Jamie’s stomach clenched. “I didn’t pick her, obviously. She picked me.”
“Yeah, well…I think you’re what’s referred to as an easy mark.”
“She did it on purpose. She came here, had a beer and asked me to drive her home. None of that had anything to do with my personality or my past.”
“You really believe that?” Eric asked. “That it wasn’t your fault? How do you think I would’ve responded if she’d come on to me?”
“Like an arrogant, self-righteous monk?”
Eric’s hands fisted. “I would’ve responded like a goddamn adult,” he growled.
Fury rolled through Jamie like fire, setting every muscle aflame with the need to lash out. But he only clenched his jaw. “I did respond like an adult,” he ground out.
“You acted like a mindless teenage boy, just like you always do.”
“You’re the one who’s in my bar right now, trying to start shit in front of the customers. Good job being the adult in the family.”
Eric let his head fall back. He took a deep breath and glared at the ceiling for five seconds. “I’m sorry. It just sets me off when you seem unconcerned with what you did.”
“I don’t need you telling me what I should feel, Eric. And I don’t need to prove shit to you, all right?” He caught the movement of someone approaching the bar and shot his brother a glare. “Now, get the hell out. I’m working.”
“Jamie—” Eric started, but Jamie was already turning away, offering a smile for the grandmotherly woman approaching.
“Jamie.” Eric tried again, but Jamie kept his focus on the customer.
“Are you ready to try the stout now, Maggie?”
“Oh, you,” she giggled. “No, we just need some more pretzels.”
Eric finally turned and left. A minute later, Jamie heard the beep of the back door and rolled his neck, trying to let the tension go.
Maybe his plan for this place was ridiculous. Eric was never going to give him a chance. He’d never listen to Jamie’s ideas. And in the end, Jamie was beginning to think he’d have to make some very different plans. He couldn’t live like this for the rest of his life, like some kid under his big brother’s thumb.
He’d give this brewery expansion idea a good try. He really would. He’d pour his heart into it. And then, if Eric chose to stomp all over Jamie’s plans, Jamie would make new ones, and they’d have nothing to do with the other Donovans.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
OLIVIA HAD RUN FOR NEARLY TWO hours, and strangely, after that long run, she’d found it much easier to breathe. She was not going to let Victor or anyone else ruin her plans for fun. A few months ago—hell, a few days ago—she would’ve responded very differently to that call from her department chair. She would have cowered, retreated, turned a one-eighty and run far away from any hint of scandal.
But she hadn’t done anything wrong, and the idea of running back to her safe existence pissed her off. She’d been safe, yes. But she’d also been lonely. And cold. And bored.
So when Jamie called and asked if she could stop by the brewery tonight to discuss his plans, she jumped in feetfirst. Still, her heart was fluttering like a bird when she stepped inside. It was busier than she’d expected for a weeknight, but she wasn’t surprised to find that three quarters of the customers were women. So many book clubs; so little time.
She spotted Jamie at a corner table delivering a tray of beers to a large group of women. One of them jumped up and planted a kiss on his cheek. Jamie didn’t even act surprised—he just smiled and handed her a pint glass, while the other ladies hooted their approval.
Olivia hurried toward an empty seat at the bar, not sure why she felt so nervous. He’d asked her to come, confessing that he was feeling a sudden urgency to get through the project.
I’m brave, she told herself as she scurried across the barroom like a mouse. Taking a seat, she folded her hands neatly in her lap and waited for Jamie to appear behind the bar. He was taking his sweet time, though. She dared a glance over her shoulder and saw him wiping down a table, his kilt rising up to show the backs of his knees.
His kilt.
Her face flashed hot. Other parts followed suit.
When Jamie finally came to the bar, he didn’t notice her at first. He stacked the dirty glasses, wiped down his tray, then looked expectantly over the customers at the bar. His face was so open, as if he were anticipating happiness even under the most mundane circumstances. When his gaze touched her, he smiled.
“Hey, you’re here!”
“I wasn’t sure what I should bring….” She held up her notebook.
“Want a beer?”
“No,” she said. “Absolutely not.”
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Jamie said, reaching for a pint glass. “Try the hefeweizen.”
“I won’t like it!” she laughed. “I’m sorry, but I don’t like beer.”
“Everyone likes beer,” he insisted, sliding her the glass. “Look, this one comes with a lemon slice.”
“Is that to mask the awful taste?”
He slapped a hand to his chest as if covering a mortal wound. “Cruelty, thy name is Olivia Bishop.”
She eyed the glass warily. “It looks thick.”
“It’s unfiltered. In fact, you can consider it a snack if you want to. Try it.”
Bracing herself, she took a sip. It…wasn’t awful. She shrugged and nodded. “All right, this one is my favorite so far. What is it, exactly?”
“It’s an unfiltered wheat beer, less hoppy, which is probably what you prefer. Next month we’ll have our Belgian version on tap, which has hints of orange. You might like that even more.”
“We’ll see,” she said doubtfully, but she took another sip and didn’t even grimace.
His eyes rose past her and he reached for a glass. “Hang on just a second. Someone needs a refill.”
She watched his hands as he worked the tap, then turned to check out his calves when he walked to the table. Jamie had transformed her into a lecher. There wasn’t even much skin to see between the hem of his kilt and the top of his work boots, but she looked anyway.
When he got to the table, the customer, a gorgeous blonde in incredibly tight jeans, stood up, threw her arms around his neck and planted a kiss on his cheek.
Olivia snapped back to face the bar, her cheeks flaming with an emotion she couldn’t decipher. Embarrassment and jealousy and a creeping feeling that she was a damn fool. He could sleep with that girl tonight if he wanted. Olivia had no doubt about that. Maybe he already had slept with her. She certainly hadn’t hesitated to touch him. Women didn’t just touch strangers like that, did they?
Then again, maybe Jamie had never met a stranger. He’d been kissed by two different women in the few minutes Olivia had been here.
If Olivia had come on her own, if Jamie hadn’t invited her, she would’ve simply downed her beer and made an excuse to leave. She would’ve run like a coward, regardless of the words Gwen had said to her earlier. She didn’t feel brave at all. She felt foolish and silly and old.
How in the world did men like Victor sustain their confidence in the face of hunky young undergrads and ex-boyfriends who were twenty years younger than they were?
Olivia took another big gulp of beer and wiped her clammy brow. Maybe that was why they couldn’t stop. Maybe every young woman in their bed was a booster shot of arrogance.
She imagined herself moving on after Jamie, dating younger and younger men to prove to herself that she still had it. Choking back a laugh, she shook her head and told herself not to turn around again, especially when she heard a round of approving squeals, followed by Jamie’s laughter. They all loved him, and she was so damn stupid.
“You already drank half your pint,” Jamie said. She looked up to find him wiping his hands on a towel. “Is there an ‘I told you so’ in my future?”
“I was thirsty, that’s all. And it’s not awful.”
He winked, his smile a warm secre
t. Probably the same warm secret he’d shared a dozen times tonight. She cleared her throat. “It’s busier than I expected.”
His smile tightened a little. “Yeah. There’s a Twitter special.”
“A what?”
Yes, his smile was definitely losing its natural curve. “The brewery has a Twitter account, and we—I—announce nightly specials.”
“So, what’s the special tonight?”
Not only did his smile curve into a very unnatural line, but his cheeks took on a suspiciously pink hue. “It’s ‘Kiss me, I’m Irish.’”
“Oh.” How many more kisses had there been? “I see.”
His face fell into misery as he leaned across the bar, his voice dropping. “Listen, don’t tell anyone this, but I’m not ‘me’ on the promo stuff. I mean, my name is on it, but it’s my sister who’s blogging and Twittering and Facebooking, or whatever it’s called. Half the time, I don’t even know what the hell’s going on until women start showing up and smearing lipstick on me and asking for half-price pints.”
“What?” Olivia glanced around at the nearly full barroom. “What are you talking about?”
“Like tonight, Tessa just waltzes out of here like she’s sweet and innocent. Not a word to me. Not even a look. Then an hour later, she tweets, ‘Kiss me, I’m Irish: half price on your first pint for a kiss on this Irishman’s cheek.’ I’d expect this for Saint Patrick’s Day, but Jesus, it’s not even March.”
Olivia sat back a little, taking in his gorgeous shoulders and the hair that looked deliberately tousled for maximum sex appeal. She looked at that delicious mouth and those sparkling green eyes…then her eyes fell to the faint smear of red lipstick on his jaw. “Your sister uses you as a marketing ploy?”
“Yes.”
She bit her lip and cleared her throat. “Half price on the first pint?”
“Yes.”
“So what about that second round you just delivered?”
“Apparently that kiss was just a bonus in case the first one didn’t take.”
He did look a little miserable now, but he definitely hadn’t earlier. “You don’t seem to hate it.”
“Well, they’re all nice and everything. There’s nothing bad about it. It’s just that I’d like to decide when I’m up for women patting my ass, you know? I had a stressful day. My mind isn’t on playing up the Scotch-Irish thing, you know?”
She dropped her gaze to his kilt.
“Okay, maybe I was up for it earlier, but after I argued with my brother…not so much.”
She was trying very hard not to laugh, but relief was bubbling up inside her. That was why all these women found it so easy to touch him, because they’d been invited to. “So, let me be clear…. There are days when you’re totally okay with strange women patting your ass.”
“Over-the-kilt patting only. My reflexes have gotten pretty quick on the other kind. I can dodge damn fast, even with a tray of pints on my shoulder.”
“That’s a relief.”
“Hey,” he said, offering another wink. “I’m ticklish, you know.”
She laughed as he moved down the bar to check on his customers. She was a fool, but not in the way she’d been thinking. She was a fool for even worrying about looking like a fool. Yes, Jamie truly liked her. He liked everyone. And the foolish part was worrying about his universal love of women. If it wasn’t for that, she’d never have gotten even a taste, so what was the point in resenting it?
“Idiot,” she muttered to herself. She’d take this fling for the gift it was, and she would not fall for him. She wouldn’t. Not any more than she already had.
He took care of a bill before working his way back to her. “So…I was hoping you’d take a look around the brewery. Maybe check out the kitchen and the front room. I’d like to talk details tomorrow, and I really want your perspective.”
Right. She was here to work. Of course. She picked up her notebook. “I should have brought a camera.”
“You can use ours. Hold on one second.” Jamie pushed through the swinging doors, then reappeared with a digital camera in his hands just five seconds later. He swept the room with his eyes, then motioned her back. “I’m sorry. I don’t have time for even the flash tour. You mind looking around on your own?”
“Are you sure this is allowed?” she asked as she slipped past him.
“Olivia, I’m one of the owners. We could set up a tent and have a romantic evening back here if I wanted to. Do you want to?”
Eyes wide, she looked over the spartan kitchen and tile floors. “Um…”
“I’m just kidding. That wouldn’t qualify as fun for me. Check it out, okay? I’ll be back in a few.”
When he pushed through the doors, a bright Van Morrison song swelled over her, fading away in fits as the door bobbed closed behind Jamie. Olivia took a few steps in with a feeling she was intruding on a private world.
The kitchen was as unremarkable as he’d described, but large enough to convert it to a restaurant kitchen, especially if they kept to the scale Jamie had described.
Olivia flipped open her notebook and started taking notes and pictures. There’d definitely need to be more ventilation and refrigeration, but actual physical remodeling would be minimal. She sketched out a few ideas, though she’d always been better with digital models than hand drawing. Half an hour later, she found herself standing in front of a glass wall, peering at the metal tanks beyond. They were larger than she’d expected and the room was utilitarian. Almost industrial. Hoses were coiled on the floor. Buckets lined a back wall, though she couldn’t tell if they were empty or not. There were drains in the floor, spaced every ten feet or so, as if spills and runoff were just part of the job.
She tried the door and found it locked, which was a relief. It seemed like an area she shouldn’t violate. Still, she took a few pictures of the wall, just to get an idea of it for the layout of the room.
Then she stepped quietly down the hallway that lay off the door to the front room.
Eric’s name was on the first door. The office was large and well used. Neat, but a little cluttered, packed with filing cabinets and promotional material. Tessa’s office was next, and it looked similar to her brother’s, if slightly less neat. The last office was Jamie’s. It was smaller than the other two, and Olivia’s heart fell when she saw it. His desk was bare, completely bare but for a computer monitor. There were two small filing cabinets behind the desk, plus one larger cabinet that looked a bit like a small closet. That was it. Olivia backed out and hurried to the front room, trying not to think of his frustration when he talked about taking on more responsibility.
Two of the tables had cleared out, and the place was noticeably quieter, but Jamie seemed busier than ever as he served drinks and cleared tabs and cleaned tables. As soon as she saw his smile, Olivia felt relief uncoil inside her. It didn’t matter how small and barren his desk was. It made sense, actually. This was where he worked. This was where he lived. A tiny office was no place for Jamie.
She took a few pictures of the front room, trying to stay inconspicuous. “Do you have the room measurements?” she asked when he passed her.
“I’ll email them to you,” he answered.
“Perfect. I think I’m almost done here. Do you want to email me the pictures, too?”
“No, those file sizes are huge. Just take the camera home with you. I’ll get it tomorrow.”
“If you’re sure…” She didn’t have any reason to stay now, and Olivia found herself standing awkwardly at the end of the bar, watching Jamie rinse glasses and stack them in the dishwashing tray. She didn’t want to leave.
“Jamie…”
He shut off the water and wiped his hands.
She opened her mouth, but the wrong words came out. “You’ve got glitter lip gloss on your eyebrow.”
“Oh. Hey, I bet you’ve never said that to a man before.” He wiped at his eyebrow. “You look kind of horrified.”
“No, it’s not that.”
&nbs
p; “I meant what I said before. I haven’t dated anyone in a while. Almost a year. It might seem like working here is a party, but…”
Almost a year? That shocked Olivia enough to push her into false courage. “What I meant to say was…would you come over again tonight?”
“With glitter or without?”
Olivia smiled in relief. “Either way.”
“Lady’s choice. I should be out of here by nine-thirty or so. Will you still be awake?”
“Oh, you’re funny.”
“I’ll wake you up.”
She shook her head, and started to move toward the front door, then changed her mind. Instead, she stepped over to Jamie and pressed a kiss to the cheek all those other women had kissed tonight. She let her hand linger on his jaw. “I’ll see you in a little while. No glitter.”
“You got it.”
“And Jamie? Wear the kilt.”
His eyes narrowed and the laughter left them. “Anything you want.”
She’d have to press him for extra credit later. Having fun was one thing. Asking for it was surely a whole other level of accomplishment.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“I MADE HIM WEAR THE KILT.”
Gwen choked on her ice water. “Oh, God,” she gasped, grabbing her napkin to wipe her chin. “You can’t just spring that kind of thing on a girl. Does he go commando underneath?”
“No, he says that’s an occupational hazard. I think he’s talking about you and your friends.”
“You bet your ass he is.” Gwen clinked her glass against Olivia’s. “Congratulations on breaking the kilt barrier.”
“Thanks.” Olivia sipped her water and waited impatiently for their martinis to arrive. “I feel guilty, talking about him this way.”
“Do you really think he’d mind?”
She thought of him gamely offering kisses to every female customer. The only thing about his life he seemed to keep secret was his ambition. “I guess not.”
“Anyway, I’m not going to tell anyone. And you can consider this a public service to your friend who isn’t getting any.”
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