by Liz Crowe
“Why does it matter?” Her brain was buzzing now. The voice demanded that she tell him. Let him explain. But she just could not. And his next words sealed that deal for her.
“Because, frankly, if after all the time we’ve had together, all the conversations about her manipulation skills, and the months I stayed away from them for your sake can’t convince you that I love you no matter what…well—” He ran a hand down his haggard face. Her heart clenched. “Maybe you should go.” His eyes hardened, which made her react in kind. “I am so sick and tired of trying to reassure you. To make you believe that you are beautiful, talented, and deserving of everything that our life together means to me. You’ve resisted so hard for so long I’m exhausted.”
“Fine.” She shouldered past him. Slamming the suitcases shut, she stayed dry-eyed, to her amazement. Turning slowly, she crossed her arms over her chest. “But just so you know, the amount of money your mother was willing to pay me to get out of your life meant nothing. I walked out of her snotty country club lunchroom fully prepared to tell you about this. Until, of course, I called you.”
He shook his head and rubbed his eyes, as if not understanding what she meant. “Wait, what? What money? When did you call me?”
“Why does any of it matter?” She made a valiant attempt to pick up both boxes, and grab one of the suitcases. And managed to dump the contents of both cardboard containers onto the floor. That breached the dam of tears. She slumped to the floor, face in her hands. Austin was at her side in a second, kissing her, holding her close.
“Shh, my Evelyn, please don’t cry.”
But no amount of his coddling or comfort meant anything to her anymore. She had no business here, with him, in this life. It was over. Valerie’s chipper voice on the other end of the phone was simply one hint too many.
Don’t be stupid, Evelyn. You love him.
Yes, she assured herself. But I can’t do this anymore. Can’t pretend he won’t always be thinking about her. About the woman who for whatever reason answered his damn phone today. After his mother had claimed her son and his old girlfriend, she of the chipper “No, this is Valerie and Austin is busy,” were ‘together’.
Austin felt encased in a sort of deafening cotton batting. Noises were muffled and his vision fuzzy around the edges. He held her, let her cry it out, but he sensed the small bit of control he had over his life slipping out of his desperate grip. “Shh,” he crooned once more. But he wasn’t shocked when Evelyn wrenched out of his arms.
She crawled to the boxes and started throwing all her shit back into them. He watched, his arm resting on a bent knee, as if observing someone else’s woman packing up to leave.
He had no words. The weird moment between him and Valerie earlier still rattled him. The extreme stress of the last weeks piled on, heaping more tension on top of the quivering ball of nerves that wore his suit. He barely recognized himself in the mirror anymore.
She stood. He stared at her with what must have been a dull look on his face. He didn’t have the energy to fight her. Everything he had was wrong now. His brewery, his love life—all of it. All vanished in the blink of a single loose blood clot that had felled his once powerful father. He shut his aching eyes, willing it all back the way it was, as if he had that power.
“I’m not pregnant. So you don’t have to worry about child support or anything,” she stated.
He clambered to his feet. “Stop. Stop it right now, dammit. This is ridiculous. Put this shit away. Let’s eat something and calm down.” His heart pounded, ramping up the dull daily ache in head a thousand-fold.
“No, Austin. It’s not ridiculous. It’s just reality. I’m glad I figured it all out now. Before I really got hurt.”
“Wait!” he yelled, but it only came out a whisper. “I love you,” he said to the closed door, then fell back on the bed, more exhausted than he’d ever been. Sleep. That was what he needed. A few hours, then he’d find her.
He’d figure all this out.
He’d make it right.
His dreams were a cacophony of emotions, swirling with the faces of the people he loved. He woke with a start, thinking he heard a baby cry. He reached for his phone. He needed to call Ross. He would talk sense to her. But then he remembered his phone was lost, missing or something. He flopped back on the pillow as the migraine exploded across his weary brain, sinking its hooks in nice and deep.
He’d sort this out tomorrow. He was certain of it.
Chapter Twenty-Six
One month later
You again?
She typed out an answer when Ross dinged her on Skype for the thousandth time. She had tried to spare him the lame, useless way she’d spiraled downward since losing Austin. But the damn man would not leave her in peace.
Who else?
What is it?
She stretched her arms up and contemplated yet another day filled with work, home, sleep, lather, rinse, repeat.
Just wondering if you had heard the latest.
About what?
I’m the new brew master at Fitzgerald.
Great. Enjoy it.
And I’ve convinced Austin to hire you back.
Her skin prickled.
I have a job. Walked back into TriCity Distribution with a promotion, as a matter of fact.
It was a solid five minutes before he replied.
Why won’t you talk to him, Evelyn? He’s miserable.
His misery is no longer my problem. It’s Valerie’s.
What the hell happened anyway?
She bit her lip, conjuring a reason to keep holding the whole thing back. And came up short.
They were together just after his father died. His mother took me to a lovely lunch to tell me because he couldn’t do it.
How do you know that’s really what went down? You know how his mother is. Did you even give him a chance to explain?
The blinding rage she’d felt that day, when Valerie’s smooth voice had answered Austin’s phone, rushed back into her aching chest. She shut her eyes, attempting to stay calm.
The day she’d driven out of the underground parking garage, she’d gone straight to her friend Melody’s place and cried for two solid days.
She’d taken off the ring, canceled all the wedding planning crap, driven his stupid, expensive car over to his stupid, expensive condo and left it with the ring in the glove compartment, the key with the doorman. What hurt most was leaving her set of keys to Fitzgerald Brewing in the ashtray with a note, indicating that she’d told the management team she’d be on a leave of absence, indefinitely.
What he did about that damn place was now also solely his problem.
Ross, I delayed marrying him for a reason. And his mother gave me one. Let it go. I’m guessing he isn’t exactly pining for me.
What I do know is I need you to help me get the brewery straightened out again. I can forgive you a lot, because I realize the inherent asshole-ish tendencies of men, but walking away from the brewery? Leaving it high and dry? You have to come back and fix it with me.
Listen to me, Ross. I don’t care. I have a job. You have a life. Go live it and leave me alone.
She logged out before he could respond and sat, staring out of the window of her new office at TriCity Distribution. She needed to get home and pack. It was beer fest week again in Denver and her role as beer manager for a distribution company meant a whole different set of tasks for that event.
She’d tried to get out of it, knowing the memories would likely kill her. But Grant had insisted. He was getting a little insistent about other stuff, too. She shifted in her chair, recalling the fairly forgettable kiss they’d shared late last night in his office.
God, she so did not want him. But the man she loved would never be hers. That much was crystal clear. Her silly fantasy life had popped like a soap bubble, right in front of her eyes. And it was partly her fault, to be certain. Thinking she could have two men? All to herself? What a load of crap.
Melody had insist
ed that she stay in her extra bedroom for the time being. Evelyn had never been more grateful to have such a friend in her life. They were well-matched—even in their tendencies to keep a polite distance from each other’s personal lives. They both worked at Tri City—Melody in the business and logistics department, picking up extra cash bartending at Top of the Hops, one of the newer, trendier craft beer joints in Grand Rapids. Plus, the woman was a total beer fanatic and an expert the level of which Evelyn wished she could be.
Evelyn sat up nearly all night after getting her stuff ready for the early flight, staring at nothing and wondering how she’d gone from loved and loving to alone and miserable. The fact that she knew she could shoulder a lot of the blame didn’t make her feel any better.
Austin glared at the computer screen, exhaustion making his vision dimmer by the minute. While on the one hand he was beyond relieved that he’d convinced Ross to dump his west coast gig so quickly and come run Fitzgerald for him while he managed his father’s food company, on the other, the thought of Ross working alongside Evelyn without him made his teeth ache. He had no doubt Ross would convince her to come back. She was meant to run a brewery, not to be some sales manager flunkey at a distributor.
But the fact that she wouldn’t return his calls, texts, emails, and that she’d dumped the Mercedes in the parking garage of his condo building, chock-full of every last stich of clothing, accessories, and electronics he’d given her, and, of course, the engagement ring, spoke volumes about his chances trying to make her see sense.
Once he’d clarified with his mother that she was no longer welcome anywhere near his office or the business and told Valerie to hand over his goddamned phone and get the fuck out of his life—again—he’d settled into his new reality.
Work, work, and more work, each day ending with a half a bottle of bourbon or a six-pack of beer and him passed out on the couch, rarely even making it to his bed.
With a groan, he rose and stretched out the kinks in his lower back. He’d put a lot into his plea to get Ross to come run Fitzgerald Brewing Company. And he hoped it would be worth it. As much as Evelyn claimed she wanted nothing more to do with him or his brewery, he knew she’d have a hard time resisting Ross’ offer to come back and run the place.
Ross said he’d go out to Denver on their behalf. Claimed he’d find Evelyn and force her to talk to him, that he would get it sorted out so Fitzgerald Brewing, at least, would have her back.
Man up, Fitzgerald, and forget her. Live this life you’ve chosen for yourself. Or one that’s been chosen by fate for you.
But he couldn’t. Evelyn’s voice, face, body, laughter, and smartass attitude rose in his head daily, sometimes hourly. Hence the booze and the passing out every night, and the huge hole full of shit that he raised his head from daily, suited and ready for work. How he’d gone in the space of a mere twelve months from last year’s incredible discovery at the beer fest to this year when he’d have to watch from afar, miserable and alone, he had no earthly idea. But he was bound and determined to make one thing happen—to get Ross and Evelyn running his brewery the way they were meant to do.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Denver, Colorado
Two weeks later
The buzz in the huge Denver convention hall reached deafening levels. Evelyn tried not to look too obvious glancing around yet again. She hadn’t seen Austin in a while. But nothing had softened the harsh edges of her longing for him. Even painted with a bright red coat of anger, the need to see him, touch him, and hear his voice, choked her most days. She nodded to the media guy still talking to her, no longer listening to anything he said.
Her head-splitting hangover and extreme disbelief that he’d really not show competed for attention in her brain. When a sudden shift in the crowd allowed her to catch a glimpse of a familiar set of broad shoulders and long blond hair, she narrowed her eyes.
Before she could blink, Ross had a strong arm around her waist, his deep German-inflected voice in her ear. She stiffened, nearly gagging on the glut of memories his touch engendered.
She closed her eyes and let him hold her as the crowd moved around them.
“Let’s sit.” He gestured for the media gaggle to disperse and led her to a couple of chairs near the aisle. As the place filled and got even louder from the fans at the back who had to stand to see the awards ceremony, she remained acutely aware of his touch.
When his hand landed on her leg, she shifted. It didn’t budge. She kept up the inane conversation, completely unaware of whom she spoke to or what she said. Her head spun with too much beer, emotion, and now no small measure of something she reluctantly identified as lust.
She took a second to glance up at the tall blond specimen who had his hot palm parked possessively on her thigh.
“You’re a day late.” This was not an auspicious start to a working relationship. She let anger replace the renewed sexual tension he’d created, despite them being in the middle of a huge crowd. She’d made a decision somewhere in the depths of yet another sleepless night. She would come back to Fitzgerald, work with Ross, and get the brewery back on track. She’d said as much to him in a two a.m. Skype message, then turned the thing off.
She’d been miserable at TriCity. The challenge of marketing the brewery had been immense, but much more satisfying. The next day they’d finalized their employment negotiations, and Ross had promised Austin would stay away, let them make all major decisions together and not interfere. She’d made him swear that Austin wouldn’t be around—at all, for any reason. Because actually laying eyes on him would kill what was left of the human in her. She could be the marketing director and wanted to be that again, but not if it meant she had to interact with him in any way.
Melody’s words as she’d headed out of the door one morning had torn it. In a somewhat typical fashion, she’d grabbed Evelyn’s briefcase handle and glared at her. “Go back to Fitzgerald,” she’d said, her dark eyes blazing. “You owe it to yourself, and to what you started there, Austin be damned.”
Evelyn had stared at her, amazed and not a little bit annoyed. “Tell you want, Mel. I’ll do that. Only if you promise me you’ll answer Trent’s endless calls, emails and text messages. The poor man’s sent everything short of smoke signals. Seriously.” She looked around their shared space, full to the brim with flowers, thanks to Trent’s efforts to communicate with Melody.
Her friend had let go of the briefcase and stepped back, rubbing one bare arm with her other hand, “That’s…not your business.”
“Oh no?” Evelyn re-shouldered her purse and crossed her arms. In her head, she was already formulating her resignation from TriCity. It was an inauspicious time to do so but she’d offer to help out in Denver if they wanted her to, one last time. “It’s no more my business than mine with Austin Fitzgerald is yours, I guess.”
Melody smiled, her deep olive-toned skin fairly glowing in the hallway’s weak light. “Deal,” she said, holding out her hand. “I’ll make up with Trent—or try to, and you make up with—”
“Hold on right there. I’m not making up with anyone. But I will…” She stopped and swallowed hard. “I will go back and work with Ross.”
She’d resigned from TriCity, turned the beer fest tasks over to her assistant. She and Ross had agreed they would announce the new arrangement out in Denver at one of the many parties.
And now she glanced down at Ross’ palm that was practically caressing her leg. On impulse, she covered it with hers, swallowing the sudden rush of alarming desire. She picked up his hand and put it firmly back on his own leg. “Surely you didn’t mean to do that.”
He smiled, not meeting her eyes. “Yes. Actually, I did.”
She frowned, staring straight ahead. The man was too charming for his own good. She’d forgotten how much. But this was her moment. She had to convince this crowd, the media, her colleagues, that Fitzgerald was back and better than ever, despite the yawning absence of its handsome, charismatic founder.
&nb
sp; Her heart raced, but she couldn’t figure out whether from excitement or fury at Ross’ behavior. She refused to make eye contact with him and instead watched the announcer on the stage as she ground out, “I needed you here yesterday.”
“Don’t be angry.” His lips brushed her ear, made her skin pebble. “I’ve got an alibi. Things are going to be looking up for Fitzgerald Brewing. You can call me your master brewer and your walking press release.” He clutched her thigh once more, claimed it as his territory while his voice rumbled in her ear. “We need to talk later. Alone.”
Her entire body zinged at his words. He had no business changing the tenor of their newly forged professional relationship. She tried to focus.
She must have blocked his gorgeousness from her memory banks. Tall, nearly six foot four, the broadest shoulders she’d ever seen on a man, long blond hair tied with a strip of leather, square jaw covered with light, reddish beard and those eyes—the term lethally blue floated through her foggy brain. She shook her head and kept frowning, blocking out the rest. Even as the memory of his incredible body, talented lips and hands, and his face beneath her, curtained by the fall of her hair, almost choked her with their clarity.
The pressure on her leg eased. Ross stood, put a finger to her cheek and gave her a knee-melting smile before going up to the stage.
What the hell?
Ross? National Brewer of the Year?
She gulped, clapped, and acknowledged the congratulations of those all around her while her eyes locked onto his amazing denim-covered ass moving down the aisle. Her entire body broke out in chills.
The crush of media and fellow brewery owners afterward separated them, resigning her to yet another evening shaking hands, drinking too much, and falling into her hotel bed alone. Tears burned behind her eyes.