The Good Chase

by Hanna Martine

  Hopefully she would know what he meant.

  * * *

  Shea watched Byrne leave the Amber, the fine clothes he likely thought were “casual” disappearing into the crowd packed near the hostess stand. And then he was out the door. Gone.

  She wanted to chase after him, grab him right there in the middle of these tipsy strangers and throw her arms around him. Which was the complete opposite of what she’d wanted to do after he’d come to the Amber without notice when he knew her personal and professional boundaries perfectly well.

  You name it, she’d felt it when she’d looked over and found him sitting there at the end of her bar. Shocked. Off balance. Excited. Mortified. Confused. Frozen.

  Earlier that day he’d texted to tell her that his plane from the Caribbean had been severely delayed and that he wouldn’t see her until tomorrow. Sighing in disappointment, she’d removed her cell phone from her pocket and stashed it in her office.

  Now, instead of delivering the center table’s order to the bar—the obnoxious little prick who’d grabbed her ass could wait another five minutes—she went down the back hallway and ducked into her office. She spun the combination on her desk safe and dug into her purse for her phone.

  There it was, a voice message from Byrne, time-stamped not even an hour ago: I’m home. I really want to see you. I’m coming to the Amber. I hope it’s okay. Call back if it’s not.

  Hell and damn.

  She stared down at the phone, wondering if she should call him right now, but then decided against it. The conversation she wanted to have with him deserved more than a quick ring between toting around trays and glasses.

  Tossing her phone back into her purse and then locking the safe, she headed back out to the noisy bar, thinking of Byrne and wanting the work night to be over.

  Pierce Whitten had commandeered Byrne’s former seat. He was enjoying the expensive whisky by the looks of it, too. She felt conflicted. On one hand she was extremely curious about why Whitten had returned. On the other hand, her conscience was telling her that no amount of money he offered could get her to compromise her principles, and that she should just ignore him tonight.

  The first hand won out.

  “Stick around behind the bar, Dean,” she told her employee. “I need to talk to someone.”

  Dean nodded, and Shea blocked out the expressions of disappointment coming from the four suits who’d previously been so eager to eavesdrop on her interaction with Byrne.

  “Hello again, Pierce.” She stretched out her hand. “Sorry about before. You caught me by surprise. More than your first visit.”

  “Hello.” He shook her hand briefly. “I see you’re rather busy tonight, and I suppose it’s my fault for dropping in unexpectedly on a Thursday, so I won’t take up much of your time.”

  He didn’t ask if they could go someplace quieter, which would’ve meant that he really did want a lot of her time, so she said, “All right. How can I help you?”

  He smiled, and it was professional and warm, not remotely oily or contrived. “I’ll just say it. Hell, I’ll just admit it. We did a shitty job before. I did a shitty job of selling my own product to you.”

  “No, that’s not—”

  “Now that I’ve talked to you more, Shea, now that I’ve done even more research on you, and now that I’ve really watched how you interact with your customers”—he raised dubious eyebrows at the obnoxious center table—“I’ve come to the conclusion that I took the wrong approach before. I went home that night after leaving here and thought about your reaction to and what you had to say about my media outlets. I talked with Linda about the doubt we saw in your eyes, and we came up with something else. So here’s my new sales pitch—”

  She held up a hand. “Wait. But you’re still proposing the same thing?”

  “Same proposal, along with anything else you feel we could collaborate on under the Right Hemisphere umbrella. I still want a sit-down with you, hear what you have to say. I want to know what you want and how we can help make that happen.”

  An image of the Gleann farm, captured in sunset with encroaching rain close behind, came to her so strongly she could smell the sweet grass and the pungent tang of the whiskey’s sour mash seeping out from the barn distillery. She inhaled long and slow.

  “Go on,” she said.

  “I want to expand our market beyond the upper-class male demographic. I want to appeal to women as well. I also want men to respect powerful women and realize how knowledgeable, interesting women make their lives better. I want them first to be shocked as hell that a woman knows as much as you do about a subject that is so typically male, and then I want them to bow down in worship. I want women to turn an eye to my products because they applaud you and because they want to expand their own horizons. That’s not going to happen if all I have is a bunch of guys spouting off to more guys. I want intelligent, determined, strong women at the core of my new arm of business, and I want you to be my queen, so to speak.”

  He clapped his hands together once like he was finished, but then quickly added, “Oh, money. You probably want to know about money. There’s the potential for a lot of it. And you’ll benefit just as much as I will.” Now he nodded and crossed his arms. “There. I’m done.”

  She looked around the Amber, the place she built with her own hands but with someone else’s bank account. For the first time, the dream of the distillery felt tangible and achievable.

  When she looked back at Pierce, she saw the ghost of Byrne sitting on that chair.

  “So . . .” She chose her words carefully, not really knowing how to address this. It was yet another blurring of the lines between personal and professional. “Byrne told you about me?”

  “He made me aware of you, yes.”

  And Byrne knew of her dream, knew how much it would cost and that she was nearly desperate to break away from the Amber. How much of a hand in all this did he have?

  “I have to ask. Did Byrne put you up to this proposal?”

  “No one puts me up to anything, Shea. You don’t get to where I am by following someone else.”

  Made perfect sense.

  “I’m trying to get my timeline straight,” she said. “When did he tell you about me?”

  “At Yellin’s party.”

  “You were there?”

  He smiled. “I was. I even got a drink from you, at Byrne’s suggestion.”

  “I’m sorry. I come across so many faces, it takes a lot for me to remember one or two.”

  He waved her off. “It was late at night, but I’d only just arrived. Byrne and I hadn’t run across each other in a while and we got to talking. I said I wanted a good drink and he pointed to where you were, said you really knew your stuff, that you were famous. So of course, as a Scotch whisky lover, I had to see for myself.”

  Shea dropped her gaze to the bar top. This had all happened after she’d gotten annoyed by Byrne’s behavior at Yellin’s and had turned his begging eyes and pleading words away. And before she’d ever even told him about the farm and the distillery. Before they’d reconnected in Gleann. Before they’d ever really talked.

  And yet he’d still brought her to Pierce Whitten’s attention.

  “Is Byrne your banker?” she asked. Because that connection would just be too weird.

  Pierce laughed low. “No. We met through mutual business acquaintances five or so years ago at some boring event or another. Let’s just say we had a very interesting conversation in which we discovered some personal similarities, and the whole thing may have involved a hell of a lot of this.” He hefted his now-empty glass. “Only not nearly as fine.”

  Ah, male bonding. Couldn’t be called such if it didn’t involve alcohol.

  “I feel like it bothers you,” Pierce added, “that he told me about you?”

  “No, it doesn’t.” It would have, if Byrne h
ad secretly asked Pierce to do her some sort of favor, knowing how she had her own dreams and wanted to break away from Douglas Lynch and the whole “silent partner” thing. But because of the timing, it didn’t sound that way at all.

  Still, she was confused by Byrne’s motives. He’d been frustrated and angry at her rejection of him at Yellin’s party, and yet he went on to be gracious toward her in front of Whitten.

  Because he hadn’t wanted to let her go, and he’d known what the two of them could be long before she’d allowed herself to believe the same.

  God, she was such a shit. Assuming all men were vindictive and ill-wishing after getting dumped. Assuming that all men had ulterior motives and said one thing while doing another. Assuming all men were like Marco.

  “Will you think about it, what I said tonight? Will you try to picture everything I told you?” Pierce pushed his glass toward her, indicating his departure.

  What Shea pictured was a possible means to finance buying that farm up in Gleann. All on her own. What she saw was a way to keep bringing in money without having to be in New York to keep an eye on the Amber. What she saw was a reliable source of income while she was building the distillery, and letting the new whiskey age in barrels before it could be sold and actually bring in revenue on its own.

  What she saw was her well-earned, clawed-for, respected name being associated with something so tits-and-ass like Whitten’s current ventures.

  Why couldn’t there be a middle ground?

  “I will think about it, yes,” she said.

  She realized she was staring at the two empty glasses, one with Byrne’s thumbprint, when Pierce said his good-byes.

  “Huh?” She looked up. “Oh. Sorry. Good-bye.”

  He looked at her for a long moment. “Can I just add one more thing before I go?”

  She nodded.

  He pressed his lips together, and it was an expression of earnest. “There are very few people in this world who I trust.”

  She blinked. “Really? That’s surprising, considering the size of your company.”

  “I mean really trust. As in, I know they stand on a good, firm foundation, and if I blow in their direction they aren’t going to immediately fall over because I’m the one coming at them. They fight honestly for their position and they hold their ground with enviable strength. Do you understand what I mean?”

  She thought of Willa, of course. How her friend had been the only person to stand up for, and next to, Shea when she’d decided to leave Marco. When a world of false friends had left Shea, Willa had remained. “I think so, yes.”

  Pierce buttoned his sport coat. “Good. Because you should know that I find Byrne to be one of those people.”

  “Because he’s good at what he does?”

  Pierce shook his head. “Because of that foundation I mentioned. You know that conversation he and I had five years ago? Funny thing about alcohol, it tends to bring out the truth in some people, and let’s just say that Byrne and I realized that we are both standing on very similar foundations, if you know what I mean.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t think I do.”

  Pierce smiled genially. “Maybe you’d like to ask him. I get the feeling he’d tell you, and then you’d know that he didn’t come to me with any sort of hidden agenda, because somehow I get the feeling that’s what’s bugging you. He’s not anything like those assholes.” He nudged his chin toward the Amber’s main room.

  “I know he’s not.”

  “Good.” He checked his watch. “I should go. Told my wife I’d be home at a reasonable hour, and I appear to be stretching that definition. I’m looking forward to hearing from you, to setting up that meeting.” Then he slid another business card onto the bar and gave it a tap.

  She watched him leave. Apparently he’d paid the valet to keep his sleek, black Mercedes sedan parked right at the curb out front.

  Dean ambled to her side. “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah, it is. Oh crap, I forgot to tell you center table’s order.” She rattled off the youngsters’ desired glasses from memory. “Try to push bottle service when you bring it over. I think they’re in for the long haul, and they’re good for it.”

  “Sure thing.” Dean started to reach for new glasses, setting them on a tray.

  She turned once more to the front door, as though Byrne might reappear any second.

  “Dean, I think I’m going to head out for the night. You good to close up? The party in back is all done and the check signed, they’re just mingling, finishing their drinks. The Corner Pocket is empty, unless our show-offs out there want to pony up.”

  Dean laughed through his nose. “I’m all good. The others have got the main floor covered. You sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m fine. Just want to go talk to somebody.”

  Dean smiled knowingly as the first drops of a Kentucky bourbon hit the bottom of a glass. Little got past Dean, but he would never say anything to embarrass Shea or threaten his employment here. He’d told her many times it was the best job he’d ever had or could ever dream of.

  “Go,” Dean said. “I got it.”

  Shea ran to the office, grabbed her things, and headed out to the curb. The valet whistled for a cab and she gave the driver Byrne’s address.

  Chapter

  16

  The phone rang—the one that only the doorman called. Wishful thinking had Byrne shooting off the couch so fast he might’ve pulled a hamstring. He did some sort of awkward hurtle over the leather ottoman and tripped, stumbling over to the kitchen island, where the small white phone hung on the wall.

  “Hello?”

  “Good evening, Mr. Byrne. Sorry to bother you so late, but I have a Ms. Montgomery downstairs to see you? Should I send her up?”

  Byrne pounded a silent fist of victory on the soapstone counter. “Absolutely. Yes. Send her up.”

  Hanging up the phone, he swept a glance around his place, making sure there wasn’t anything embarrassing lying around. He’d shed his clothes the second he’d returned from the Amber, like they were poisoned and had ruined his whole surprise. Maybe they were, because whenever he wore them, things seemed to go not-so-right when Shea was around. His belt lay in a loop in the hallway, but he’d kicked his pants and the striped shirt into his closet.

  Now he wore cotton drawstring pants and a T-shirt from the last Rugby World Cup he’d bought online. He plucked at it, thinking how Shea would love it. How it wasn’t poisoned.

  When he heard the shush of footsteps outside his door, and saw a wink of shadow in the light that came under the crack, he jogged across the foyer and stretched for the knob. He threw open the door, unable to hide his happiness. His relief.

  Shea stood in the hall, arms folded loosely at her waist, shoulders curved in, her expression unreadable.

  Okay. Not what he expected. Or hoped for.

  “What a nice surprise.” He opened the door wide. “Not like mine earlier. I’m really sorry for that.”

  “I took a chance that you wouldn’t be in bed.”

  He glanced at his arm that never wore a watch. “It’s not midnight yet. Wouldn’t even consider it.”

  That got her lips to twitch. “Can I come in?”

  “No, you have to stand out there and we can pass notes underneath the door.” He stepped to the side, and liked how she glanced up at him as she passed.

  She entered tentatively. It wasn’t the first time she’d been here, but she was acting like it, looking all around, moving slowly, not stepping on the area rugs. He closed the door.

  “When I saw those guys,” he said to her back, and she turned around, “the ones at the table when I was leaving, I realized what you have to face there at the bar. What you fight. I didn’t lump myself into that category.” He went to where she was standing motionless next to the kitchen island. The lights were low in the
apartment, and the artificial stars of the city created a gorgeous backdrop for her.

  “How we were in Philadelphia got me energized,” he went on, “and then I was gone for what felt like forever and I was missing you. And, well, I got cocky. I couldn’t wait until tomorrow to see you, and the Amber seemed like a good idea. I thought if I showed up you’d, I don’t know, give me a pass or something. I assumed I was different from all those others, and you know what they say about assuming.”

  “You are different.” Her arms dropped to her sides, her eyes meeting his. “You surprised me, is all.”

  “But if you encourage one guy like me, who seems to think he’s better and different than all the others, then I see how it takes down your entire wall. You told me that before, but now I’ve seen it with my own eyes, and I’m sorry for putting you in that position.”

  She slipped her purse onto a bar stool, which meant she was staying, giving him a jolt of anticipation.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “I was looking forward to seeing you, too. I was torn when I looked up and saw you there. Really, really torn. I wanted to climb onto your lap and kick you out, all in the same second.”

  He nodded.

  She added, “I’m sorry for pushing the expensive drink on you.”

  He shrugged and then realized how callous and egotistical that might have looked.

  “I’m sorry for being aloof,” she said.

  That surprised him. “You don’t owe me any kind of apology.”

  Though she nodded, there were still questions behind her eyes, and he didn’t know if he was in the doghouse or not.

  “So Whitten said something odd to me after you left.” She peeled away from the kitchen island and wandered into the main room, the L-shaped couch set up to enjoy the amazing western view. She trailed a hand over the back of his favorite chair.

  He curved around the opposite direction, going to sit on the far end of the couch closest to the windows. The leather cushion let out a whoof as he dropped into it. “He did?”