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Ivy shot me a smile. “This is the rickroom. It goes all the way underground. Impressive, right?”

I leaned over the railing. My stomach swooped. “It’s great, but⁠—”

“But what’s it got to do with you?”

I shrugged, hoping that portrayed both my confusion and my interest.

“Follow me.” She clacked toward a nondescript door in the corner, then punched in a code on the keypad attached to the handle.

Inside, a cavernous area on the top floor of the building had been feng shui-ed into an open-concept office space. Exposed wooden rafters and joists gave the place an unfinished, yet chic feel. To my left, desk duos and trios sat at intervals down the wall, their owners hard at work. To my right was a kitchenette with a coffee bar—or perhaps a real bar given the place of employment—where two men sat chatting.

Down the middle, cozy chairs sat like tufts of wildflowers, and a long conference table filled out the remaining space. On the opposite wall, some closed doorways led me to believe at least some employees possessed private offices.

Overhead, country music crooned from unseen speakers.

“Hey,” Ivy called to the two men at the bar. “Quit your piddling and get to work.”

They glanced up, raised both hands as if to say Alright, we’re going, and slunk off to their respective workstations.

Ivy leaned close to me. “You don’t keep an eye on ’em, they’ll drink all day and be useless by two.”

My eyes widened. “Really?”

“No, not really.” Ivy laughed. “We’re very professional. For the most part.”

“This is a much bigger distillery than I’d imagined,” I said as she led us toward the back offices.

“Henley has been around since 1897, but it stayed local until about twenty-five years ago when Shep Senior took it over. It got popular in an upscale bar in Atlanta and took off from there. We’re now in fifteen states, and a larger company is looking to invest, though we’re still most popular in this area.”

She reached a black door in the back, its six panes in the upper half covered with multi-colored window film. Inside was an office space decorated in cool greens and light wood—feminine, natural, Zen.

“Have a seat, darlin’.” Ivy took her own chair and smiled, green eyes sparking. “Sorry. That was the shortest tour ever. I didn’t want to be seen.”

I glanced over my shoulder, but found nothing except the closed door and a large white board calendar. “Seen by who?”

She waved a hand. “Oh, never mind that. So, like I was saying, one of the largest beverage companies, Gray-Freeman, was looking to invest. It would really take us to the next level. Nationwide distribution. Maybe even worldwide. We’re talking huge.”

“That’s great,” I said, unclear where this was heading.

“It is great, right?” She arced her splayed hand through the air. “We’re halfway to the stars. Flying high. And then that ad came out.”

A moment of silence passed before I understood she expected me to reply. “I see,” I said, though I didn’t see at all.

Ivy’s lips flattened. “You ever met Laney Delacroix?”

A vague image of a dark-haired cheerleader sprang to mind. “Not officially.”

“Girl’s pretty as a peach, but slower than molasses runnin’ uphill in the winter.” Ivy swung her rollie chair around toward a mini-fridge in the corner. “You want something to drink? Tea? Water? Bourbon?”

“Water’s fine.”

She snatched a water bottle and a green smoothie thing, then set the former before me. “Now, listen. I’m a Hayes. I don’t need to work. But what’s the point of that Ivy League education if I ain’t gonna use it?” She took a delicate swig of her green stuff. “So I started working here as a favor to him. Been friends since we were in diapers. And then there was that business in Italy where he—well, never mind. All I’m saying is, it was the least I could do.”

“Uh—him?” Suspicion prickled my skin. I checked over my shoulder again.

“Never mind that. But then, ’bout six months ago—” She paused, looking up to do some mental calculations. “Well, maybe a year? Anyway, he brings in Laney Delacroix. Not even an employee, but she’s struttin’ around this place, bossing everyone like she owns us.” Ivy’s eye roll at that point was the most glorious thing I’d ever witnessed. “The Delacroix’s do not boss the Hayes’. That ain’t a thing.”

“Um, Ivy⁠—”