Neat (Becker Brothers, #2)(18)

“Now, you might remember them from the video earlier. If—”

“What video?”

I stopped, searching for the source of the question. It was an older woman, the one who had offered me her jacket.

“I’m sorry?”

“You said we should remember them from the video. What video?”

“I—” I paused, realizing I’d skipped over the small museum of history put together over the years. It included all the versions of our bottle, label, and the first blueprints for the distillery.

It also included the video I’d just referenced — that no one had seen, thanks to me.

“I’m sorry,” I said with a smile, shaking my head. “I must have forgotten that stop. We’ll circle around after this.”

“So, you forgot that stop, and the stop earlier, and, apparently, the other half of your shirt,” she said, eyeing my midriff disapprovingly before she looked at her husband. “You’d think the daughter’s owner would be better prepared to give a tour — especially one we paid for.”

There were murmurs of agreement from the rest of the group, and a few people looked away with discomfort.

I swallowed. “I’m very sorry about missing that, but I assure you, we’ll go—”

“I don’t need your assurance, dear. I need you to give us the tour we paid for. Yelp reviews said this was an amazing experience, and so far, it’s fallen pretty flat. I don’t know about these folks, but I’d like a refund.”

There were more nods, more agreements, and something that felt a lot like embarrassment settled low in my stomach. If I’d have been a more emotional woman, I might have teared up, but as it was, I just stood there, frozen like a stupid deer in headlights, not knowing what to do or say to make it right.

My eyes found Logan, and he frowned, tucking his clipboard under his arm as he made his way to the front to stand next to me.

“I apologize for the mishaps in today’s tour, ladies and gentlemen. Mallory is a new tour guide, and this is her first tour she’s led by herself. As you can imagine, it can be a little nerve-wracking.”

He touched my arm — just for a second — but it was the only source of warmth I felt in that moment.

“We’d be happy to provide refunds,” he continued. “But first, let me tell you a little more about these barrel-raisers, and then we’ll get to the best part — the tasting. Sound like a fair deal?”

There were some chuckles and murmurs of approval at the mention of the tasting, and as if it was the most natural thing in the world, Logan slipped on his charm and took over, doing his best to turn the tour around.

And I couldn’t even stay to watch it.

I smiled as best I could at the group, letting them all pass me before I escaped out the back door of the warehouse and practically ran back to the main building. I crossed my arms over my exposed stomach, shaking my head as the disaster of a tour replayed over and over in my mind. By the time I made it back to the tour guide lobby, I felt something so close to what I remembered crying feeling like that I locked myself in the bathroom so I could get my shit together.

I wasn’t sure how long I sat there, fully clothed on the toilet, elbows on my knees and face in my hands as I focused on breathing. In and out, inhale and exhale. No matter how I tried, I couldn’t calm down, and it didn’t take me long to realize why.

I had made a fool of myself, just like Logan had said.

It was time to eat crow, to apologize to him and take back everything I’d said. Suddenly, my shirt felt idiotic. It was my sad attempt to rebel in whatever little way I could against my father and the deal we’d struck, and it’d been the catalyst for this whole disastrous day.

I had acted like a child, and what was worse, I’d lived up to the nickname I loathed so much.

I sighed, taking a moment to splash water on my face before I left the bathroom in search of Logan. He was just setting his clipboard down in his office from returning from the tour, and when he turned and found me standing in his doorway just as I had that morning, he gave me a soft, sympathetic smile.

“You okay?”

He could have gloated — God knows if it were me in his shoes, I would have — but instead, he stood there with his hands in his pockets, his shoulders folded, eyes sad like he’d just kicked a bunny.

Like I was said bunny.

I shook my head, swallowing down what was left of my pride before my eyes met his again. “Logan, I—”

“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!”

My words were cut off by my Uncle Mac blowing past me into Logan’s office, eyes murderous, face red and puffy as he slapped a thick stack of papers down on Logan’s desk.

“A tour of twenty-five, and every single one of them demanding a refund. I had to give out free shot glasses from the gift shop in an effort to stop them from ripping our distillery a new asshole on Yelp reviews,” he fumed, pointing a finger directly at Logan. “I need an explanation, and I need it now.”

Logan stood straight, chin high and chest broad as he addressed my uncle. “Mac, this was all my fault. I thought Mallory was ready, and I let her lead the tour. I th—”

“It’s her sixth day on the job, and three of those days were spent in orientation, for Christ’s sake. What were you thinking?” He didn’t wait for Logan’s response before he continued his rant. “Of course she wasn’t ready, and you knew better than to let her do more than pour the whiskey at the tasting, let alone lead a full tour.”