Page 35 of In Your Wake

At the bar, I order a pint of amber ale and sip it while glancing around. I came by earlier to bring Hunter some promotion flyers for the hotel, but seeing the brewery during the day is nothing compared to seeing it now. The white lights hanging from the mahogany-colored beams above and the glow of the lantern-like sconces on the walls give the place a warm and cozy atmosphere.

Months ago, when Hunter described the wood, black metal and bronze accents, I was worried it would be too masculine, too cold. Turns out I was wrong. It might be the greenery seeping in from the outdoor garden at the back, but something about the brewery is very serene, very… Hunter-like. It’s exactly as he’d envisioned, and I just want to grab a seat, drink a beer, order some comfort food, and mellow out. Leave it to my brother to make a pub feel so damn relaxing.

Suddenly, strong fingers wrap around my bare elbow, startling me with their warm touch.

“We weren’t done.” Mitchell doesn’t release his grip immediately, but he doesn’t stop me when I gently pull my arm away.

“Yes, we were.”

I weave through the crowd, trying to distance myself, but like a shadow, I feel him follow. The staff has cordoned off the staircase to the second floor for tonight, but I’m family, so I don’t care. I dip beneath the chain, hoping Mitch will get the hint and leave me alone.

From the loft mezzanine above, I peer down at the busy crowd, but puff out my cheeks when I see him coming up. He leans against the black metal railing, staring at me.

“What’s up with you?” he asks.

“This isn’t the time or place to talk about it.”

“Why not? We’re alone. Unless you’re trying to hide from me.”

I glare at him. “Gee, you think?”

He smirks. “You’re hiding from me? That’s definitely going to make it impossible to work together.”

“As I said, we can’t work together.”

“Yeah, I heard you,” he says, scratching his chin through his thick beard. “How do you think this is going down? That I’ll just hand you a check and let you do all the work?”

“Ooh, could you do that? That would be great,” I reply sarcastically, then touch his arm and immediately regret it. My fingers wrap around his biceps, and he flexes as if reacting to my touch. I pull my hand back, clutching it around my pint.

“I’m not your sugar daddy, Maxine.” He clenches his jaw, and his deep-set eyes reflect his sudden, dark tone. “If we work on this, we work on this together. That’s my final offer. Take it or leave it.”

Countless reasons why this will end in disaster keep running through my head, but I set them aside and take a few sips of my beer, reminding myself that I need to do this. I owe it to Robyn. “It won’t end well.”

“Nothing between us ever does.” He tears his gaze away, biting his lower lip, and his nostrils flare with his deep inhale. He stares down at the crowd. “This means a lot to me, Maxine. To us. I agree, it’ll be tough being around each other, but I don’t see another way. Like it or not, this has to happen.”

“I know,” I say, my voice small and resigned.

“Good. But I’m not working with you if you’re going to be a whiny brat.”

I wince up at him. “I’m not being a whiny brat. You don’t see what I see.”

He turns to face me, resting his elbow on the railing. “And what do you see?”

I chuckle, then look away, sipping my beer. “Forget it. There’s no point in even talking about it.”

“God,” he says, shoving away from the railing. “I can’t believe I used to find that endearing.”

I turn around. “Find what endearing?”

“Your incessant need to be as difficult as possible.”

I chortle and walk away, but before I get too far, he’s in front of me.

“Unh-uh.” He grabs me by the shoulders and gently guides me toward the couch tucked a few feet away until the edge of the seat hits the back of my legs. “Sit down.”

The flames burning my cheeks move up to my eyes, and I aim my glare at his head while my blood pressure works overtime. Still, his forceful touch searing my exposed shoulders and sizzling my skin, also weakens my knees, so I do as he says and sit down.

I fix my gaze straight ahead, realizing too late that it’s directed at his crotch. I’m not sure if it’s a game of shadows, or a hallucination, but I swear I make out the faint outline of his rigid—