Page 31 of Make it a Double

Sawyer paused for only a minute, hand hovering over her gear shift, before she threw that old car in reverse and tore out of the parking lot. I could do nothing else but watch her go.

I waited until the dust from her tires settled and the sound of her old car clunking down the road vanished before I headed back inside. I had no idea what had sent her running. She looked like she’d seen a ghost, and I doubted I looked much better.

If it hadn’t been for my deal with my father or the people waiting on me inside, I might’ve gone after her. No. Scratch that. I definitely would’ve followed hot on her heels to make sure she was okay, but duty called. If I had any chance of getting my freedom, I had to put this first.

Edward Montgomery was a petty asshole, even on his best day. I still didn’t understand what was so special about this town. Yes, he wanted to get his grubby hands on John Hart’s former portfolio, but why? He could set up shop in any small town across America. He’d been snatching up business and land in rural areas for the past few years. What did this place have to offer that he couldn’t get somewhere else?

He’d seen John’s death as the waving of a green flag, the start of a race that didn’t even fucking exist. Dear old Dad had immediately flown down for the man’s funeral, hoping to put the charm on John’s niece, Duke’s wife, who was rumored to inherit everything. He’d assumed he could manipulate a grieving family into handing over millions of dollars in assets.

Instead, he was sent packing with his tail tucked firmly between his legs. I’d borne witness to my father’s many temper tantrums over the years. Even earned a few scars as trophies. But I’d never seen him as furious as he was the night he came home from Pinecrest.

After spending five minutes in their presence, I understood why they’d ruffled him so badly. Neither Duke nor Olivia gave a shit about business propriety. They didn’t play nice to placate potential investors. Instead, they said what they meant and meant what they said. My father must have realized there was no way he could shake them into submission, so he’d have to get creative.

Enter me.

I could hear Duke and Olivia’s harsh whispers, and watched their eyes sharpen as I walked back into the room. The boxes Sawyer left behind had been cleaned up. They sized me up like I was a cockroach who just wouldn’t die, and their assessment wouldn’t be far off.

But I was just willing to bet the reason they thought I was here and the reason I actually was were two vastly different things.

“Let’s get this over with,” Duke muttered, rising to his full height. “Your father has been hounding my wife, pressuring her to sell things she has no interest in selling, and we’ve told him to go to hell every time. Now, you’re here, interrupting our plans for the day with this bullshit meeting.”

“Now I’m here,” I parroted, splaying my arms wide before tucking my hands casually in the pockets of my slacks. “But I’m not the omen of misfortune you seem to think I am, Mr. Bennett. Yes, I’m here on official business. Yes, my father is the one who sent me. But think of me as the guardian angel you never saw coming. I’d like to help you fight back.”

Duke and Olivia silently stared as I approached the bar and slipped onto a stool. I was sure they were either confused or wondering what kind of trick I was trying to pull. The truth was just that I really hated my father.

For years, I’d been stuck beneath his thumb, forced to do his bidding, but if the past few weeks had taught me anything, it was that life was too goddamn short to be miserable. I didn’t want any part of his legacy, or even his money. I could make my own, could build something bigger and better than he ever dreamed of. Something that wasn’t built on the graveyard of others’ misfortunes or failures.

Plus, call me sentimental, but I’d grown fond of the little town Sawyer called home. The moment I realized my dad was gunning for the place she worked, I knew I had to stop him.

“All I’m asking for is five minutes,” I paused, lips quirking. “And maybe your manager’s phone number.”

Olivia sat a little straighter, glancing at Duke, who still hadn’t stopped trying to burn a hole through my skull with his stare. “We’ll hear you out, but when it comes to our staff? Absolutely not. If you need to know something about the bar, you’ll come to us.”

It was a long shot, but I had to try. “My business with her is more of a personal nature,” I said, slowly. “We met the last time I was here. I promised to take her out on a proper date if I ever got back.”

Duke guffawed. “Pardon my French, but fat fucking chance. She all but ran out when she saw you. Do you really think we’d just give you her contact information without ensuring she was okay with it?”

On his other side, Olivia’s gaze narrowed. “You were here? In our bar?”

I shrugged sheepishly. The idea of my paying a visit without their knowledge probably didn’t help my cause. But if this had any chance of working out, I needed to lay all my cards on the table. “About five months ago, give or take. It was before I knew what my father had planned, I promise. I stopped by to have a drink before heading back to my cabin, and that was it.”

Duke opened his mouth to undoubtedly spew some smart ass comment, but his wife beat him to the punch. “How about this? You leave your number with me, and I’ll pass it along to Sawyer. It can be her choice to reach out.”

I nodded, swallowing thickly. That was all I wanted. A single fucking chance to talk to her. Regardless of how goddamn beautiful she was, Sawyer had looked like a goddamn cornered animal when she’d fled the scene.

I just wanted to make sure she was all right.

“That’s fine by me. I’m no stranger to proving myself,” I said, reaching for my leather messenger bag and setting it on the stool beside me. The papers I needed were right on top in a manila folder. I’d already done all the prep work so they could see just how ruthless my father intended to be.

Duke sighed and then walked around the long bartop. “I have a feeling we’re gonna need something a little stronger than water. Pick your poison.”

I wasn’t a big drinker, but he was right. This conversation wasn’t just important for their business; it would be the final nail in the coffin of my relationship with my father if we were successful.

Sure, he was a horrible person. A downright miserable man who showed his disappointment with the thud of heavy fists against flesh.

But he was my father.

“Bourbon,” I said, clearing my throat. “Neat, please.”