by K. B. Jacobs
And the locals thought that shit was funny? Yeah...no, this town had lost all its charm. Including Miss High-And-Mighty Brewery girl. With her flashing ice-blue eyes, that tantalizing star tattoo I’d glimpsed running down the back of her neck, and those glorious tits that for a moment had been pressed against my chest in the most perfect...
No, no, no.
Dammit.
No way was I going to let a nice rack mess up this deal. I owed it to Ice.
I stomped across the pub toward the brewery area of the building, ignoring the smirks from the local lunch crowd. Fuck them and their cute signs and jokes on unsuspecting guests.
The pub had huge windows that looked into what had to be the brewing room with those huge silver vats. I pushed through a door marked Authorized Personnel Only and walked into chaos. I thought the bar was bad, but I was wrong. This was worse. The drone of machinery immediately shut out any other noise in the room. Several men wearing jeans and hoodies worked around the room, but no one even spared me a glance.
Red flag number one. There might be a sign on the door, but that didn’t do any good when no one questioned a stranger who was obviously out of place. What kind of business just let anyone wander in and out of the manufacturing area? Anyone could come back here and tamper with these vats, possibly poisoning thousands of people.
Various hoses crisscrossed across the smooth cement floor in a pattern of random chaos. Red flag number two. Unknown liquids covered the floor, and several buckets sat under the silver domes, yellowish foam bubbling out like a witch’s brew gone wrong. Was that even sanitary? Granted, I wasn’t exactly experienced in food prep, but even I knew that everything needed to stay clean. That was not a word I’d use to describe this room.
Red flag number three. As I watched a man heft a large sack of grain—or something that looked like grain—across the room on top of his shoulders, I held my breath. I was sure he was going to trip over one of those hoses because he couldn’t see the floor. But obviously, he’d been working here long enough to know where they were all placed.
And then I spotted red flag number four and began taking photos with my phone for documentation. Two men were working on a shorter tank...maybe cleaning it out. One guy stood on an overturned bucket on top of a platform, handing a large piece of steel to a guy inside. Where the hell was OSHA? I knew there was no way that fell within safety protocols.
I meandered through the large steel cylinders. There were clipboards hanging on the sides of them as well as gauges, but I had no idea about brewing beer, so I didn’t even bother trying to interpret anything.
As I wandered along the confusing maze of silver and copper, the moisture from the floor seeped into my shoes. Fuck. Now my feet were just as wet as my head.
There were fewer people working here than I’d expect, and the ones who were here didn’t pay any attention to me. So I continued to explore and poke into places I probably shouldn’t poke. There were stacks of huge, dusty, rough totes. Peeking inside, I found grains—probably hops and barley, right? At least I thought that’s what was used in creating beer...according to the commercials.
Down a short hall and in the back, a small room spanned the crossover to the bottling room. The room looked like something from a frat house. Beer signs on the walls, a couple of broken down couches, a ratty old table that had seen better days, and a giant flat-screened TV hanging on the wall. It was relatively quiet compared to all the machinery noises outside the room, except for the two guys lounging in the back on a couch, playing Asterfell.
They both wore what seemed to be the Naked Brews uniform...hoodie sweatshirt and jeans. There was no way the one kid was old enough to work at all, much less work in a brewery. Maybe he was one of the worker’s kids?
The other guy had a ball cap pulled on with the brim pulled down low, so it was hard to see much of his face.
I was familiar with the videogame since Damian and I played it, too. The dystopian world built within the game had enough reality to it that it got our hearts pumping, but it was other-worldly enough that it didn’t kick off Damian’s PTSD. There weren’t many adult games that could pull that off.
The guys had gotten trapped in the section of the game where the players couldn’t tell which flowers were cocoons hiding the enemy and which were harmless. Damian and I spent the weeks going through this section before we finally conquered it.
This might be a way for me to get some insider information, so I sat down and gave them pointers as they worked through the game. It took about half an hour, but I finally managed to get them to the next section of the game.
“Thanks, man. We were never going to make it through that level,” ball cap said, pushing back his hat to really look at me since the game didn’t have his complete focus. He tilted his head, taking in the business attire.
While I hadn’t gone full-on three-piece business suit, compared to them, I looked like I was headed to a red-carpet event.
He scowled. “Who are you?”
“Walsh. Lake said I could wander around and check out the brewery operations.”
The guy nodded as if that happened every day. Hell, maybe it did. Who knew how many people paraded through here without any supervision at all.
“That’s cool. I’m Joe, and this is Warner.” He nodded at baby face. “We’re back in packaging, so let us know if you have any questions.”
“Really? You both work here?”
“Yeah,” baby face said. “We get paid for doing this,” he waved at the screen, “and get to drink all the beer we want. Best gig around.”
Joe nudged baby face...the kid so did not look like a Warner. “Yeah, but we need to at least pretend we’re working hard.”
He laughed like that was a joke, but from where I was sitting, it was spot on. These guys getting paid for this was ridiculous. I needed to talk to Damian. At this rate, this place was going to be shut down and in bankruptcy before we could get the ink dried on a contract.
“We’re through there if you want to come check it out.” Joe pointed toward the door of the area that I hadn’t gotten to explore yet.
“Thanks. I’ll do that in a few minutes if that’s okay. First, I need to make a phone call.” I held up my cell phone.
“Whenever works,” Joe said. “Things are pretty relaxed around here.”
I nodded and returned his friendly smile but dropped any semblance of friendliness as soon as they were out of the room. I dialed Damian’s phone number.
He answered. “Did you find the brewery?”
“Yep, and the place is a mess. We need to move on this pronto.”
Chapter Five
Lake
I slid a glass across the bar to Kali, the owner of the bookstore in town, and then took another long gulp from my own beer. The pub was packed with regulars from all over town in for some of Barb’s fried food and a cold beer. Normally, seeing this many paying customers would bring a smile to my face. Lord knew we needed the revenue. But not today. Thanks to Damian or Walsh or whatever his name was.
Never mind the hands big enough for some seriously dirty deeds, or the way his ass filled out a pair of slacks like no one’s business. Forget the five o’clock shadow at eleven in the morning that could send delectable shivers up my thighs. None of that mattered, because Mr. Here’s-My-Card was a grade-A jackass. Not to mention he was trying to steal my brewery.
I passed a refill to another regular and turned my attention to my beer. A few of these brews with a vibrator and who needed a rock-hard chest and full lips? Not this girl.
“Drinking on the job, boss?”
I spun around, sloshing a few drops of beer out of my glass and onto the semi-clean bar top. Setting the glass down, I squinted hard at our evening bartender. “Jeremy, what are you doing here? Your shift doesn’t start for another five hours.”
Jeremy wiped my spill. “Alex called. Said it was a crappy day, and you could use an extra hand, so here I am.”
God, I could kiss that
girl. “Great. Can you take over here? I have some...business I need to take care of in the office.”
“You got it, boss.” Jeremy walked to the other end of the bar and grabbed several drink orders without missing a beat.
I picked up my glass, drained the last of my beer, and filled it back up again. If ever a situation called for day drinking, finding out my MIA birth giver was the real owner of my brewery and was trying to sell it from underneath me definitely qualified.
In the office, Melissa and Alex crowded around my desk, staring at the computer screen. They both looked up when I walked in, their features schooled into a mixture of pity and concern.
“Don’t look at me like that.” I slammed my empty hand on the desk. “I swear to god, for a month after dad died, I couldn’t walk to the store without getting that look from a dozen different people. I’ll die a happy woman if I never have to see it again. So knock that shit off, and tell me what you two are up to in here.”
Alex scooted her chair back as far as she could so I could check out the dusty computer screen. The office wasn’t exactly big enough for the three of us to all work in here, but it was the best we had. “We’ve run a full Google search on Damian Thorne, but there’s hardly anything there. A few articles and absolutely zero pictures. He’s either the world’s best hermit, or he paid a lot of money to cover up something he really wants to stay hidden.”
“Or both. Let me see.” Alex was right. There were a few articles on Ghost Squad Charities, and a couple others that mentioned Damian the Douche by name. I clicked one at random and immediately regretted it. “He was a war hero?”
“Yeah.” Melissa stretched out the word as if it had to be pulled from her mouth like taffy. “It looks that way.”
I scanned the article and took another gulp of beer after each glowing paragraph. The details were fuzzy, but according to the author, Damian Thorne was a bona fide hero. He had served several tours in Afghanistan and almost lost his life while attempting to save the lives of his men. The army tried to give him a medal, but he refused to go to the ceremony, releasing a statement instead.
I read the words from the screen. “Being granted the ability to live and work in the world’s greatest country is honor enough. I would gladly have given my life in the service of our freedom.” Sarcasm leaked through my voice.
“You saw that?” Alex twirled a strand of glossy hair around her red-manicured fingernail.
“Are you kidding me? Who the hell is this guy?”
“Apparently, he’s a war hero who’s also ridiculously wealthy and started a charity to honor his fallen brothers.”
“Jesus H. Christ on a donkey.” I took another long drink of my beer and sank into the closest chair I could find.
Melissa stacked a bunch of papers to make room for her tiny ass on the desk. “So what are you going to do?”
“First things first, I need to get Damian call-me-Walsh out of here. I can’t concentrate knowing he’s walking around the brewery sizing it up like a racehorse he’s considering purchasing.”
“I don’t think it was just the brewery he was sizing up.” Alex spun her chair around in a circle before flashing me her Hollywood-bred smile and a wink.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I asked.
“Me? What’s wrong with you?” Alex rolled her chair across the office, peeking her head out toward the brewery windows before she shut the door. “That man is fine.”
“And he’s trying to take the brewery away. Melissa, back me up on this one.” I grabbed my beer glass, but slammed it back down when I realized it was empty. I had skipped breakfast, so another beer was probably a bad idea, but I really wanted one.
Melissa bit the side of her lip and gave Alex a slim smile before turning back to me. “Until you can talk to your...Emily, there isn’t a whole lot you can do about Walsh. And he is pretty cute.”
“Et tu, Brute?”
“Oh, get off it.” Alex rolled her chair back to me and leaned over until her head rested on my shoulder. “That man is sex on a stick, and you know it.”
I stood up and then sat back down, too much adrenaline and beer pumping through my body. “He could walk in here in nothing but his birthday suit, and the only part of him I’d want to see was his backside as he got the hell out.”
“Hmmm, he does have a nice backside,” Melissa mused.
“Okay, that’s enough. There will be no more discussion of Walsh’s backside or any other part of him.” I stood and grudgingly accepted a hug from Melissa who sat on the edge of the desk with her arms wide open. “I swear, if I didn’t love you girls so much, I’d murder both of you in your sleep.”
“But if you murdered us, who would help you save the brewery from the evil grasp of Walsh and the nefarious Ghost Squad Charities?” Alex held out her hand, and I grasped it in mine, giving it a squeeze.
“That’s what I’m talking about.” I squared my shoulders and took a deep breath. “Okay, Melissa, I need you to pull up the latest financial statements and try to come up with a ball park figure on the value of Naked Brews. Alex, use those super PR skills and try to find more information on this guy. I need to know exactly who I’m up against.”
Alex wheeled her chair to the desk, her fingers already flying. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to go politely kick Mr. Thorne out of my brewery.” I took another stabilizing breath. “Then I need to call Emily.”
Chapter Six
Walsh
At the end of our phone call, my instructions from Damian were to talk to the staff to see if I could ascertain just how bad things really were. If this chick was really fucking things up the way it looked, we could offer her mother more money to hurry the process along. Our work would be so much more difficult in the long run if these girls managed to sink the brewery before we got our hands on it.
I followed through the doorway where Joe and Warner had disappeared before my call with Damian. I already had some semblance of a repartee with them, so I might as well start there with my questions.
The bottling room was another area that was nowhere close to what I’d expected. There was one other guy in here besides Joe and Warner, and he was quite a bit older...probably in his mid-fifties. I stood for a moment and watched the process. Warner stood in front of a machine that could take three bottles at once. He placed the empties into the slots, pushed a button, and while they filled, he added the caps to the machine. With another push of a button, the caps were sealed on. He then pulled the bottles out, placed them into a rack, and repeated the process.
The guy I hadn’t met took those filled racks, sprayed them down, and dried the bottles before placing them in a cardboard box. Joe sealed and labeled the boxes before stacking them on a pallet at the loading dock.
I thought all this kind of stuff had become automated for most companies. This was seriously labor intensive, which had to be costing Naked Brews a fortune in the long run. This was another place where GSC could definitely streamline.
Joe spotted me by the door and waved me over. “Hey, Walsh. Welcome to bottling and packaging. I see you decided to check out where the real work gets done around here.”
I laughed. “After watching you two in the other room, I wasn’t sure that really happened.”
“Aw, we were just goofing off during our lunch break.” Joe waved at the guy who hadn’t been in the break room. “This here is Smitty. He uses the hour at lunch to grab a nap in his truck instead of socializing with the rest of us.”
I stepped over to shake the older guy’s hand. “Walsh. So how many bottles a day do you all package in here?”
Smitty cocked an eyebrow. “I caught the name, but not what you’re doing here. Why are you asking?”
Suspicion...now this was a reaction that I knew how to deal with. “I’m here with Ghost Squad Charities. I don’t suppose you all knew Ice—” I shook my head. They wouldn’t know that name. “Sorry, that was his nickname. I mean Jimmy Hebert. Did you know hi
m?”
All movement in the room suddenly stopped. Smitty bowed his head. “Yeah, we knew him.” His tone was sad. “One of the best. God bless his soul. All the Hebert boys have turned out to be amazing men. They come from good stock.”
“I was part of his squad in Afghanistan, and our organization is doing what we can to honor Jimmy and the three other men who died that day by supporting something in their hometown that they loved. For Ice—Jimmy—that was Naked Brews. We’re here to invest in the company.”
“Pat was devastated when he heard about that boy dying,” Smitty said. “He would have been overwhelmed to know Jimmy thought so highly of his beers.”
And that was exactly the lead-in I needed. “We were sorry to hear about Pat O’Brien’s death. Ice had talked about him all the time and how he was larger than life when he ran the bar. How have things been around here with his daughter running the place?”
Joe and Smitty exchanged a loaded glance, but Warner immediately began gushing. “She’s awesome. Did you see the hot babes she’s brought in to work in the front office? Damn, it was good working here before, but now we have all this eye candy, too.”
A surprising jolt of anger swept through me over the blatant disrespect for Lake. Even I could tell she was more than just eye candy. Hell, she was an amazing ball of stubborn, passionate woman wrapped up in one sexy package. I barely held back the urge to knock baby face’s teeth loose. Instead I tilted my head and examined him through squinted eyes. “She’s a bit too old for you.”
“Naw, man, I’m older than I look.” The kid totally missed that I was seriously pissed.
I tilted my head and raised my eyebrows to show my skepticism. “So, if you’re older than you look, you’re what? Thirteen? Fourteen?”
“Fuck you. I’m twenty-two. Around the same age as all of them.”
“But he has his eye on the fair Melissa,” Joe added with a wink that hinted that he hadn’t missed my reaction to young Warner’s off-handed quips.