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“Just over two months,” I confirmed.
He bit down on his lips, as though considering his next words. At last, he uttered only one. “Cal?”
I could only nod, that weight in my chest growing a bit heavier with the mention of his name. “I’m assuming you’ve talked to him.”
“Yeah,” Owen said, “but he didn’t tell me about this.” Kicking one of his worn cowboy boots up until his thick thigh had the denim of his pants stretching tightly across his muscles. He was a perfect male specimen, the paragon of physical fitness, his athlete’s body still beautifully honed despite being thirty-seven and retired for the better part of a decade.
He was going to make someone very happy one day.
“How is he?”
Owen’s gaze softened. “Off in the wilderness somewhere,” he said. “He was heading to visit his parents, but he went through the U.P., taking a few days to unplug.”
“That’s good,” I said. “He needs that.”
“After you fired him and ripped his heart out? Yeah, I’d say so.”
“So he told you he got fired, but not that he got me pregnant?”
“We didn’t exactly talk. He sent me a text saying he got fired, that y’all were done, and he was going off the grid for a few days so I wouldn’t be able to reach him if I needed to. And that he wanted to talk about the job I’d offered him a few months ago when he got back to town.”
I blinked, surprised. Cal had never mentioned anything about a potential job opportunity with Owen. “What job?”
“I want him to manage my finances,” Owen said, dropping his foot back to the floor and leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. The way he wrung his hands together had the muscles of his forearms flexing, making the tattoo of his last name along his left ulna wave like a flag. That ink had mesmerized me once, had lured me into the whole Owen Lawless package.
“He’d be perfect for that.”
“I know. That’s why I want him.”
“Well, he’s suddenly unemployed, so I think it’ll be pretty easy to convince him.”
Owen sat back, the leather of the couch creaking with the movement, and folded his arms over his broad chest as he studied me. His cornflower blue eyes may as well have been lasers for how deeply they cut, and I resisted the urge to squirm.
“There’s no chance of him getting his job back?”
As much as I wanted to say yes, that possibilitydidexist, I kept my mouth shut. Even if Cal and I managed to patch things up enough to form some sort of amicable relationship, with the baby on the way, I simply didn’t think it was a good idea for us to be working together anymore.
With a sigh, I simply shook my head, and Owen gave me a small nod in response.
“I’m not going to ask what happened because quite frankly, it’s not my business. I did, however, actually come here to discuss my business.”
BusinessI could do, so I took a sip of my water and said, “Lay it on me.”
“I want to buy a piece of Delatou land.”
I raised a brow, confused, and Owen launched into his plan. A carefully thought out and fully realized new business venture—and he wanted Delatou, Inc.’s help to make it a reality.
Owen wanted to open a distillery, the first—and only—of its kind on Old Mission. He had plans for five spirits—vodka, rum, whiskey, gin, and bourbon—with batches of each in the works to perfect the recipes. He had plenty of capital to get the business off the ground, including buying the land outright, but what he needed was a place to build.
That’s where I came in.
“I’d also love to offer you a partnership opportunity,” he said at the end of his explanation. “What you’re doing here is impressive, and I’d love to work with you on this. Hell, maybe one day we can even branch out into spirit-based cocktails.”
I liked the sound of that, of expanding our portfolio to include a new product offering. But unfortunately, owing to the fact that I was pregnant, I wasn’t prepared to take on anymore responsibilities at the moment. I told him so, hating the way his face fell. Despite his golden boy exterior and the fact that—career being cut short thanks to an injury notwithstanding—he was one of the most successful and talented quarterbacks to ever play in the NFL, he was also a shrewd businessman. I wanted to help him—wanted him connected to Delatou, Inc. in some way beyond deeding him the land and sending him on his way.
Then an idea struck me.
“Delia,” I said.
