“No. Keep going. What do you mean?”
“I’ve worked for you for a long time. All of you. I love you. I’d stand with you against him. If I feel that way, other employees must too. If you have all of them on your side, it wouldn’t really matter what he wants.”
“That’s a great idea,” Aiden says quietly. “It solves the issues we’ve been having with the head distillers too. I mean, assuming Tristan has a way to pull it off.”
“Katie.” I turn to her. Her eyes are bright and she’s leaning forward on her knees. “You say to lead with your heart, right? Do the things that make you want to cry?”
She nods, looking wary.
I know what I need to do.
“You want me here for this?”Aiden and I are outside Grandfather’s office in the stillhouse the following morning. It’s a thick and humid June day, but inside the stillhouse is quiet and cool. The air smells like wood and whiskey andcarries the tangible weight of our history. “I need to do this alone.”
He smiles, then pulls me into a brief hug. “Love you, Tris.”
I nod, throat too thick to speak, before he shoves his hands in his pockets and walks away. I watch him go, with his spine straight but head bowed, like he feels that same weight I do.
If I’m successful today, we won’t feel like choking when we walk in here. Aiden’s kids will have a brighter future. Aiden will spend his days making whiskey and I’ll spend my days running the company and loving Katie. We’ll have everything we want. It feels impossible, but I’ll reach for it with everything I have.
I take a deep inhale and push open the door. Grandfather spares me a brief glance, then gestures for a chair. He’s reading something on his tablet, and I remember Dad telling us that meetings are power plays.
Well, fuck that. They aren’t for me. I perch on the windowsill, next to a bar cart of some of our most prized vintages, and look out at the field beyond the wavy panes of glass.
“I’ve been thinking,” I say before I snag one of the engraved crystal tumblers from the bar cart and start tossing it from hand to hand.
Grandfather’s eyes watch it, narrowing. I swear his face twitches.
“Have you?”
“I’d like to give my shares away.”
Yup, it definitely twitches.
“That is assuming you inherit them,” he says icily.
“Oh, I will.” I give him a bright smile. “Katie agreed to marry me.”
His face tightens. “And to whom are yougivingthese shares? To her?”
“Nah.” I toss the tumbler higher. The crystal catches the weak sunlight that filters in. The Prince crest blazes like fire before the tumbler drops back into my hands. “I’m going to give them to the employees of Prince Bourbon.”
“You’rewhat?”
I set the tumbler down on the bar cart and push to stand. We face off over the scarred oak desk. There’s a long gash on the top from when I broke a bottle in here. I was eight. Dad made me clean up the broken pieces with my hands.
“Our employees are losing faith in us. Between Dad’s death, the turmoil last year, and our failure to announce a new CEO, the senior distillers are looking to quit when Mac retires. There are rumblings of discontent.” I hold up a finger. “And before you try to stop me, remember that our employees are our lifeblood. The senior distillers know more than Aiden and I do about making whiskey. We owe these people everything. I will not let this company fail. I will die before I let our employees think we don’t care about them. So yes, every current and future employee of Prince Bourbon will receive a portion of private stock. From my shares. To show them that they are family too. The details of the vesting plan are in your inbox.”
When I finish, I’m breathing hard. I press my lips together to keep from saying more. Grandfather has never respected emotion, and now that I seem to be full of it, I know he won’t respect me.
I am prepared to tell him that Sienna and Whit are going to marry, and that we’ll oust him as CEO and install me, but he rises from his desk. He’s slow. The chair scrapes over the wooden floorboards.
And then he’s coming around the desk, cane in hand.
“I am so proud of you,” he says. I’ve never heard this tone from him before. He sounds—I’d call it emotional with someone else. Sincere.
I don’t know what to do.
“All I wanted for you, Tristan, was to care. To show some sign of leadership. To show me that you want this as much as you should. And now you have.”
