With Connor Finch.
Connor sat at the bar and sipped on ice water. Tonight was about getting to know Emerson as a woman, not as a Dyer. He knew his reasons were complex. Sure, he was curious about the family that had the ability to send his father into a spiral of despair. But he was also curious about the playful, witty woman he’d sparred with. In his mind, he managed to compartmentalize the two.
Catching sight of himself in the mirror that hung behind the bar, he straightened the collar of his black shirt. He’d offered to pick Emerson up, but she’d been adamant about meeting him there. She’d dismissed his chivalrous attempts with a simple No, thank you, and he admired her straight-talking ways.
When the door finally opened and Emerson walked in, his gut relaxed. For some reason, he’d been nervous she was going to bail, and he was sure it was some throwback from his father’s conditioning that anything with the name Dyer attached to it was incredibly unreliable. It was almost as if he expected her to let him down right off the bat.
She wore a sundress in dark green, with thin straps and a skirt that flowed just above her knees. Long, gold earrings reached her toned shoulders. Connor watched as the greeter pointed in Connor’s direction.
A momentary tug of guilt fluttered through him at the deceit of knowing a lot more about her than she knew about him. When her eyes found his, her smile was so genuine and bright it almost burned, and for a second, he felt like confessing.
“Hey, Connor.” She leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek, a kiss so brief he wondered if he imagined the contact of her lips against his skin.
“I’m so glad you could make it,” he said, pulling out the bar stool next to his. “Please, take a seat that isn’t mine.”
Emerson laughed. “I thought we agreed that technically the seat was ours.”
“Well, you are more than welcome to come sit on my lap and share this one,” he replied, wiggling his eyebrows.
“I think I’d have to know you a lot better before I try that. I don’t just sit on anyone’s lap.” Emerson threw her denim jacket over the back of the stool and climbed up.
Connor tried to be a gentleman, but his eyes still travelled the length of her legs as her dress hitched up her thighs. He fought the urge to follow its path with his fingers to see if her skin was as soft as it looked.
“I’ve been looking forward to this since you suggested it. Have you eaten here before?” she asked, looking around the restaurant.
“I have, and I can highly recommend the All-In Burger, or the tuna if you like it rare. What can I get you to drink?” The bartender walked toward them. “Gin?”
Emerson looked along the modest gin selection before scrunching her nose slightly. “I’d love a cosmopolitan, and would you mind switching the triple sec for Cointreau and keep the lime juice to a little shy of half an ounce please?”
Gins he represented were on the shelf, and it bothered him a little that she hadn’t seemed to find any of them appealing. Not that he was mad at her, more that for the first time in his life, he was aware of just where his products stood in the quality pecking order.
He ordered a beer for himself. “You know your way around your cocktails,” he said in admiration. “What’s the secret with the Cointreau?”
“Triple sec can be…sharp. And since bars tend to use a lot of cheaper, really sharp limes, it can be too much. But switch it out for Cointreau and it’s smoother. More nuanced. There’s a hint of delicious orange that comes through.”
Connor couldn’t help but watch her mouth as she spoke. She was wearing a deceptively nude gloss, and he wondered what it would taste like, what she would taste like without it. He turned his stool to face her properly.
“How was your week?” he asked.
“A masterclass in how to keep your head just above water. I graduated as an expert.”
Connor leaned forward and took the hand that was in her lap, relieved when she clasped her fingers around his. “Some weeks are like that, I guess.”
Emerson shrugged. “I suppose. I’ve only been doing this for two months, but it’s a steep learning curve.”
Her fingers were warm and soft. “Give it time. Is there anyone in your organization you can rely on to help out?”
“Not really. Everyone else is tapped out, too. I think it’s the double-edged sword of working in a smaller company, especially a family-owned one. It’s a tightly controlled structure, but it struggles when someone is absent.”
“Ours is still a family business, but it’s a multi-hundred-million-dollar business, so we have a bigger structure. More people who think they need to be involved in every decision.” Thoughts of his uncle flitted into his mind, and he quickly dismissed them.
Emerson grimaced. “Right now, I feel like I’d benefit from a few more people. My dad—”
“Here are your drinks, folks.” The bartender placed their drinks on coasters in front of them. Connor squeezed her hand one last time before letting go.
“Thank you,” Emerson said, reaching for her drink. “Anyway. Cheers. And thank you for asking me to dinner. I’m so glad you did.”
Connor tapped his glass to hers. “Cheers. And I’m happy you’re here.”
They sipped their drinks for a moment, and Emerson moaned. The sound reverberated through his chest. “Oh my. That’s so good.” Emerson offered the glass to him. “Try it.”
His eyes were locked on her as her tongue ran its way slowly across her lower lip. Lucky fucking tongue.
He took the glass she offered and took a sip. “Better than I expected,” he answered honestly. “I tend to stick to whiskey for a spirit. You were about to say something about your dad before the drinks arrived.”
“If you remember, I mentioned in my speech how my dad passed away recently.”
Connor nodded. That flutter of guilt that he already knew so much about her family returned.
“Well, because it’s a family business, the share is split equally between the three of us, but my father requested in his will that I take it over. I’m the oldest. Jake and Olivia both have their thing. It’s what I always wanted, but…”
“It’s hard?” Connor filled in.
“No, it’s not even that. I don’t mind the hard work. It’s just…lonely. And decisions that my dad made every day seem huge to me. Like I might break something precious if I don’t make the right call.”
Connor was struck by the way she viewed her family business. Precious. Finch Liquor Distribution was just a company to him. A hugely profitable one, but still just a company.
“And you had some of those issues to grapple with today?” Connor asked because he was concerned for her and because he couldn’t help being curious about what possible difficulties the distillery could be facing.
“Yes, but nothing I can’t handle…get through…manage. Whatever. You know what I mean. But I thought I’d have so much more time with my father to learn; I’m not sure I’m ready.”
If he pressed her now, he could get the kind of information that would help him make a better offer should the time ever arise. Vulnerability was always a weakness when it came to a negotiation. But the truth was he didn’t want to manipulate her. He’d done shady things to get the deal he wanted before. And yes, he wasn’t proud to admit that at least one deal he could remember had taken advantage of a grieving family who couldn’t decide what was best for their business.
Yet as Emerson looked at him with growing trust in her eyes, he couldn’t do it.
“I’m sure you are doing an admirable job.” He reached for her hand again and squeezed it tightly.
“I hope so,” she said, straightening on her bar stool. “Nobody wants to go down in family lore as the person who destroyed the family business.”
The server arrived and ushered them to their table, where they finished their drinks while checking out the menu. After they’d ordered, the burger for him and the seared tuna for her, Emerson placed her forearms on the table and leaned toward him. “Tell me
more about yourself, Connor.”
He couldn’t help but notice the way the move pushed her breasts high beneath the cut of the sundress. Round and full. Wait, she’d asked about himself. “What would you like to know?”
“What’s the first movie you remember watching as a child?” Emerson took a sip of her drink.
“Easy. Star Wars. My stepdad, Derek, couldn’t wait to watch it with me. I’m sure there were others before it, but I loved Star Wars.”
Emerson grinned. “Me too. Which character did you want to be?”
Connor thought for a moment. “Luke, obviously. What about you?”
“You’re going to laugh.”
“Princess Leia?” he asked. “Got one of those cosplay bikinis in your closet?”
She shook her head. “Nothing so predictable. Chewie.”
“You wanted to be Chewbacca?” Connor began to laugh.
“All the way. My mom got this brown fur material and made the costume. I had a mask. I even had the gun belt thing. I learned everything about the Wookiee warrior…I learned about his planet Kashyyyk…and sometime, which isn’t now, I’ll show you my amazing impersonation.”
Connor grinned. “You speak Wookiee?”
“I speak Shyriiwook. There are many Wookiee dialects.”
Connor tried to reconcile the beautiful and slightly bohemian woman sitting opposite him letting out the guttural groan of a nearly seven-foot-tall, aggressive ball of fur. “Are you still into the whole”—he waved his hand as he grasped for the word, but it didn’t come—“thing?”
Emerson shook her head. “Cooper Clark from two doors down made fun of me one day while I was riding my bike in my costume, and seeing I had an epic crush on him, it was the last day I wore it.”
His heart squeezed for the little freewheeling girl and her love of Wookiees. “That’s so sad.”
Emerson shrugged. “In fairness, it had started to smell a little, and it was getting kind of hot in there in July.”
When their meals were placed in front of them, they tucked in. Connor offered another round of drinks but Emerson decided to wait, considering she would need to drive home later, which led to a longer conversation about their homes—hers in Morrison, his in The Coloradan next to Union Station.
Every conversation took a twist or turn he didn’t anticipate. She asked questions that, at first glance, were so off topic, yet weren’t. While he had hoped their dinner would be friendly, he hadn’t expected to be so intrigued by the woman sitting opposite him. She was in turns a gentle summer breeze and then a bracing breath of winter air.
What started out as curiosity had turned into so much more. And he suddenly had the urge to learn everything about her.
Emerson had fought to pay the bill with Connor and lost. But his promise that she could pay next time, if she really felt she needed to, was the sign she’d been hoping for.
That he intended to see her again.
Taking one last check of her lipstick, Emerson washed her hands, dried them, and left the bathroom. Connor was engrossed in something on his phone, and she had a moment to study his profile. Eye candy was an understatement, and while she wasn’t usually one to tear her own reflection apart, she did have a fleeting moment of insecurity as to what he saw in her.
Their conversation had been wide, varied, deep at times, and honest. More importantly, they’d laughed.
It was safe to say she wanted another date with Connor as much as she wanted to walk into the distillery tomorrow and find the gin-loving elves had fixed Constance for free overnight.
“Ready?” Connor said as she approached him. He smiled at her as he slid his phone into his pocket.
“Of course.”
He held the door open, placing his hand in the small of her back as she passed by. The heat and pressure from his touch caused her to shiver slightly.
“Cold?” he asked. “Would you like my jacket?”
Emerson smiled. “That’s a very swoony gesture, but I’m fine in my own. Thank you.”
“Well, I wouldn’t lay it down in a puddle for you or anything. You’re sweet, but you are no Queen Elizabeth I.” Connor took her hand, and she linked her fingers with his. “I’d like to spend some more time with you if you’re okay with that. A walk, maybe. Another drink somewhere?”
There were times for intrigue, for playing coy. But at thirty years of age, standing in front of the first man in a long while who made her feel a spark of something, now wasn’t it. “I’d like that very much.”
She wrapped her other hand around his incredibly solid bicep and leaned against him.
They wandered along Larimer Square, one of the most historic spots in Denver. Between the sparkling lights hanging across the street and the bustling excitement of people out of work for the weekend, Emerson’s previously fading spirit became completely energized.
“The Crimson Room?” Connor suggested, pointing to the famous red door.
Umm. A night of jazz, perhaps a glass of red wine, and more time with Connor. “Sounds perfect.”
He did that thing again, where he opened the door and placed a hand on her back, and this time she just managed to control the shivers it gave her.
Just.
They found a spot in a cozy corner. A sofa in red velour with a small table tucked deep in the shadows of the club. A jazz trio was playing a sultry piece across the room. Connor slipped his jacket off and rolled up the cuffs of his shirt. The action was so damn masculine that Emerson crossed her legs to ease the ache between them as she took a seat. He took the seat next to her and turned to face her again, placing his hand on her knee, allowing it to drift to the hem of her skirt.
His fingers were warm and gentle, and Emerson bit down a grin and turned to watch the trio for a moment to allow her heartbeat to return to normal.
The waitress arrived, and Connor ordered her choice of red wine, a perfect pinot, a small glass seeing she had to drive home, and a single malt whiskey for himself.
He leaned closer, the scent of his cologne reminding her of one of the candles she liked to burn. Not a floral note to be had. “I have to be honest,” he said, his breath tickling her ear and sending a shiver down her spine. “You aren’t what I expected, Emerson.”
She turned her head slightly, looking directly into his eyes. In the dark, they looked even brighter than normal. “What were you expecting?”
Their lips were so close, it would only take a fraction of a movement for them to touch.
“I may keep that to myself. But it’s very safe to say that, whatever expectations I had, you’ve surpassed them.” The breath of his words fluttered over her skin, leaving her a little breathless.
Then he smiled and leaned back a little in his chair, but his fingers teased the ends of her hair. “So, you like jazz?” he asked.
The interaction had left her feeling stirred like a good martini…and perhaps a little like a dirty one. She bit back her grin at the connotation. “I do,” she said, relaxing as he had. “And rock. And classical music. And rap. A bit of an all-rounder. Tell me about your family? Do you have any siblings?”
Connor shook his head. “Only child right here. My mom and dad split up when I was really young, so I don’t have a lot of memories of them together. My mom remarried my stepdad. Derek has been a part of our lives since I was four. They get along okay. Just weren’t meant to be and all that. Mom and Derek couldn’t have kids, so there’s just me. You might have heard of my dad, Donovan Finch…”
Connor was looking at her expectantly, but while she wished she could say she had, she hadn’t. “I’m sorry. I know of your company by name. There aren’t many large liquor distributors based in Denver, so I knew your company existed. It’s funny how our paths have never really crossed before. Well, apart from the whole I-don’t-like-going-to-networking-type-things phobia I have going on.”
Connor studied her for a second longer and then relaxed. “So, what’s with that? You were a natural at the awards.”
�
��It’s not that I hate them. And I don’t think I get any more nervous than the average person. But I find the whole thing a little…tacky. Fake. Lots of smiles and feigned interest in you as a person, when all the while they are trying to figure out what they could do for your business or what you could do for theirs.”
Connor placed his arm on the back of the sofa, his fingertips playing with the ends of her hair. “Isn’t that what all relationships are about? Give and take? Getting to learn how you can be of service.”
Thoughts of what giving and taking might look like with Connor made her core tighten. “That might be what business relationships are built on. But personal ones rely on honesty, loyalty, compassion, love. If you only think how the other person can be of use, you’re missing the whole point.”
His lips brushed the soft spot behind her ear. “Love doesn’t pay the bills.”
Emerson tilted her head a little to the right to give him more access, feeling prickles of excitement as his lips skated along her skin. “Money doesn’t keep you warm at night.”
“Fair point,” he said, sliding his hand beneath her hair, his thumb brushing her cheek. “Can we agree with both? Call it a draw.”
She pursed her lips, pretended to be thinking about the question, which was almost impossible with Connor so close to her, her stomach feeling as though someone had popped a bottle of champagne inside…after shaking it. “For now,” she said teasingly. “I feel this deserves a richer debate.”
Connor studied her face for a moment before running his thumb across her lip. “You are infinitely entertaining with that smart mouth of yours.” He moved closer, his face inches away from hers.
“Are you going to kiss me?” she asked hoarsely.
“In a moment, and only if you’re okay with that. You can’t take back the first kiss,” he said, before running his tongue over his lower lip. “You have to give yourself the opportunity to think about how it’s going to feel, how…”
“How what?”
“How even though it’s just one kiss, there’s a whisper of a chance that everything you thought you knew was going to change, no matter what the consequences,” he said resolutely. “Are you ready, Emerson?”
Love in Numbers: An Enemies to Lovers Romance (Love Distilled Book 1) Page 6