He had no intention of stealing Emerson’s company from beneath her, but he had to think through what he could do to distract his father.
“Oh, and Connor, Cameron is going to need to see this.”
“Well, I’ll let you take him through it,” he said without turning around. He needed a plan, time for him to think through the options. There had to be a way to get his father off the fucking topic.
He pulled the door open wide and let it close loudly behind him. Not exactly a slam, nothing deliberate, but satisfying all the same.
He jogged the stairs down to his office, and when he stepped inside, he did something he never did. He locked the door.
Perching on the edge of his desk with his back to the door, he took in the sun going down over the city and thought of Emerson again.
How far was he prepared to go to keep Dyer’s Gin Distillery in Emerson’s hands?
All the way.
The answer came unbidden.
His emotional response was way ahead of any intellectual considerations. But even thinking it through, he still came to the same conclusion. It didn’t really matter what the sacrifice was. If Finch Liquor Distribution only bought the second most attractive asset, it was still a fucking good deal. The greater concern was if his father approached Emerson directly for a deal. She’d never look at Connor the same way again. It would ruin what the two of them were building.
Perhaps he could do some more digging on the second best company instead, blow them up, ever so slightly inflate the numbers to get his father’s interest. And Cameron would never go into the depth of research Connor did to find him out.
Or perhaps he should come clean to his father, tell him about Emerson, and quit before he got fired.
Quit?
Could he really walk away from everything he’d worked for, everything he’d been promised? He could get another job…but what if it weren’t in Denver? He’d never be able to pull Emerson away from the distillery.
So that was the question he needed to answer.
If it came down to it, was he really prepared to risk it all for Emerson?
Chapter Ten
“What are you up to?” Connor asked as he placed a glass of wine next to her elbow.
Emerson looked up from the laptop she’d just switched on. The sun was setting over the Denver skyline in a breathtaking display of deep purple and orange, but the view couldn’t match Connor. He was dressed in shorts and a sleeveless T-shirt, a towel thrown casually around his neck.
Emerson couldn’t resist a study of his arms…they were just so…capable.
“You keep looking at me like that, and I might just have to get a workout in some other way,” Connor said, humor dancing through his words. “Want to burn six hundred calories with me?”
Emerson laughed. “I don’t want to know how much work six hundred calories would be.”
Connor moved her hair over her shoulder and kissed the side of her neck. “I think it’s sex twice on the kitchen counter and a blow job in the shower…give or take a few calories.”
She leaned back in the chair and looked up at him. “I feel like I’d burn more of the calories during the blow job. All you’d have to do is stand there.”
“Are you negotiating with me again?”
Emerson shrugged. “Just stating the facts as I see them.”
“Fine. A sixty-nine on the rug. Equal calories.”
“Go. Go to the gym,” Emerson said, shooing him away. “Put in some work and you might be in half-decent shape by Christmas.”
He lifted his top to reveal his perfectly crafted abs. “You think these need work?”
“Oh my god. Stop,” she said, reaching for the hem to pull it down. “You are insufferable.”
Connor laughed. “Okay. I’ll stop. What are you up to?”
“It’s Dad’s personal laptop. I’m going through it to see if there’s anything we need to keep on here.”
“You want me to stick around? If you need me to, I can skip the gym,” he said, placing a hand on her shoulder.
Emerson shook her head. “I’ll be fine. You go ahead. I’ll start dinner if it becomes too much.”
From her seat in the armchair by Connor’s living room window, she could see the bag of groceries they’d picked up from the store down the street. Steak, sweet potatoes to make wedges, and the fixings for a salad.
“Okay, I’ll be back in an hour.” He kissed the top of her head before heading to the building’s gym.
She opened the laptop to be greeted by a password screen. Despite warnings to her father, he’d stuck to the same old passwords, arguing that he’d forget if he had too many. The first, a combination of their mother’s date of birth and the name of the restaurant they’d gone to on their first date, didn’t work. The second time was the charm.
1son2ake3via
The last three letters of his children’s names in the order they’d been born.
The desktop was intimidating, folder after folder with names that really only made sense to her father. Unease shivered down her spine. This was her father’s private property. For a moment, she wondered if she should simply close the laptop and put it away forever. It felt more personal than the books on the shelf in his office.
She sat back in her chair and picked up the glass of wine Connor had left her, a robust Shiraz from Australia’s Barossa Valley. She held it to the light, taking a moment to appreciate the ruby hue. It was thick, syrupy, and when she put her nose to the glass, she could smell the jammy, plum aromas. It tasted as good as it smelled, and it was tempting to simply retreat to the sofa with a good book.
She placed the glass back on the table and decided to start with his email. There were messages from old friends, random emails from stores he liked to shop at, and newsletters from industry organizations he’d been a part of.
Some she typed out brief responses for, others she unsubscribed to and then wondered why she’d bothered. It felt as though they were loose ends of her father’s life that needed sewing up.
The next email was from the insurance company, and Emerson wondered why it hadn’t been sent to his business email address. She opened it.
Mr. Dyer, I repeat my apologies that we are unable to help you further. We have read all of the information you have provided, and while we are saddened to hear about your daughter, we are unable to act. This issue is now closed.
Emerson’s heart began to race, and she took a gulp of wine.
She opened the thread of emails. Twenty, maybe thirty of them. The urge to just get to the punchline nudged her on.
The first few were her father making the claim. He’d asked for some clarity on the claims form, some other questions about timeline and process…the usual.
But the fifth took her breath away.
Please find attached the papers emailed to us by Olivia Dyer, on your behalf, for the purposes of the assessment of the policy three years ago. As outlined, the distillery, warehouse, and other buildings are included. The events hall was not and is, as such, not considered insured by this office.
Emerson slumped back in her chair.
Oh, God. Dad. Liv.
She opened the file, already fearful that she knew the answer. When Olivia had sent the documents required, they were all there…except the events hall.
They had no insurance. There was no coverage for the weddings they’d had to cancel. There was no damage cover to repair the building.
Her breathing shallowed as she fought to push the panic that was rising back down. She checked the date of the final email, the first one she had seen. Her father had received the email thirty-six hours before he’d gone to the bank to take out the loan. Five days after Liv’s breakdown.
So that’s why you didn’t tell us what was going on.
Liv had been causing them all so much worry with her erratic behavior and deep depression. Their father hadn’t told them because Liv would have felt it was her fault for sending the papers in incorrectly, no matt
er how much they would have reassured her.
Her heart ached for her father working through it all alone. The desperation he must have felt. Tears burned her eyes.
Those last few days before his heart attack, her father had looked more tired than usual. Dark circles had ringed his eyes. When Emerson had asked him what was wrong, he’d told her he thought he was coming down with something. She’d tried to encourage him to go home, to take a few days off and get some rest.
But he’d seemed more committed to his work than ever.
They’d argued about the production schedule, him trying to push for more production, her pleading for the investment they’d needed so badly.
Oh, God. Their argument.
She’d piled on when she should have been trying to lighten his load.
He’d been carrying the burden alone, trying to figure out how to fix things. And the stress of it had killed him.
Oh, Daddy.
She let the tears come. There was no point fighting them. She cried for Liv. She cried for her dad. And out of self-pity, she cried for herself. How on earth could they move forward? She couldn’t lie to Jake and Olivia about a non-existent insurance payout.
She’d have to tell them both.
Perhaps together was better.
It isn’t the end of the business. It isn’t the end of the business. It isn’t the end of the business.
She repeated it over and over.
They had the means to pay back the loan from the sale of the house. It wouldn’t go under. And if she had to sell her house, the business could have whatever equity was left in it. They’d stay afloat, and if Olivia altered her plans slightly, they might have enough for a fourth still. They could make it work.
There were also emails to the brides and grooms whose weddings had been cancelled. Deeply personal emails from her father, begging them to stop, offering them cash. Some of them had been kind in their acceptance. Others had argued and bargained to get more.
The shock left her cold, and she wandered to the bedroom to grab her sweater. A pile of Connor’s laundry sat on a chair, waiting to be put away. There was a hoodie, one he wore to go to the gym. She pulled it on, and it smelled of his laundry detergent.
It smelled of comfort.
The sleeves were too long, so she pushed them over her wrists. Suddenly tired, she sat down on the bed. The month felt as though it were a hundred days long. Tomorrow was Halloween, but the excitement she’d felt for her favorite holiday, second only to Christmas, was gone.
She slipped beneath the covers and closed her eyes, thinking of her father until sleep claimed her.
“Em, sweetheart…are you okay?” Connor’s voice sounded as if it were down a deep well. “Emerson?”
Groggily, she opened her eyes. “What time is it?” she muttered.
“A little after eight. I just got back. Have you been crying? Come here.” Connor pulled her to him, and she put her arms around him. “What happened?”
Emerson told him the whole story. No tears this time because she had none left. When she was done, he looked as shocked as she felt.
“I’m so sorry, Em. For what it’s worth, I have huge respect for your father, trying to do what was best for Olivia.”
“Me too. It didn’t need to kill him, though. And he could have told me.” She looked at Connor. “Why didn’t he tell? Did he not think I would have supported him? Helped him?”
“From what I know about your family, your dad remained your father first and the owner of a company second. He took care of you before he took care of business. He’s the complete opposite of my dad. Believe me, I think I’d have preferred the way your dad did it, Emerson.”
Deep down, she understood what Connor was trying to say, but pain rose to the surface faster than understanding. “If he didn’t think I was ready or able to help him with this, how on earth did he think I was ready to run this distillery? He wants me to be the glue, but I don’t know how. I’m so tired right now.”
Connor pulled her in even tighter, and she realized his skin was damp from his workout. “These are wobbles, Em. You know how to run the distillery, you know how to organize people, products, logistics. You know how to get the best out of people. You know this industry. All of that you know.”
He gripped her chin and tilted her head to look at him. “What you are dealing with right now is a lot. In the last three months, your father passed away, you inherited a business with some baseline issues. You’ve had to deal with probate and changing everything to do with the business into your name. You’ve dealt with wills, his house, your grief. Olivia. Your father’s request to be the glue. It’s no wonder you’re fucking tired.”
Emerson shrugged. “Maybe. As I was falling to sleep, I was wondering if we shouldn’t find someone with more experience…someone who could navigate all this with a little more grace than I seem to be able to.”
Connor shook his head. “No. That’s just exhaustion talking. Dyer’s is yours. But if I can point out one thing, in the spirit of being open with you. You’re doing exactly what your dad did. You are carrying it all alone. Don’t you think Jake and Olivia will feel the same way you do now if you don’t involve them, talk to them? They’re smart, Em. And I know Olivia has had some issues. But I don’t think she’s as fragile as you and Jake currently treat her.”
His words struck her heart. God, she’d been so stupid. She was mad at her father for doing exactly what she was doing.
“I hadn’t thought of it that way,” Emerson said.
“That’s because you aren’t as clever as me,” Connor said with a smile.
“I don’t smell as bad as you, either.”
Connor laughed and nuzzled the side of her neck. “Nothing smells as good as you, Em. Want to shower with me?” He stood and offered her his hand.
“Sure,” she said, letting him lead her into the bathroom, knowing full well he’d take care of her.
“Perhaps when we’re out of the shower you can put this back on,” Connor said, tugging at the hem of his hoodie. “Like, just this. No underwear.”
His comment brought a smile to her face, just as he’d intended.
When he’d returned from the gym, he’d called her name. He hadn’t been immediately worried when she hadn’t answered. But when he walked into the bedroom and found her on his side of the bed, tucked up as if to protect herself, tear tracks on her face, and his hoodie keeping her warm, his heart had skipped a beat.
Intuition told him that the reason for the upset must have been something on her father’s laptop. And when she’d woken, Emerson had confirmed his fears. She’d also confirmed something else he’d already started to believe. Paul Dyer had been a good man. Everything he’d done, his every action, had been to protect Olivia and to look out for those who had been affected by the wedding venue damage.
Once in the bathroom, he helped Emerson undress. He pulled his hoodie gently over her head before laying it on the counter. The care continued as he stripped her of the rest of her clothing until she was naked before him.
But his first thought wasn’t anything remotely sexual. It was to look after her, to bring color back to her cheeks.
Connor turned on the shower, putting his hand under the spray to make sure it was the right temperature. He moved two towels within reach before stepping out of his own clothes.
Connor opened the door to the shower wide, but Emerson didn’t move. “Are you okay, Em?”
Somehow, she’d become his everything, and he wasn’t quite sure how. It had happened quickly, like a thunderbolt. And she’d chosen him as her rock during what was probably the most stressful period of her life. She’d become his lover, his friend, and she trusted him as her confidant.
“I love you,” Emerson said suddenly.
It was as if she’d read his mind. They were both naked, as vulnerable as human beings could get, as the shower softly steamed up the bathroom.
“More than dry chocolate brownie with melty ice cream?” He too
k her hands in his, kissing each knuckle in turn.
“It looks like it.”
“More than General Tso’s Chicken from the Cleveland mall?”
“That still might be pushing it,” she said. “But you’re definitely a solid second.”
Connor slid his hands to her cheeks, holding her gently because she was the most precious thing in his life. “I’ll take melty ice cream because I love you, too, Em.”
Their mouths lingered against each other for a moment, and Connor knew they were at a tipping point. While he loved the feel of her body as it moved against his, he wanted to care for her more.
“Come on, shower,” he said, leading her under the steamy spray.
Emerson tilted her head back and let the water sluice through her hair.
Connor reached for his shampoo and poured a generous amount in his hand. At some point, they should probably get around to leaving things at each other’s homes for convenience instead of always having to carry things like a toothbrush with them.
“Step out of the spray a little,” he said, and she followed his instruction.
He ran the shampoo through the lengths of her hair before returning to her scalp to lather it. In all honesty, he had no idea if he was doing it right; he’d never washed anyone else’s hair before. But from hearing Emerson’s soft moan as he used his fingertips against her scalp, he figured he was probably doing okay.
When he was satisfied it was soapy enough, he nudged her back under the spray. His dick didn’t get the whole “caring” message as it sprung to life as he watched rivers of soap bubbles run down her breasts.
Emerson lifted her arms to help rinse the soap from her hair, making her nipples stand to fucking attention.
Connor turned away for a moment and busied himself with quickly washing his own hair. As he stepped beneath the water to rinse it, Emerson glanced down at his dick and bit her lip.
“Stop,” he warned. He leaned forward and stole a gentle kiss. “I’m trying to be a gentleman.”
He repeated the steps he’d taken with the shampoo but using conditioner this time, and as she rinsed, he grabbed his body wash. She was going to smell like him, he realized as he poured a generous dollop into his palm.
Love in Numbers: An Enemies to Lovers Romance (Love Distilled Book 1) Page 16