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I consider calling it a day and heading home, but it’s not even 10am yet, so that seems like a no-go. Instead, I head to the bathroom.
To dry my panties.
I already said I was a wreck, right?
***
CHAPTER SIX
Avery
“Isn’t it a little early for scotch?” I lift an amused brow, watching Wyatt pour himself a glass in the back of the car. He swirls it once and tosses the whole thing back. “It’s ten in the morning.”
He shrugs and pours himself another. “If we were girls and we were at bunch, it’d be perfectly acceptable for us to have mimosas.”
Well, shit. He’s got me there. “Touché, my friend.”
He shakes the bottle. “Want some?”
“Ah, fuck it. Just a finger.” It’ll settle my nerves before the meeting. Not that I have nerves before any meeting, ever. My stomach is made of steel and always has been. I don’t question it.
I watch him pour me three fingers, but I don’t complain. I take the drink and let the smooth liquid coat my mouth like velvet before it travels down to my stomach, warming me on the way. The only problem is I haven’t had a drop of scotch since Friday night, and now all I’m thinking about is a certain fiery redhead. I shake her face from my head and swallow it down, enjoying the way it toasts my insides.
We stop in front of a charming three-story brick building in the old distillery district of Toronto. The south side of the building has great views of the Toronto Harbour, making it a great spot for what this place has planned. They’re already pulling in a huge revenue that’ll easily triple by the time we’re done with it.
Stepping out of the car, I fix the button on my suit jacket.
“Avery?”
My head lifts at my name, and I spot a beautiful blonde. Her gaping mouth tells me she’s as stunned to see me here as I am to see her.
“Charlee?”
Grinning, she steps up to me, brown eyes drifting down my body. The half-smile on her face tells me she likes what she sees. I can’t blame her—this suit was made for me. Literally. “Hey handsome. What are you doing here?”
“Got a meeting in…” I glance down at my watch. “Ten minutes.”
“Oh my God.” She pulls her lips into her mouth and slaps a hand over it. She starts giggling like a thirteen-year-old girl at a Backstreet Boys concert in 1998.
“Something funny?”
She shakes her head and pretends to button her mouth. “Nope. Nothing at all.” Another giggle slips out. It’s kind of got this evil way about it that makes me a little nervous, but mostly intrigued. “You’re gonna have so much fun in there. See ya!” She turns on her heel and heads for a car that’s just pulled up behind us.
“Charlee, wait! I wanted to ask—”
“Gotta go, Avery! Sorry!” She wiggles her fingers in way of a wave and climbs into the backseat, slamming the door behind her. She sticks her head out the window. “All will be revealed inside,” she says, drumming her fingers together. Shit, she’s kinda scary. I like her.
But still, she just rode away, leaving me here with no answers. So that’s why I groan, dragging my hand down my face. “Fuck.”
Wyatt claps me on the back. “Shit, eh? That was Ginger’s friend? Shoulda got her number.”
Thank you, Captain Obvious. “Yes, Wyatt, I’m aware. That’s why I said fuck when she drove away.”
Chuckling, he shoves his hands in his pants pockets, walking ahead of me through the glass doors.
We pause in the entryway, taking in the space. I feel like shit. The owner is an old friend of ours. We went to school together here in Toronto, but lost touch pretty quickly when he moved back to his hometown afterwards. He’s been back in Toronto for a few years now, returning when he expanded this brewery of his, and though we’d met up for a couple drinks here and there, Wyatt and I hadn’t been down to check out the place before today.
“We’re shit friends,” I say quietly.
