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“A Clarkston?” he gaped. “Acidermaker? You insult me, sir. You insult me deeply.”
“I didn’t say you should marry the guy,” I snorted. “But whatever. Where is the information I asked you to get for me?”
Cole handed me a folder without another word, and I opened it.
“They’re saying the two biggest beef ranches in Texas are looking to make a long partnership with the beverage makers here, and yes, I think Clarkston Ciders is in the running, too.”
“As they have a right to be,” I grumbled, while a picture of Mia’s face from yesterday popped up. “It’s a free market around here, last time I checked.”
“Unless you’re an oligarchy like the Sullivans,” Cole’s face twisted. “Oh, by the way, Mia is in town.”
“I know,” I grunted. “She popped by yesterday.”
Cole’s brows shot up. “Why?”
“To bring me a platter of cookies and borrow a cup of sugar,” I deadpanned. “She is aSullivan, Cole, and she came to demand that I not accept the newest contract because a Clarkston had let it slip that we had already secured it.”
A soft whistle left Cole’s lips. “Damn. I never expected that.”
“It’s a battle of a multimillion-dollar contract.” I closed the file, having read all I needed to know. “And no way will I let them beat me to this deal.”
“Ethan….” And something ran up my spine at the tone he used. I tensed—why didn’t I like that tone? “…when was the last time you got laid?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Thatis none of your business.”
“It kinda is when you look like you’ve got iron shoved up your butt,” Cole replied. “Listen, I know you are pissed about what Mia did, but come on, man. You need to chill out, man. Forget about getting wrinkles by thirty-two. You might have a stroke by tonight.”
In the back of my mind, I knew some of the things he was saying were right. I had been stressing a lot trying to get our name on more restaurants and tables than before. I had been averaging four hours of sleep per night, and the last time I had sex was probably before the kale-eating trend and dry shampoo, but I would be damned before I admitted any of that to my brother.
Reaching for a scrap paper, I balled it up and threw it at him, clocking him right in the chest. “Get out, you gremlin.”
When he was gone, I sagged into my office chair and rubbed the back of my neck. Holy cannoli, my muscles were so stiff I doubted a jackhammer could loosen them up, much less sex would. I did need some downtime, but the mere mention of relaxing set my nerves on edge.
Why would I be relaxing when I could be doing something productive?
I knew I lived an ironic life, eating vegan, running 4-kilos per day—should be five, but I only have thirty-two free minutes in the morning—drinking eight glasses of water but working sixteen-hour days.
Maybe Cole was right. I should do the horizontal dance soon—
Mia sprung to mind…
“…Massage it is.”
ChapterTwo
Mia
Ethan Vega.
The man was like a walking, talking thunderstorm.
I swear, the air went staticky around him. He had that sort of presence, and I knew he damn well knew it. When I had overheard that rumor, I’d felt incensed. How dare Ethan take what was given to my family?
Even though I’d felt like I was walking into enemy territory, I’d gone to confront Ethan—only, the Ethan I saw there was not the Ethan I had left five years ago. And it wasn’t just because he was a millionaire; we had grown up as neighbors, went to school together, and even attended the same church—but even there, we had the Iron Curtain between us, a DMZ, the goddamn Gulf of Mexico.
Our parents would have mutual conniptions if we had even shared a look, much less shook hands. Back then, Ethan had been a beanpole with eyes. Now, he was impossibly tall, broad-shouldered, and lean.
His thin Henley had not hidden the definition of muscles, and his jeans clung to his long, muscular legs. There was stubble on his square jaw, clenched tightly as he silently assessed me. Or… honestly, stared rightthroughme.
