Whiskey Heart: An Alpha Billionaire Friends to Lovers Romance

by Caroline Tate

  And though it’s annoying for me to admit this, the truth is simple: I want him. He’s unconventionally handsome and funny, smooth as a stone. He’s got the deepest eyes and the sharpest wit I’ve known. I’m a moth, and he’s the brightest flame I’ve ever laid eyes on in a way that makes me feel like I have to have him.

  But he’s off limits. Or should be, at least. He’s a ladies’ man. A serial one-night stander. He’s obsessed with having women that desire him. It’s become a game to him, and everyone in Savannah knows that. He’s been with more women in Savannah than I probably even know. And mostly, he’s my big brother’s best friend since grade school. I shouldn’t want him. I can’t want him the way I do. It would never work. Anything other than friends isn’t feasible.

  “Well?” He shrugs at me, his eyebrows lifted in anticipation. “What do you think?”

  Right as I open my mouth to answer him, my phone starts ringing from my bag. Saved by the freaking bell. Grabbing my purse, I slide my phone out— it’s Becca.

  “I’m sorry, Cam. I need to get this.” I flash him an apologetic smile.

  “Is this really more important than me?” he whispers sharply with a chuckle. He points at me, teasing. “No one is more important than I am.”

  Rolling my eyes at him, I shake him off. “Hey, Becca. What’s up?”

  “Hey, boss. Glad I caught you— Victoria scheduled a last-minute appointment. She wants a new estimate since we’re changing the color scheme, staircase, and everything else.”

  “Of course,” I say. “Did she give a time? I can head over this—”

  Becca groans. “Don’t kill me, but she’s wanting to do it before nine if possible. She said she has a chiropractic appointment at 10:30. I can call her back and reschedule if you’re—”

  “Nope.” Nodding, I reach over to Cameron’s wrist and glance at the time, the hands on his watch sobering me— 8:47. If I were any other design firm in Savannah, I would let this appointment slide or put it off until the afternoon. But because RP Designs guarantees same-day estimates if called before noon, I have to do this. Reaching up, I rub my shoulder. I feel Cameron’s eyes on me, growing me tense, but I avoid eye contact hoping it’ll deter him from cracking jokes while I’m trying to be professional on a call. “No, that’ll work. You’ll email me her info? I have swatches with me, so should be good to go.”

  “Yes. And don’t forget, I read in her notes you took the first time around how she usually prefers a more neutral color palette. But that could change for this project now. Who really knows with her anymore? Anyway, I’m sending over the information right now.”

  “Great. I’ll look for it. Thanks so much, Becca. I’ll see you back at the office.”

  Ending the call, I shove my phone back in my purse, slightly annoyed but also a little relieved that I have to end this thing with Cameron. “I’m sorry,” I say, pulling my lipgloss out for a touch-up. “I need to get going. But this was good.”

  He ducks his chin down and rubs at the back of his neck. When he looks back up, he grins. “You sure you can’t blow off work for a little longer?”

  As I gather my bag and takeaway cup, I can’t help but look at him. He pouts like a puppy dog, his eyes growing big and innocent. “Sorry, Cam. But no. Work is important to me. Not everyone is lucky enough to have a ridiculously huge fortune handed down to them,” I say, sliding the Center Square gift certificate across the table toward him. “Can’t blow off work, but,” I grin and shake my head even before I make the joke. “There is something else I can blow,” I say, slinging my bag over my shoulder.

  Cameron’s eyes gleam under the fluorescent lights, and his dimples pop out at my naughty innuendo. He licks his lips sensually for show and nods at me in approval. “What’s that? I’m looking forward to it,” he purrs.

  “Don’t be a pervert,” I say, heading toward the front of the cafe. “I was talking about my trumpet,” I shrug, holding my imaginary trumpet up to him as he did earlier. With the biggest, most innocent smile I can muster, I push my way through the front door of the coffee shop, the chime above the door escorting me out. I leave him wild and grinning like the cockiest cheshire cat of Savannah.

  Chapter 5

  There’s a quick knock on my office door. “Morning! Special delivery,” Becca calls, as she bumps the door open, her hands full. Sliding a vase of flowers and a pink bakery box on my desk, she smooths down her hair and rearranges her skirt. “These are for you,” she smiles.

  “Wow. What’s the occasion?” I ask, dumbfounded.

  Plucking an envelope from the flowers, she passes it to me with a grin plastered to her wide face. “Not sure,” she purrs. “They were on the porch. What gentleman caller have you captivated lately?”

  Furrowing my brow, I shake my head. I hadn’t told her about Cameron specifically. And I surely never told her that I almost got busy with him right before she came over the other night. Things with Cameron had been strange, so I avoided talking about it altogether. I don’t want anyone getting the idea that he means something to me. Opening the envelope, I see the folded gift certificate to Center Square I’d left on the table at the coffee shop tucked behind a note. Fingering the card, I trace the ragged, familiar handwriting.

  Thanks for the non-date yesterday.

  Had a great time drinking coffee across from you.

  Let’s ‘do it’ again.

  Yours Truly,

  Cam

  (and Mister No Drama Llama)

  “Was it that tech guy from the club the other night?”

  I feign a smile, wishing it were that simple. “Unfortunately, no. I have a friend who’s back in town. The guy with the dog that tore up the fabric I bought for Selene the other day.”

  “Ohhh,” she sings, waggling her eyebrows. “Hot fabric guy. That’s cute. I’m sorry, but I already peeked…” she says, pushing over the bakery box. “He must love cupcakes!”

  “Yeah,” I laugh, opening the lid of the box. And immediately, a thick waft of assorted sweetened cakes surrounds me. “He must,” I say, knowing good and well it’s a nod to the night I lost my virginity with him. A smug jog down memory lane is what he’s sent me. Studying the box, I stare at the dozen cupcakes that are nestled in the box, all different flavors and elaborately decorated with colorful toppers, fresh fruit, and metallic sprinkles. Carrot cake, vanilla, strawberry cream, chocolate swirled, red velvet, key lime. They look delicious, and my mouth starts watering.

  “Oh my goodness,” Becca squeals, pointing at the box. “Is that a trumpet? Aww.”

  Good grief. Busting out into laughter, I blush as I hadn’t noticed the golden trumpet that sits atop the plain vanilla cupcake in the corner of the box. Shaking my head, I can’t help but snort at his adorably ridiculous sense of humor.

  “What’s the note say?” Becca asks, her eyes beaming eager like strobes. Without thinking, I hand it to her. I watch as her eyes skim the paper until she giggles. “That’s adorable, Riley. You’re so lucky.” She hands the note back to me. “Who’s Cameron, anyway?” she asks as she grabs my stack of notes that need to be dictated into my computer files. “Wait a sec.” Spinning toward me, she grins. “Is this Hartley Cameron? Cameron Alder or whatever his name is? Sexy whiskey billionaire Cameron?”

  “That’s the one,” I nod, picking at the lent on my skirt. “Cameron Alden. Except, it turns out he’s not that much of an asshole. We grew up together. I guess we’re friends and all that.”

  She pops into the leather chair across from my desk. “Define all that.”

  Shaking my head, I laugh and cover my face with my hands. “I don’t know. We maybe have done some stuff before? Nothing serious.”

  “Riley!” Becca bats at me with a hand. “I’ve worked for you for three years now, and you’ve not said much about him at all. Spill the details!”

  Shrugging, I try to play it off. “I promise, there aren’t many details to spill. At least not relevant ones. You already know he was best friends with my brother grow
ing up. But until the other day, I hadn’t seen him in years.”

  Becca smirks. “I’ve heard two things about him. One, I think it’s pretty well-known that he’s popular with the women around here. And two, I hear he has a big cock.”

  “Becca!” I plug my ears and roll my eyes at her.

  “What? Is it true?”

  I stare at her for a second. Then concealing a smile, I nod ever so slightly. “A little bit, yes.”

  “How many times?” she gasps.

  Putting my left palm over my grin, I hold up two fingers.

  “Oh my Lord, Riley.” She hops up and plants herself on the corner of my desk. “And you’ve been holding out on me for all these years. You totally dig him.”

  I shrug and regain my composure while she watches me, waiting for me to say more.

  “There’s something you’re not telling me,” she says, studying my mannerisms. But I glance down at the pile of paperwork in front of me before she crosses her arms in front of her. “Is it really true that he hangs out at that nightclub uptown still? He’s a little old for that.”

  “I wouldn’t doubt it,” I sigh. “He’s a total ladies man. That probably won’t stop anytime soon,” I say, matter-of-factly, the wind having been completely sucked out of my sails. Sobering, really.

  Furrowing her brow, she sits again and billows her skirt out in front of her. “You really think that? You know, I’m a firm believer in the fact that guys can change. And they do when the right woman comes along.”

  “Well, this one I’m not sure about,” I huff, looking out my window. What leaves are left on the oak tree shine a brilliant orange under the afternoon sun. “He’s stubborn. Besides, we’re just friends. And I’m not looking for anything that—”

  “—That puts you on the radar,” Becca finishes, reciting my motto in love. “Yeah, yeah. We know. You’re super laser-beam focused on your career right now, which I get. But Riley, you are twenty-nine. You know what they say about women in their thirties down here! If you’re over thirty and single, there’s something seriously wrong with you.”

  “Whoa, hold up a second,” I say putting my hand up in playful attitude. “First of all, it’s offensive that in this day and age, people still think like that. Second, are you seriously calling me old right now?”

  “If the stiletto fits,” she shrugs. “At least flirt with him. Be cordial, if you know what I mean,” she lilts, nudging me with a wink.

  “It doesn’t, actually. The stiletto refuses to fit. It’s way too big, thanks. Because this stiletto just turned 29, and therefore, has at least a good year before she withers up and dies on the coattails of an outdated Southern double standard.”

  She tilts her head and shrugs.

  “Because Cameron is thirty-two. And apparently the only thing wrong with him is that he can’t decide which woman he wants week-to-week. How fair is that?”

  Becca laughs just as her work cell phone starts ringing from her desk in the other room. “Look,” she says, turning on her heel. “I’m not perpetuating the rule. Just making you—”

  “Wait,” I groan. “Take these with you, please.” Picking up my lead pencil, I push the box of cupcakes across my desk to her with the eraser end like the sweets are poison.

  “Lord, Riley. They’re yours. You should keep them.”

  Looking over at the beautiful vase of flowers Cameron had sent with the cupcakes, I shake my head. A pure but casual arrangement of white lilies and baby’s breath that puts an awful dent into my suit of noncommittal armor. “Take them home with you,” I smile, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear, suddenly feeling overwhelmed at the meaning behind everything. “I’m trying to cut back on sugar.”

  “Okay.” Hesitant, she takes the box with a furrowed brow. Like she almost believes me, but not quite. “Sure thing.”

  When Becca leaves my office, I hear her on the phone through the door. Over the past twenty-four hours, I’ve let my thoughts of Cameron go way too far. I gave him a makeout session, an almost romp, and a very non-date coffee. With the flowers and the cupcakes, it feels like he’s trying to turn it into a full-fledged affair. When I’m not around him, my mind is clear. It’s not cluttered with the what-ifs or the maybes or the this could be possibles. But I need to set some boundaries. I want him to know I’m not one of his little spring chickens. Yes, our almost-sex was unbelievably hot. But he has to know he can’t just woo me and buy my attention with flowers and delicious cupcakes and entire bolts of breathtakingly expensive fabrics and a year’s worth of freaking lattes. He’s only pursuing me because I keep refusing him, and it’s probably a turn-on or something. I’m a commodity— a familiar breath of fresh air. Something he shouldn’t have. And quite honestly, something he can’t have in the long run. Therefore, that makes him want me even more, right?

  I grab my phone from where it’s tucked on the other side of my laptop. Sliding Cameron’s note back out of the envelope, I search the card until I find what I’m looking for— his number. Tapping the scrawled digits into my cell, I type out a text to let him know the deal.

  For years, I’ve tried to deny my feelings for him. Feelings that he never even realized I had. Stuffed all the lust I’ve ever felt toward this man into my bottomless it’ll never happen cloud that floats inside me. But today, I’m going to make sure he knows we won’t be doing that again.

  Riley: Hey there. I got your stuff, and it’s lovely. But I want to let you know that you can’t buy me.

  This will completely set him straight. As politely as possible, too. I tap my nails on the desk waiting for a response which may not come for hours. But as soon as I resign myself to getting back to work like a normal person would, the three dots appear in our text box letting me know he’s typing. The wait is agonizing, so I slide my phone onto my lap until it dings.

  Cam: Sorry, don’t recognize the number… who is this?

  What the hell! I get that he’s joking, but still. Rolling my eyes, I type back to him.

  Riley: Very funny.

  Cam: On the contrary. Can I at least have a name?

  Why is he playing so stubborn? As soon as I type my next message, I almost regret the words I use. So unladylike. But I’m so frazzled that I send them anyway to let him know I’m pissed.

  Riley: It’s Riley, you dick.

  Cam: Oh, hey. Didn’t recognize your number since you refused to give it to me. Back to thinking about my dick again, huh?

  Scoffing, I toss my phone onto my desk. His absurdity isn’t any different over text, but I will not respond to such a question. Just because I had been thinking about his dick doesn’t mean I’m still currently thinking about it. Though, now that he’s mentioned it… I was sorely disappointed to not get to see it last night, if I’m being honest.

  Did I seriously just think that? Riley Marie Pratt. I scold myself inwardly, but before I can think of some kind of a smart comeback, I hear my phone ding again.

  Cam: Mister Llama got your tongue?

  Riley: No… I’m working.

  Cam: How about you come out with me tomorrow night?

  Riley: Are you asking me out?

  Cam: On a date, yes.

  My heart pounds at his answer. No matter how hard I try to deny my faded feelings for this man, years of secretly pining after an older boy who will hardly even look at you tells me that my feelings are going nowhere.

  Riley: Tempting. But I’m sorry. Pretty slammed with clients. I don’t have much time for a social life.

  Cam: You scared we’ll do something, Pratt?

  Riley: Just not interested. No time for lovin’ lately.

  My reply may be harsh. But it’s the truth. I rarely have time to go out in the evenings knowing I have early mornings. My one-night stand with that handsome tech startup reinforced how ill-equipped I am to do something as brazen as having a healthy sex life. The underlying want is there, yes. But everything that follows the act of me going on a date with Cameron… inevitably heading back to his apartment, sex, anothe
r walk of shame the next morning, worrying about if he’ll text me again or if he’ll just move on to his next lady-in-waiting. It all puts me in a bad frame of mind. I sit for a second, twirling the few loose curls in my hair in wonderment. Why is he so adamant about wanting to take me out, anyway? Is he really serious? Maybe he’d changed in the past five years. We all change, right? The moment I start to regret my text turning him down, my phone dings.

  Cam: No time for lovin’. Understood.

  And like that, I don’t hear from him for five minutes. I don’t hear from him for half an hour. And with a dull ache in a strange part of my heart over having offended him or refused him or whatever he’s thinking I actually feel about him, I realize I won’t hear from him for the rest of the day.

  Chapter 6

  After a long day spent making decisions with Becca around Savannah’s Downtown Design District for a few clients, I settle into the couch at home to watch a few episodes of Will & Grace. I'd taken my bra off and my hair out of its bun as soon as I walked in the door this evening, because sweet relief. My heels lay kicked over next to the side door, and the cotton jersey dress I'm wearing is gathered in a wrinkled ball in my lap.

  As the next commercial comes on, I hear my cell phone from the kitchen counter. Popping up from the couch, I decide to pour myself a second glass of wine for the night. Because when you bust your tush all day making decisions for other people, alcohol is needed to unwind. As I'm reaching for the bottle, my phone chimes again.When I awaken my screen, I see I have two text messages from Cameron.

  Cam: You decent?

  Cam: Asking for a friend.

  As I consider what to say back to him, I sip from my wine glass, the warm, fruity alcohol sending me into a smooth buzz. Do I respond immediately? Or do I play it cool and make him wait? It’s been three days since our last texting joust. I’m not so sure I want to do it again. Besides that, what do you even say to someone asking if your decent? I settle on a response that makes me sound cool, indifferent, and a little bit busy.