Chapter 16

Bourbon was morethan just a profession here, it was a lifestyle. Artwork and memorabilia that paid tribute to its evolution lined the hallways leading to every section inside Foxx distillery. From bourbon when it was sold in the prohibition era as medicine, to the way it was portrayed in movies and cultivated a subculture. It's inspiring to see it all laid out and honored. But I also know that if I don't watch how much of that "lifestyle" I consume, I'll end up screwing myself and confessing too many truths to Grant Foxx.

"Where you heading, Laney?" His ears must have been ringing. Hearing his voice behind me, that smooth, deep drawl that lingers when he's not busy trying to figure me out, makes my stomach flip.

"Exactly where everyone who works here should be heading."

He catches up in a couple of strides. "What are you eating?"

"The last of my sour gummy worms," I answer as I glance at his handsome profile. "Wait, are you actually coming? Hey!" I slap his hand away as he reaches into the bag. "Get your own."

He laughs and still manages to snag one, but he doesn't answer my question. Grant hasn't been to a single one of these sessions since I started. The already crowded space buzzes with chatter as I glance around and smile at a few of the tour guides I've become friendly with. And they all notice who's walking in with me, just about everyone is doing a double take as we get settled. Only, he doesn't acknowledge anyone. Proving just how much he likes to keep to himself.

"Most of what you're tasting in bourbon comes from the barrel aging process. I'll challenge anyone to tell me otherwise." Lincoln projects his voice as he looks around the massive room a few minutes into the meeting. I look around and almost everyone is fixated on what he says. These team meetings weren't in a boardroom nor needed someone to take minutes. This was how Foxx Bourbon made everyone feel like family—they simply talked. Lincoln and Ace made it a point to speak with every single person, from the tour guides and coopers, to the folks who worked the lines for bottling and labeling. I witnessed how they made their employees feel important. This was another way.

He's like some kind of homing beacon, because my eyes find Grant standing off to the side watching his brother. Casually leaning against a rack of wood staves, his arms cross over his chest. He looks like he'd rather be doing anything else than listening right now.

What's he doing here? He never joined these nor went back to the main house afterwards for happy hour. "I'm not going to let this go." I cringe, thinking about Bea's name slipping from my buzzed lips. I need to be smarter than that.

"We fire bend our barrels here," Lincoln explains.

One of the new social media managers asks, "It's not the metal hoops that bend them to their shape?"

But instead of Lincoln responding, Grant lets out a sound that grabs more than just my attention. He smirks while shifting his lean and crossing one leg over the other. "Grant, you want to take over here?"

He holds up his hand to his brother, gesturing no, but it's when his eyes meet mine again that I can't help but issue a non-verbal challenge with a raised eyebrow and lick of my lip. Why are you letting Lincoln lead this? Isn't that a question for your expertise? I rake my eyes down the front of him, all the way to his boots and back up again. For as much as I like that he isn't over the top like Lincoln, or needs to show people he was in charge like Ace, I hate that he wants to just fade into the background.

And that's when he does something unexpected. The quiet Foxx brother uncrosses his arms and says loudly, for the whole room to hear, "You're forgetting the most important part, brother." His deep voice is commanding and the cadence of it somehow has every part of me waiting on bated breath. "All of you know that in order for bourbon to be called bourbon, it needs to be aged in a brand-new, American white oak barrel. The second a drop of that white dog touches it, it's bourbon. It won't be good bourbon, but technically, it's bourbon." That garners a little laugh.

With his eyes still on me, he says, "We like fire around here." The statement runs up my arms and down my center, seemingly aimed right at me. I'm suddenly warm all over. My challenge just backfired because he's doing more than just talking. He's practically commanding me to listen. "Foxx barrels are fire bent, just like Lincoln said. We want them pliable. It's a tease for what's to come. Using heat to bend the wood exactly how we want starts queuing up those flavors early. We do that repeatedly. Fire them up. Get them nice and wet. It makes the wood relax. And then we fire them up again to get exactly the right shape."

I swallow, my throat dry as my pulse rate ticks higher.

Someone behind me shouts out, "Sounds like edging." That gets a round of laughs. And all the while, his eyes stay trained on me until he cracks a smile. And just like that, the spell, or whatever just had me tethered to his words, is broken.

"The caramelization begins then." He smiles again, and dammit, my panties are ruined. "We like to do this slowly. We don't rush the barrels. Just like we don't rush the bourbon."

He shifts his attention briefly toward Lincoln. "Your world, Grant, keep going."

Hell, it was his world alright. Almost an hour later, everyone was still talking about barrels. He didn't join everyone at the main house for burgers and beers afterwards, but he had everyone's attention. Mine included, long after I walked back to my cottage.

When I walk up my front porch, a shareable-sized bag of sour gummy worms leans against my front door. Nicely done, cowboy. Julep's bark from his porch is her way of greeting me home. At least until my phone vibrates in my back pocket. Maybe she's his lookout.

UNKNOWN

Don't step on your present.

I can't keep from smiling. Grant.

LANEY

How did you get this number?

UNKNOWN

Used to be a cop, remember?

How could I forget?

UKNOWN

I also own the company you work for now. Plus, there's Hadley. Honestly, there are countless ways I could have gotten it.

I'm sure I look ridiculous, smiling at my phone like a fool, but I don't care. I like how it feels to be on the receiving end of sweet messages and gestures from Grant.

LANEY

Sounds a little desperate just to impress a girl.

UNKNOWN

Is that what I'm doing?

LANEY

I have no idea what you're doing, cowboy.

I decide to dish his words back.

LANEY

But I'm not going to let this go.

He doesn't respond. Candy shouldn't make me swoon, but here I am, hours later, lying in bed, swooning. I should have stopped thinking about Grant Foxx the moment I left the distillery, never mind ignore his text messages. And I definitely shouldn"t touch myself with thoughts of his mouth on mine. Or imagine his hands playing with my body with his words from today on replay. But I ignore what's smart for tonight and enjoy Grant Foxx, even if it's just a fantasy.