, taking my own sip. “I mean, I can tell he doesn’t want me there — but I think it’s just because of who I am, and the fact that my uncle is retiring soon, and he’s had his eye on that job for years.”

“You think they’ll make you manager over him?” Chris shook his head. “That doesn’t seem right. You’re just starting.”

“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “Dad never said anything about that in his deal, but…”

We both fell silent, because I didn’t need to say it out loud for Chris to know that my father wasn’t known for playing clean or fair. He knew what he wanted, and he stopped at nothing to get it.

If me being manager was in his plan, it didn’t matter if I knew about it or not — it would happen.

“Logan Becker,” Chris mused. “God, I had the biggest crush on him in high school. He was always so broody, in like… a nerdy kind of way. You know? Like, he was always reading in a corner, being mysterious and shit.” He sighed. “There’s just something about a boy with a book in his hands.”

I chuckled.

“What?” Chris said, crossing his arms, the top hand still dangling his champagne flute like a charm bracelet. “Like you don’t recognize how down-home hot that boy is.”

I shrugged, pushing off from where I was leaning against the table next to him to pace. “He’s not hard to look at.”

“Bullshit.”

“Fine,” I huffed. “Yes, he’s hot. But, he’s Logan Becker. That boy has had more girls in his bed than I’ve had pairs of Chucks — and that’s saying something. It’s not like he’s anywhere near my type, or that I’m anywhere near his. We were in the same grade and never said more than two words to each other.”