Barreled Over

by Jenna Sutton

  He couldn’t count the number of times he’d been in Quinn and Amelia’s house. When they entertained as a couple, Beck was usually on the guest list, and he was a regular at Quinn’s monthly poker night.

  “I’m back, and I invited Beck in for some dessert,” Ava Grace announced loudly as she walked toward the living area. She’d obviously made the mistake of not announcing herself in the past. She must’ve learned her lesson.

  In the living room, Quinn and Amelia were relaxing on the brown leather sofa. She sat on one end, while he was stretched out with his head in her lap.

  As usual, Quinn was wearing jeans. Beck knew without looking Quinn’s last name was stamped on the back pocket of his jeans. His great-great-grandfather, Riley O’Brien, had founded the nation’s first denim company in the mid-1800s.

  The company’s signature jeans, known as Rileys, were as American as baseball and apple pie. Quinn served as the president and CEO of Riley O’Brien & Co., and Amelia was in charge of the women’s division.

  Quinn grabbed the TV remote and muted the sound. “Good to see you, chief.”

  “Did you kids have a good time?” Amelia joked.

  “Yes,” Ava Grace replied. “A very good time.”

  To Beck’s surprise, he agreed with Ava Grace. He’d enjoyed spending time with her. She was surprisingly witty, and her self-deprecating sense of humor made him laugh.

  Quinn sat up. “Did I hear you say something about dessert, AG?”

  Ava Grace nodded. “Bourbon pecan pie with maple whipped cream. Want to join us?”

  Quinn practically leapt from the sofa. “Hell, yes.”

  Minutes later, the four of them were in the kitchen nook, grouped around a dining room table that looked like a white picket fence. Beck stared down at his plate, trying not to drool over the huge slice of bourbon pecan pie. A giant dollop of whipped cream covered it, a sprig of mint crowning the fluffy peak.

  He loaded some pie onto his fork and took a bite. Flavor exploded in his mouth, and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head.

  “Oh, Jesus,” he moaned, feeling like he was having an out-of-body experience.

  Quinn laughed. “I guess we should have warned you.”

  Beck shoveled another bite into his mouth. The rich taste of caramel blended with the crunch of toasted pecans and the mellow vanilla undertones of bourbon. The buttery crust was so light and flakey it melted in his mouth, and the whipped cream was sweet and cool.

  As he swallowed, he looked at Ava Grace. She was staring at him, a hint of a smile on her lips.

  “There are no words to describe this pie, only noises,” he told her.

  “I can’t take all the credit. You had something to do with it.”

  He frowned in confusion. “What did I do?”

  She laughed softly. “You made the bourbon, handsome.”

  Her casual endearment sent shockwaves down his spine, and he struggled to gather his thoughts. “You made this with Trinity?”

  “Of course,” she answered, as if no other bourbons existed.

  “This is the best bourbon pecan pie I’ve ever had, and I’ve had a lot,” he said.

  Ava Grace’s cheeks turned pink. “Thank you. I’ve been thinking about writing a cookbook.”

  Although Ava Grace had referred to herself as an artist, Beck thought businesswoman was a more accurate description. During their brainstorming session at his loft, he’d discovered she understood sales and marketing better than ninety-nine percent of the people who had attended Stanford with him.

  “Other country singers have written cookbooks, and they’ve been very successful,” Amelia noted. “Trisha Yearwood’s cookbooks were New York Times best sellers.”

  Quinn chimed in, “Cookbooks have given her another way to connect with fans and make new ones.”

  “What if I wrote a cookbook of bourbon recipes?” Ava Grace suggested. “It would build brand awareness for Trinity, kind of like the Pillsbury cookbooks.”

  Taking another bite of pie, Beck considered her idea. Like wine, bourbon added flavor to almost any food, even fish.

  “You said you wanted to attract more women consumers,” Ava Grace reminded him, clearly trying to sell him on the idea. “Most women cook, and even if they don’t drink bourbon, they might be willing to cook with it.”

  “I think it’s a great idea,” he said.

  Quinn and Amelia spoke simultaneously. “Me too.”

  “How difficult is it to get a cookbook published?” Beck asked, directing his question to no one in particular.

  “I don’t know about cookbooks specifically, but several publishers have contacted me about writing an autobiography.” Ava Grace snorted. “I wouldn’t pay to read that book.”

  I would.

  Ava Grace intrigued him, even though he didn’t want to be intrigued. When he saw her on the cover of a magazine, he read. When he saw her online, he clicked. When he saw her on TV, he watched.

  And when he saw her in person, he wanted.

  “I’ll have Wally contact some of those publishers and see if they might be interested in a cookbook,” Ava Grace said. “I think it could be a really effective way to market Trinity. Several cooking shows have asked me to be a special guest, and a cookbook would be the perfect tie-in. And every major morning show has a cooking segment.”

  Beck nodded. “It would be awesome to see Trinity on TV.”

  “Then let’s make it happen,” she said before taking a big bite of pie.

  Whipped cream clung to her upper lip, and she removed it with a delicate flick of her tongue. His cock hardened with alarming speed, and he jerked his eyes from her mouth and looked down at his pie. Shifting in his seat, he tried to make room in his jeans for his hard-on.

  “Beyond the cookbook, did y’all come up with any good ideas for Ava Grace to promote Trinity?” Amelia asked.

  “I think so,” Ava Grace responded. “Beck had the best idea though.”

  “What is it?” Amelia asked him.

  “I think we should take advantage of Ava Grace’s talent, not just her name,” Beck answered. “I want her to write a song for Trinity—one that can be downloaded for free only on our website.”

  Amelia’s eyes widened. “That would send millions of people to your site.”

  “Yeah. That’s the whole idea. And fans would have to connect with us on social media to get access to it. Social media is the most effective way distilleries connect with customers nowadays.”

  “That’s not a great idea, that’s genius!” Quinn exclaimed.

  “Don’t get too excited,” Ava Grace cautioned. “I have to clear it with my label. I don’t know if it will be a problem. I’m going to talk with Wally about it tomorrow.”

  “I also want Ava Grace to do an invitation-only concert at Trinity’s warehouse campus. People would have to enter a drawing on our website or social media pages. I’m not sure what kind of permits we’d need for that kind of thing or how large it could be, but we were thinking fewer than a hundred people.”

  “That sounds good too,” Quinn said before looking toward Ava Grace. “Are you okay with all this, AG? It seems like a lot of work.”

  Ava Grace tilted her head, obviously considering Quinn’s question. “Yes, I’m okay with it,” she finally answered. “For a concert, the hard work is the planning and promotion leading up to it, and that’s not my job. That’s all Wally and the Trinity guys.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “The song is a different matter. When I have to write a song, I get writer’s block.”

  “You just need to be inspired by something,” Amelia said.

  Ava Grace’s hazel gaze locked on Beck. “Or someone.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  The reporter from San Francisco Living was much younger than Beck had expected. With his shaggy hipster hairstyle, wispy goatee, and spotty acne, he looked like a recent college grad. His clothes—a wrinkled blue cotton oxford shirt, rumpled khakis, and an ill-fitting sports coat—reinforced the idea. />
  Beck reminded himself youth and wrinkled clothing did not necessarily indicate incompetence, but he was worried nonetheless. He didn’t want the article on Trinity to turn out badly, especially since Ren worked for months to get the lifestyle magazine to do a story.

  Beck, Gabe, and Ren had planned to do the interview together, but Ren was still in Atlanta. Beck had wanted to postpone the interview until Ren returned since he was better with the media than his business partners.

  But Ren had almost burst a blood vessel at the thought of postponing. He insisted the interview occur as scheduled, suggesting Ava Grace take his place since she was still in San Francisco.

  “She knows how to deal with the media,” he’d pointed out when Beck protested. “And she’s enthusiastic about partnering with Trinity. She’ll be a good interview.”

  Since they were talking with Ethan Maynes instead of a more experienced journalist, Beck could only assume the Trinity article was a low priority for the publication.

  “This is the first big story I’ve been assigned,” Ethan said, confirming Beck’s suspicions. “Jeanette Lin was supposed to work on it, but she’s in the hospital with appendicitis.”

  “That’s bad luck for Jeanette.” Ava Grace shifted on the dark green leather sofa next to Beck. “But we’re happy to have you working on the story, Ethan. I’m sure you’ll do a great job.”

  Ethan’s face turned bright red. Looking down, he fiddled with his phone and accidentally dropped his spiral-bound notepad on the floor. As he lurched from his chair to retrieve it, Beck sent up a silent prayer the guy was just nervous rather than inept.

  Since the Trinity offices were still in disarray, they’d decided to meet at the Hudson San Francisco, one of the city’s oldest and most luxurious hotels. Several spots in the lobby and bar were ideal for a business meeting.

  Beck and Gabe had arrived well before the appointed time to scope out the best place for the interview. Ethan had shown up a few minutes later.

  Ava Grace strolled through the hotel’s sliding glass doors with five minutes to spare, dressed in a sleeveless white dress with a thin black patent leather belt cinched around her slender waist. She’d smoothed her long blond hair into a low bun, and subtle makeup emphasized her big eyes, smooth skin, and plump lips.

  Every person in the lobby had turned to stare at her, entranced by her beauty, and poor Ethan almost swallowed his tongue when Gabe introduced them. She, meanwhile, had waited patiently for the reporter to stutter out a greeting.

  “I didn’t have time to do a lot of research,” Ethan admitted.

  “That’s okay,” Ava Grace replied, her voice soothing. “We’ll tell you everything you need to know.”

  Beck shot her a surreptitious glance, wondering if she really was as calm as she sounded. With her sitting so close to him, he was having a hard time concentrating. Even though her dress had a high neck and a knee-length hem, all he could think about was the kind of underwear she wore underneath it. A silky slip or a lacy camisole? Or maybe nothing at all?

  She crossed her long legs, her foot angled toward him, and he studied her black patent leather shoe. It had a narrow heel at least four inches tall and showed her toes. He couldn’t help smiling when he noticed her toenails were painted bright white with little black polka dots.

  “Isn’t that right, Beck?” she said, nudging his knee with her foot.

  Jerking his eyes away from her sexy shoes and cute toenails, he met her gaze. “What?”

  She frowned at him before flashing a bright smile at the reporter. “I was just telling Ethan that we were really looking forward to this interview.”

  “That’s right,” Beck agreed enthusiastically.

  He was glad he wasn’t hooked up to a polygraph machine because it would’ve flagged his answer as a big, fat lie. From the moment Ren had told Beck about this interview, he’d dreaded it. Although he understood spreading the word about Trinity was important, he hated dealing with the media.

  The memory of the circus surrounding his dad’s embezzlement scandal made his chest tight. As he inhaled deeply, Ava Grace’s sweet scent filled his nostrils. To his surprise, the reminder that she was nearby comforted him and made it easier to breathe.

  “I’d like to start off the interview by confirming some details,” Ethan began. “Is that okay with you?”

  “Sure,” Beck answered.

  Ethan clicked on the recorder app on his phone and placed it on the glass cocktail table. “You started Trinity Distillery after you graduated from Stanford.”

  “That’s right.”

  “And there are four equity partners in Trinity: you, Gabe, Renner Holt, and Quinn O’Brien. Are you equal partners in the company?”

  “We haven’t disclosed that information publicly,” Gabe said, always a lawyer.

  “How much did Quinn O’Brien invest in Trinity?”

  “A lot,” Beck answered succinctly. “If not for Quinn, Trinity wouldn’t exist.” Ethan opened his mouth, but Beck pre-empted him by saying, “I’m not going to give you an exact figure.”

  The reporter scribbled something in his notebook. “When did you come up with the idea to start a craft distillery?”

  “I started thinking about it when I worked for Boire,” Beck replied.

  Ethan’s brow furrowed. “Boire?”

  “Boire is the world’s largest alcohol distributor,” Gabe explained. “It’s headquartered in Paris. Beck worked for the company’s North American subsidiary for two years in between undergrad and grad school.”

  “Got it,” Ethan said. “I read somewhere that you did the business plan for Trinity for one of your MBA classes at Stanford.”

  “Yeah, that’s right. Dr. Huang said any business that required more than five years to create a marketable product wasn’t worth starting. He said the business was doomed to fail and gave me a D on the assignment. I barely passed the class.” The memory made him chuckle. “After we decanted our first barrel, I drove down to Stanford and handed him a bottle of Trinity.”

  Gabe laughed. “He shouldn’t have doubted you.”

  “Why were you so sure Trinity would work?” Ethan asked.

  Beck considered the reporter’s question. “I wasn’t sure,” he admitted. “There’s no way of knowing whether something is going to work or not. But I wanted it badly enough to take the risk.”

  Ethan shifted in his seat to look at Gabe. “You must’ve had a lot of faith in Beck to give up a partnership at one of the most prominent law firms in Washington, D.C., and move across the country to work with him.”

  Gabe nodded. “I had no doubt Trinity would be a success.”

  “Did you follow your business plan from Dr. Huang’s class when you launched Trinity?” Ethan asked, directing his question to Beck.

  “Mostly. But my revenue projections were off.”

  Ethan nodded. “New businesses always make less money than projected.”

  “Not always,” Beck countered with a smile. “Trinity has made more money than I thought it would.”

  Ethan’s eyebrows arched. “Do you think your last name has contributed to Trinity’s success? Or do you think it’s a drawback?”

  Beck studied the young reporter. Maybe he hadn’t given him enough credit.

  “A little bit of both,” he hedged.

  “How do you think it’s helped?”

  “The Beck name is synonymous with bourbon. It gives Trinity credibility in the industry, with other distillers and distributors.”

  “I’m sure that’s true.” Ethan’s eyes narrowed. “But the Beck name is a little … tarnished, wouldn’t you say? Your father was accused of embezzling twenty-five million dollars from Jonah Beck Distillery.”

  Beck felt Ava Grace’s gaze on him, but he didn’t break eye contact with Ethan. “My dad didn’t embezzle a single penny,” he replied, doing his best to keep his voice even.

  Ethan cocked his head. “Are you in contact with anyone in your family?”

  “No,�
� Beck answered curtly.

  “Not even your cousin Emmaline Beck?”

  “No.”

  Beck hadn’t spoken to Em in fifteen years. She was one who exonerated his dad. She’d heard her parents talking about their plan to frame him and played Nancy Drew. After she found the evidence she needed, she’d gone to the Feds. Then she left Kentucky in her rearview mirror.

  Ethan flipped a page in his notebook. “You did your part to tarnish the Beck name too. Your high school girlfriend, Calliope Boone, accused you of assault just a couple of months before you graduated.”

  Ava Grace’s knee knocked into Beck’s, drawing his attention from the reporter. Her eyes were wide with shock when they met his. He shook his head, a reflexive movement spurred by the instinctive impulse to defend himself.

  He didn’t want Ava Grace to think he was the kind of guy who hurt women. He wasn’t. He never had been, and he never would be.

  How the fuck had Ethan Maynes dug up that information anyway? All that shit happened fifteen years ago. Beck thought it was buried deep in his past, so deep no one could find it.

  Beck’s arrest had generated a couple of articles in the local newspaper, but he doubted those articles were available digitally. Back then, social media was in its infancy. Smart phones didn’t exist, and most people used dial-up modems to connect to the web.

  When it came to news or fake news, the world had changed a lot. Beck was grateful his arrest occurred when the word “viral” applied only to infections.

  Gabe waded into the awkward silence. “Ethan, my man, are you a bourbon drinker?” he asked with false cheer, obviously trying to change the subject. “Or do you prefer another type of liquor?”

  “I talked with your high school principal,” Ethan continued, ignoring Gabe.

  Beck laughed mirthlessly. What a little fucker.

  “I thought you didn’t have time to do a lot of research.”

  “I did enough,” Ethan replied. “According to Mr. Lamont, you were accepted to Duke University, but the school rescinded its offer when you were arrested.”