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“I can’t believe anything you’ve said, since the moment we met.” Blake shot to his feet and paced.
“Everything I’ve told you is true. About my grandfather and parents. About my sister. Even my résumé. All of it’s true. Check.”
“Believe me, I will.” He tossed the pregnancy test on the table in front of her and left, slamming the door behind him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Blake left a trail of burned rubber in his wake as he exited the parking lot behind Savannah’s apartment.
He was a complete idiot.
Savannah Carlisle had played him like a fiddle from the moment she’d first sashayed into his office.
She’d been smart and confident with just the right amount of Southern sass. She’d flirted with him, then feigned a lack of interest, posing a challenge he simply couldn’t resist.
Then the storm had given him the opportunity to ride in like the hero on a white horse and save her.
She didn’t ask to be rescued. You insisted on it.
A little voice in the back of Blake’s head refused to let go of the belief that, on some level, what he and Savannah shared had been real. He was hurt by what she’d done. Furious that she and her grandfather had taken aim at their company. And still, something deep inside of him couldn’t accept that she’d purposely used him as a pawn.
Martin McDowell had obviously filled his granddaughter’s head with lies her entire life. Built up some crazy fantasy that they were the rightful owners of King’s Finest.
Maybe Savannah really hadn’t intended to get involved with Blake. But once she had…how could she allow things to escalate, knowing how he felt about her?
How could the woman he thought he knew use him that way?
Blake pulled into the drive of his grandfather’s log cabin by the lake and knocked at the door.
“Well, this is a surprise.” The old man chuckled. “Didn’t expect to…” He shoved his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “What’s wrong, son? You look like you’ve lost your best friend.”
“We need to talk, Granddad.” Blake followed his grandfather into the house and sat beside him on the plaid sofa in the den.
“About what?”
Blake was embarrassed to relate Savannah’s accusations. Afraid there may actually be some truth to them.
“Blake, whatever you need to tell me…it isn’t the end of the world.” His grandfather gave him a faint smile. “So just say it. We’ll get through it.”
“You already know what happened with Savannah.”
“Yes.” His grandfather nodded gravely as he rubbed his whiskered chin. “Shame. I liked the young lady quite a lot. Seems you did, too.”
Is there anyone who doesn’t know what a fool I was?
“Max did some digging. He discovered that Savannah is the granddaughter of Martin McDowell.”
The man’s mouth fell open, his large eyes widening. He seemed to be staring into the past. “There was something familiar about her. Couldn’t put a finger on it then, but now…now it all makes sense. She has her grandfather’s nose and eyes. His boldness and spirit. But she has more business acumen than Marty ever had.”
A knot clenched in Blake’s belly. “I thought you inherited the business from your father when he died in his accident. When did you have a partner?”
“I was quite young when your great-grandfather died. Barely even a teen. Papa had wanted to teach me the business, but Mama wouldn’t hear of it. White lightning was the reason she was so unhappy, despite the money and comforts we had. Eventually, it was the reason my father died.”
“He’d been drinking.” Why hadn’t he realized that before?
“Wrapped his car around a tree coming home from a juke joint in the wee hours of the morning.” His grandfather groaned. “Not the kind of thing I was proud to talk about.”
“So you learned the business from Martin McDowell.”
“He was a bit older than me, but he’d worked with my father. A couple years after my father died, we were just about broke. I found Martin, and I made a deal with him for a sixty/forty partnership split if he taught me everything he knew…everything my father had taught him. He was the muscle and he negotiated deals for us. Together we tinkered a bit with Papa’s recipes.”
Blake could barely hear over the sound of blood rushing in his ears. “Granddad, Martin is claiming that our bourbon recipe is his. That you stole it.”
“That’s a goddamned lie.” His grandfather shot to his feet, his forehead and cheeks turning bright red. “That was Papa’s recipe.”
