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“But what do I do?”
On a whim, I checked social media, and I found an Instagram page for the Meadery—and a link to Ethan’s page. It wasn’t very…well, social. He had updates on new mead flavors, a few records of where he’d traveled to in the last few years; there was a rare photo of him in Borneo, holding a plant I suspected they used in their exotic mead flavors.
There was nothing about Ethan there, and just as I was about to click off…he updated.
I'm going to drop into the Mix’D to see their inaugural band night. Karaoke is not my thing, so don’t expect me to be on stage. I’m only there for the whisky.
Mix’D was the biggest sports bar in town but was more of a bar-slash-eatery, too. Their hot wings were to die for. Maybe Ethan would give me a few minutes to speak with him after he was properly sauced up.
It was a chance—and I was going to take it.
* * *
The first thing that hit me when I stepped into the bar was the noise. God, I had forgotten how loud bars were and Sports Bars at that. A long bar was the centerpiece of the room, with every version of liquor created from the dawn of mankind on the glass shelves behind it.
Five bartenders shook, spun, and poured out cocktail after cocktail to patrons at the bar while waitstaff rounded the room with glasses or bottles of beer on their trays. A stage was set up to the far east, and people were tuning instruments and fixing mikes when I spotted Ethan in a shadowy nook.
Dressed down in a simple gray Henley and blue jeans, he was nothing like the consummate businessman he was. In this light, he was just another guy, ready to see some sports on the seventy-inch or enjoy some music.
I held my gift in hand, and while he was looking the other way, I slid into the booth across from him. Ethan looked up, and instantly, his eyes narrowed. “What are you doing here? But more importantly, why are you bothering me?”
Lifting both hands in anI-surrendermove, I said, “I come in peace.”
He still looked wary. “Why?”
“Because I spoke with my dad about what he did to you and your family so long ago—”
“Not long enough,” Ethan cut in.
“—and I feel it was a despicable thing to do,” I added. “He was being cagey about what happened, but as for me, rivalry or not, nothing like that should ever happen to another businessman who is just trying to get a fair slice of the pie like everyone else. I’ve come to apologize, Ethan. I’m sorry it ever happened, and I promise you nothing like that will ever happen again when I’m the head of the company.”
“When you’re the head?” his voice had taken on a slightly mocking tone. “And here I thought you had already taken over Napoleon style.”
“The paperwork will take a while to be stamped,” I told him. “But I am regretful it happened, Ethan.”
His eyes flew to the gift bag on the table. “What is that? A conciliatory bottle of wine?”
“No,” I grinned while reaching into the bag and pulling the bottle out. “Better, it’s Tequila.”
“This is not a BYOB, Mia,” he replied, one brow arched and drummed his fingers on the small round table.
“I doubt they’d care,” I shrugged, taking two shot glasses out from the bag as well. “Just have one drink with me. After that, I’ll go. Deal?”
He let out an exasperated breath. “You’re not going to let this one go, are you?”
“No chance,” I shook my head.
“Fine,” he grumbled. “One drink.”
I poured out the shots, we took each glass, and after a glass clink, we gulped both shots back. Ethan came up coughing while my lungs felt on fire.
“What the—” he gasped, “What the hell kind of tequila is that? My stomach is about to crawl up my throat and run for dear life.”
I was trying not to hurl. “Not…the…best…visual…image, Vega.”
He reached for a glass of water and gulped. “Jesus, Mia, where did you find this shit?”
“I got it at the general store,” I replied, flagging down a waitress for some water. “It looked good, so I grabbed it.”
