Love in Numbers: An Enemies to Lovers Romance (Love Distilled Book 1)

by Scarlett Cole

  Goddamn it.

  It made no sense, yet it made all the sense in the world. The checks had been made out to the brides and grooms of weddings that were cancelled. Had her father taken out the loan in the guise of renovations to quiet the outrage aimed at the distillery and her sister?

  Tears filled her eyes. It was just the kind of thing her father would do to protect them. And he’d probably had a plan for how to get them out of the mess it created.

  Why didn’t you tell me what you were doing, Dad?

  “Hey, Em, I was thinking about that pricing thing?” Jake said, striding toward her. “Wait, what’s wrong?” He sat down next to her on the step, and as soon as his arm went around her, she cried into his shoulder.

  “Look at this.” She handed Jake the list of names and explained to him what their father had done.

  “He did it for Liv, didn’t he?”

  Emerson nodded. “I think so. He was too good a man to be a businessman. We all knew that.”

  Silence fell between the two of them, each of them churning through their thoughts.

  “So, you think the bank is going to recall this loan?” Jake said.

  “I do. I talked to Connor about it, and he said—”

  “Stop a sec. Connor? The Mercedes parked outside your house?” Confusion reigned in Jake’s eyes as he whipped his arm from around her shoulder, making Emerson feel even worse. “And how long have you known?”

  Crap. Just crap.

  “I’m sorry, Jake. I found out last week there was a loan, and I only found out today what it was for. That was the call I just took. I figured if Dad had paid for new stills, or a deposit on the renovation or something, it would have been a nonissue. I didn’t want to worry you, or especially Liv, with it if it was a false alarm.”

  “Okay, I get the timeline. But how did you think it was okay to discuss it with some guy none of us know before you talked to us?” Jake’s hurt tone only served to increase the anxiety and guilt she felt.

  She sighed, lifting her face to the sun for a moment. “I’m sorry. Connor is…special. We met a month ago. He’s in the liquor distribution business. I needed someone to talk to who wasn’t…vested…someone who wasn’t going to be hurt by all of this, who could be impartial.”

  Silence descended again, and Emerson, exhausted, let it. They sat there so long that the sun had shifted, and they were sitting in the shade.

  “What happens if they recall it?” Jake asked, quietly.

  “Then we have to pay them back. I had a thought last night, which I’m still not sure how I feel about, but we could use funds from the sale of the house to invest in the business, then use those funds to pay back the loan. I don’t think that is what Dad would have wanted, but I don’t know how he intended to make this right, either.”

  “Take my share. I’ll manage just fine,” Jake said.

  “We can use mine, too,” Emerson said. “It’ll be enough without stopping Olivia from buying a place of her own. It’s just that I thought…naively probably…that when we took over, it would go a whole lot smoother than this.”

  Jake threw his arm around her neck. “Yeah. I just created a Best in Class-medal gin, so my side of the business is going fine.”

  Emerson snorted. “You are an asshole.”

  “Yup. We’ll get through this, Em, I promise.”

  She just hoped Jake was right.

  As Connor pulled up in front of Emerson’s, he wondered if he shouldn’t actually arrange another date for the two of them. The kind where they got dressed up and he took her out. It had been nice to meet one of Emerson’s friends. He wondered if Ali had a boyfriend and if they could all go out together. Maybe he could organize something with Blake and Talia. Or do something simpler, maybe. Just the two of them. Like take a hike nearby. Take in the leaves changing color. He could hardly believe it was nearly November. Thanksgiving was just around the corner, and for a moment, he allowed himself to envision them spending it together.

  She’d told him she’d be in the garden, so he took the path down the side of the house, through the gate that was kept open with a large gray stone, and to the backyard. Emerson was on her knees, reaching into one of the vegetable beds, digging up the remains of plants that had offered their last vegetables.

  “Hey, Emerson,” he said loudly to avoid scaring her.

  Emerson turned and smiled. “Hey.” She tugged off her gardening gloves as she stood up. “How was your day?”

  How was your day? His first thought was how that sounded so fucking good. To have someone care enough to ask and genuinely want to listen.

  “Good. It got even better when I walked around the corner and saw you on your knees.”

  At the sweet sound of her laughter, he pulled her into his arms, letting his hands slide down to rest on her butt. When she stepped up on her toes, he kissed her more deeply than he’d anticipated. He couldn’t help it.

  “I should be offended,” she said.

  “Only if you don’t like the idea of getting on your knees for me at some point. You have a fantastic ass, and I like the view. I call that a win-win.”

  Emerson screwed up her face. “I don’t see how I win. You missed something there.”

  “You get me, of course,” he said, holding his arms out to the side, twisting slightly from left to right.

  She shrugged. “I suppose you’ll do.”

  “How was your day?” he asked. “You look tired.”

  “I have a white wine in the fridge and a black bean chili with cheese dumplings in the oven. I’ll tell you over dinner.”

  Over food and drink, Emerson explained the call from the bank and the conversation with her brother. Once they’d cleaned up and poured out the last of the wine, they moved to the living room.

  “I’m happy to meet them,” Connor said as they sat down. “Jake and Olivia. Just tell me when and where. I don’t want to end up on the wrong side of them because we were private with this. It’s not intentional. I was just thinking earlier how it was nice to meet Ali. And I really think you’d get along with Talia, my friend Blake’s partner.”

  “I’d like that. We’re starting the process of going through Dad’s things tomorrow.” Emerson shifted to face him. “Could you pop over before you head back into town?”

  “That sounds good. Or I could go work out and then pick up lunch and drive it over for you all. Something social instead of something so personal to your family. That said, I’m also totally willing to help if you want.”

  Emerson nodded. “Even better. I’d be happy to meet your family, too, you know, if you want me to…or no rush, if you’re not ready for that.”

  Connor took her hand in his. “’Tis a fucking tangled web we weave when we practice to deceive.” Or whatever that Walter Scott quote was. “I’d like you to meet them, too. It would reassure my mom to see I’m capable of dating.” My dad, on the other hand, might run us both out of the fucking house.

  “You’ve not had too many girlfriends, then?” Emerson asked with a smile that reassured him she wasn’t being irrationally jealous.

  He shook his head. “I have a past, for sure, just like everyone does. But I’ve always been—”

  “Discrete? Chivalrous?”

  “Yes, at least I hope the women in my past would think so. Loyal, honorable, perhaps too protective at times…I’m only human. What about you, Emerson?”

  She tilted her head, her lips pursed as if trying to calculate something. “Probably only three relationships that meant something. High school first love, college, which became long-distance and petered out, and something here a couple of years ago. There were others in between but nothing worth a mention.”

  For some reason, it reassured him to know something of her past. If they were building what he was hoping, and if at some point he was going to have to tackle his father, it gave him confidence that their relationship would be worth the difficulty he’d face.

  “What are you going to do about the bank?” he aske
d.

  “Wait until the letter comes in the mail with the details. I’m sure that will tell us. Worst case, we sell my dad’s place and Jake and I both put in one hundred twenty-five thousand each of our shares.”

  “You seem pretty pragmatic.”

  Emerson nodded. “You didn’t see me crying in the fucking warehouse parking lot.”

  “Nobody said leaders needed to be strong all the time, Emerson.” He reached for her hand, stroking the back of it with his thumb. “You care so deeply about your family, the distillery, the people who work there, this code of quality. These are all great traits.”

  “Even though I’m also a wishy-washy ISFJ on the Myers-Briggs? I did the test once and it confirmed what I already knew. Ready to sacrifice and happiest behind the scenes. I have difficulty saying no and quietly take on details others neglect just because they need to get done. I hate the telephone. I’m pushing against my type.”

  Connor laughed. “You didn’t have any problem saying no when I asked you to get out of my seat.”

  “That’s because you were rude and I don’t like inconsiderate people.”

  He pulled her across his lap, happy to see her smile. She’d worried him earlier when she seemed so down. “Have I changed your mind?”

  “The jury’s still out,” she said, kissing him so quickly he almost missed it.

  Connor wrapped his arms loosely around her and looked straight into her eyes. They crinkled with mirth as she tried to remain composed. God, she was lovely. How wrong his father was to hate her family so irrationally.

  At least he hoped it was irrational. Even if it wasn’t, the sins of Paul Dyer should not have to be paid for by his daughter.

  “How was the distillery established?” Connor said. “I just realized I don’t know anything about its history.”

  Emerson settled herself against his shoulder. “The short version is that my great-grandfather used to brew what is essentially moonshine, and he and Dad spent their weekends making it. He had this old column still that he’d make this almost deadly high-proof white liquor in. When he passed away, my then-eighteen-year-old Dad asked if he could have it. He played around with it in my grandfather’s garage, and eventually bought a pot still made of copper, so he could start to infuse flavors into a neutral ethanol base. He really studied the science of it, but it was the artistry of infusing flavors that he loved the most.”

  Connor struggled to imagine the man his father had resented so much being a curious young man who cared about his grandfather. And he realized, as he looked at Emerson, that Paul Dyer had passed his love and knowledge on to Emerson without demanding she learn it. For a moment, he wondered how different his relationship with his father could have been if his father had taken the same approach.

  “So, how did he turn his hobby into a business?”

  “That’s the cool part,” Emerson said, and he wondered if she realized just how much her face lit up when she talked about her family. “My great-grandfather was a smart man. He set up a trust so that my father could access it when he was twenty-five as long as he’d gone to college. So, Dad graduated, returned to Denver, and waited for the fund so he could set up his distillery. It wasn’t a huge fund because my great-grandfather wasn’t wealthy by any means, but it was enough to make a start…to put deposits on things, make down payments.”

  “Did he take a partner or a loan or anything?”

  Emerson grinned. “Both. Of a fashion.”

  “Are they still part of the business? What happened to them?” he asked, aware that his questions were becoming more personal. There had never been a rumor of a silent partner, so she must be talking about his father.

  “He married her. My mom’s father was a neutral alcohol manufacturer, a supplier my father was thinking of using. Instead, he ended up marrying my mother, and her father gave them the rest of the money they needed as a wedding present. I was born shortly after.”

  He married her.

  Not the explanation he was expecting. “So, there was never anybody else involved?”

  “Why are you so interested in whether there were other people?” Emerson’s expression turned puzzled. “It’s been a family business since the beginning. From the stills in the garage, to me and Jake and Liv there today.”

  “Sorry,” he said, trying to think of a plausible reason she’d believe why he was pushing. “Sometimes I slip back into business mode. It’s a hard habit to shake. These are just questions I’d ask people who were going to distribute through us.”

  Emerson’s expression eased. “I totally understand that. I have some pictures from the start of the distillery, if you are interested.”

  “I’d love to see them,” Connor said.

  Emerson left the room to get them.

  Fuck. He needed answers. For him to be able to speak with his father about Emerson, about their relationship, he needed to know to what extent his father had been involved from the Dyers’ perspective. But from what Emerson had told him, his father had no involvement at all. It made no sense.

  “Here,” Emerson said, coming back to the room. She handed him a set of photographs. “Don’t worry, these are duplicates. There’s Mom and Dad on the day the distillery opened.”

  “You look a lot like her,” Connor said. “It’s the eyes, I think. And the hair.”

  Emerson ran her finger along the edge of the photograph wistfully. “I looked like her but acted like my dad…they always said I was the perfect blend of both of them. Jake is more like Dad, Liv is all Mom, and I’m in the middle.”

  Connor turned to the next photograph. Men were lifting barrels into place in the warehouse. “That’s Stan,” she said. “He grew up with Dad and was one of the first hires. He still works with us today. Over thirty years of service and barely misses a day.”

  They skipped through a handful more, Emerson explaining the story behind each one. Some with humor, some etched with nostalgia or a hint of sadness. Connor turned to the final photograph.

  “Group shot,” she said, holding the last photograph. About fifteen people stood outside the front of the building. “Dad couldn’t remember why everyone was assembled outside; he thought it was a celebration of being ready to open or something.”

  And there, standing at the edge of the photograph, arms crossed in a style Connor recognized, was his father.

  Chapter Nine

  Emerson tried to move but couldn’t. She was delightfully held in place, her back pressed up against Connor’s chest. His arm was wrapped around her, his calf over hers.

  The warmth of his breath tickled the back of her neck.

  If there was a better way to wake up, she couldn’t think of it.

  Their evening had ended quietly. Connor had suggested a walk, and even though it had gotten dark, it had been nice to be out in the fresh air. When they’d arrived back home, it was late, and so they’d climbed into her bed and fallen asleep together.

  But now, with him pressed against her, she hoped she could convince him to make love before she got up to make waffles for breakfast. Not only did she crave the intimacy between the two of them, but deep down, she needed something to ground her, to even out the keel of sadness at what the day held.

  Emerson turned in his arms.

  “What’s got you so squirmy this early?” he mumbled, barely opening his eyes before closing them again.

  “You,” she whispered. She reached down between them and gently stroked the tip of her finger along his heavy length. “This.”

  This time Connor opened his eyes, and despite having to blink several times, finally got them to stay open. “You have my attention.”

  She loved the way his voice sounded like gravel.

  Connor wrapped his arm over her and pulled her closer as his erection grew harder and firmer. “Kiss me,” he commanded.

  Nothing in the world was better than Connor’s lips on hers. The way he teased, the way he used his tongue against her, the way he bit her lip gently before releasing it. S
he loved every playful minute.

  His hand squeezed her hip before reaching for her breast. He held it in his hand, his thumb brushing the tip of her nipple, causing her to gasp.

  “I love that sound, Emerson. When I do something you like.”

  “I love the way you make me feel. It’s like I have no inhibitions with you.”

  Connor moved down the bed a little. When he licked her nipple, she gasped again, when he sucked it into his mouth, teasing it with his tongue and teeth, she cried out.

  He lifted his head and grinned at her, his blue eyes looking lighter in the hazy morning sunlight. “I like you this way. Uninhibited.”

  Emerson turned in his arms, arching her back against his chest. It was too early to get on her knees, but the idea that he might slowly ease into her from behind, sliding in inch by delicious inch, caused a flood of tension in her muscles.

  Connor placed a line of kisses along her spine, moving upward until he reached her neck. His hand moved between her legs, circling her clit but never applying enough pressure for it to do anything other than tease her.

  Pressing back against him, she felt the hard lines of his erection pressing against her butt. She smiled when he slowly ground against her. Slow and steady.

  In time to his own action, he slid his finger inside her. Moving back and forth at the same pace.

  “Fuck, I could come just doing this,” he muttered into her hair.

  She understood his meaning. Flutterings of a pending orgasm gathered deep in Emerson. She reached into the drawer of the bedside table and pulled out a condom. “This is good,” she murmured, “but this will be better.”

  Connor ripped the packet and slid it on. Positioning himself behind her, he lifted her thigh slightly, and she placed her hand between her legs to help ease him in. As he inched into her, the delicious burn of being stretched filled her, creating wetness that eased the journey.

  When he withdrew, she braced herself, and as she’d envisioned, he entered her more firmly in one smooth thrust.