Anything for You
Page 72
Jess had told him to be friendly. Okay. He could do that.
“You look a lot like that guy on House of Cards,” Connor heard himself say to Trey. “You know. The handsome one? Remy?” Now he sounded like he was hitting on the guy. “Not that I’m gay.”
“I am.”
“Really?” More sweat flooded out of every single pore. “One of my best friends is gay.” Please, Jess, please come in right now.
“And I bet you have a best friend who’s also black.”
“Uh...well, no, not best friend. Friend, though. Marcus at the gym. But my best friend is really my twin sister, I guess.”
Oh, fuck. There was really no other word for it.
He wiped his forehead again. “Let’s get back to tasting. This is the IPA, which is a personal favorite.” He poured more glasses for the Fab Four, minus the gay nondrinker. “This one has a very creamy head—” Sphincter! “—and good retention and lacing. Kind of a spicy pine hops in the nose and on the palate with just enough malt for balance.”
Okay, so maybe that wasn’t that bad.
“So it’s very, uh, fresh, very bright with some citrus notes. Great for casual fare like burgers and nachos, but also with a delicate white fish, for example, or a pasta primavera. See, I’m a chef, I think I told you already. That’s one of my goals. To bring beer to fine dining. Wine’s been in charge long enough, don’t you think?”
“I’m half owner of Wilson Vineyards,” Ms. Porter said.
Connor drained his glass. “Well. I also love wine.” Poured some more beer and drank that, too.
No-Name smiled and scribbled some notes. Pushed his empty glass back. Generic was not smiling, but was taking notes. Trey—cool name, was as well, and with that NFL physique, he could probably model. Bet he had a boyfriend. Too bad Jeremy was seeing Patrick. Trey and he would have beautiful babies.
This line of thinking reminded Connor about a certain pertinent fact regarding himself.
He was a lightweight. Colleen got all the drinking genes in the family.
And now he had quite the buzz on.
He checked his phone. Nothing from Jessica. Nothing.
He kept going. Through the Pilsner, the Amber Lager, the Stout. Everything he said seemed laden with sexual innuendo, and the House of Cards guy began to appear to be carved from stone. But Amy sipped every sample and took notes; Generic did the same; No-Name pounded back every pour and asked for more, and Connor wondered if the floor of the conference room should be on a forty-five degree angle, as it seemed to be.
“What’s in the pitcher?” Amy asked.
“Oh, yeah, I forgot about that,” Connor said. Shit. He sounded sloppy. “This is your typical American beer. I thought I’d use it for comparison purposes. So we’ve gone through all my beers, and now you can taste this blecch beer and really see—no, really experience, because that’s what O’Rourke’s Brewing wants to do. Create. A taste. Experience.” He used his forefinger to punctuate the words. Maybe not a good idea. “Here. Let me pour you some. It’s Pabst. Or Genesee. I forget.”
And with that, he poured Amy some beer. Except he missed the glass and dumped it right down her front.
“Damn it!” she said, pushing back from the table.
“Oh, shit,” Connor said. “Here, let me help.” He grabbed some napkins and started blotting her front. Implants, given the way they jutted out at the same angle as a unicorn’s horn, and like the unicorn’s horn, felt like they were made of a very hard substance. “Are these new?” he asked, dabbing some more.
She smacked his hand away. “We’re done here.”
“Thank God,” he said. Probably shouldn’t have said that, but oops. “Great meeting you. I’m so sorry Jess couldn’t get here. She, uh, she’s fantastic. And she would’ve made me look really good.”
“Take care,” said No-Name.
“I’ll call you?” Connor suggested.
No one answered. They left the conference room, and Connor sat back down. Put his head on the table and sighed.
That didn’t go so well, it seemed. When he was sober, he’d find out for sure.
He checked his phone again. Still nothing.
It was a little past four.
This was not running late.
He bolted upright and hit his sister’s name. “Where’s Jess?” he barked.
“Oh, Con, she didn’t call you? I just found out myself. She’s at the hospital. There was a fire at her house. Everyone’s okay, but—”
He was out of the conference room, running. He grabbed the nearest bellboy. “Get me a cab. It’s an emergency.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
JESS HAD JUST gotten into her car at Blue Heron, about to head for Corning when she decided to swing by the house and bring Connor a good-luck charm—Yoshi, the little green plastic critter he’d won for her at the 4-H fair. Today would be tough for him, and wicked fun for her. The little monster would remind him to relax and smile a little.
And she’d remind him of that, too. It was really something, knowing that she’d helped him in this. Sure, he could’ve hired someone else to do it, but he’d hired her, and she’d done a great job, and she’d done it without guidance from anyone. He wanted her there. He wanted her to pitch his brewery to these people, with more than half a million dollars at stake, and he’d picked the girl from the trailer park, the class ho, to handle this for him. Not because she was sleeping with him—when he hired her, she hadn’t been. Because he had faith in her, in her intelligence and professionalism.
That morning, she’d put on her best suit, black and simply cut, the kind that would never go out of style. A low-cut white silk V-neck underneath it; still classy, but with a sexy little edge. The black heels with the strap across the ankle. She pulled her hair up into a perfect French twist and put on her makeup carefully.
“Hello, Older Woman Fantasy,” Ned murmured as she came into the conference room for a staff meeting.
“Shush, child,” she said, grinning.
“Will you spank me if I’m naughty?”
“Behave, Ned,” said Honor. “Jess, feel free to sue him. But you do look fantastic. Today’s the day, huh? Good luck. Tell Connor not to sweat or growl at anyone.”
Marcy burst in on her usual wave of energy and noise. “Sorry I’m late, so busy, have this superwealthy bride, and I want to— Uh.” She broke off at the sight of Jessica. “A little overdressed, aren’t we?”
“I have a presentation off-site today,” Jessica said.
“For what?”
For none of your business, she thought. “For Connor O’Rourke.”
“Why?”
“He’s opening a brewery,” Ned said. “And Jess is his woman.”
“And a marketing genius,” Honor added with a smile.
“Are you kidding me?” Marcy said. “You two are dating? I had no idea!”
“Jessica’s private life aside, why don’t we get to work?” Honor said, passing out some papers.
“No, of course, it’s just that I’m buried in my work these days. Busy, busy! No time for extracurricular fun, I kid you not.” She didn’t look at Jess. Great. Another reason for Marcy to dislike her.
“You look a lot like that guy on House of Cards,” Connor heard himself say to Trey. “You know. The handsome one? Remy?” Now he sounded like he was hitting on the guy. “Not that I’m gay.”
“I am.”
“Really?” More sweat flooded out of every single pore. “One of my best friends is gay.” Please, Jess, please come in right now.
“And I bet you have a best friend who’s also black.”
“Uh...well, no, not best friend. Friend, though. Marcus at the gym. But my best friend is really my twin sister, I guess.”
Oh, fuck. There was really no other word for it.
He wiped his forehead again. “Let’s get back to tasting. This is the IPA, which is a personal favorite.” He poured more glasses for the Fab Four, minus the gay nondrinker. “This one has a very creamy head—” Sphincter! “—and good retention and lacing. Kind of a spicy pine hops in the nose and on the palate with just enough malt for balance.”
Okay, so maybe that wasn’t that bad.
“So it’s very, uh, fresh, very bright with some citrus notes. Great for casual fare like burgers and nachos, but also with a delicate white fish, for example, or a pasta primavera. See, I’m a chef, I think I told you already. That’s one of my goals. To bring beer to fine dining. Wine’s been in charge long enough, don’t you think?”
“I’m half owner of Wilson Vineyards,” Ms. Porter said.
Connor drained his glass. “Well. I also love wine.” Poured some more beer and drank that, too.
No-Name smiled and scribbled some notes. Pushed his empty glass back. Generic was not smiling, but was taking notes. Trey—cool name, was as well, and with that NFL physique, he could probably model. Bet he had a boyfriend. Too bad Jeremy was seeing Patrick. Trey and he would have beautiful babies.
This line of thinking reminded Connor about a certain pertinent fact regarding himself.
He was a lightweight. Colleen got all the drinking genes in the family.
And now he had quite the buzz on.
He checked his phone. Nothing from Jessica. Nothing.
He kept going. Through the Pilsner, the Amber Lager, the Stout. Everything he said seemed laden with sexual innuendo, and the House of Cards guy began to appear to be carved from stone. But Amy sipped every sample and took notes; Generic did the same; No-Name pounded back every pour and asked for more, and Connor wondered if the floor of the conference room should be on a forty-five degree angle, as it seemed to be.
“What’s in the pitcher?” Amy asked.
“Oh, yeah, I forgot about that,” Connor said. Shit. He sounded sloppy. “This is your typical American beer. I thought I’d use it for comparison purposes. So we’ve gone through all my beers, and now you can taste this blecch beer and really see—no, really experience, because that’s what O’Rourke’s Brewing wants to do. Create. A taste. Experience.” He used his forefinger to punctuate the words. Maybe not a good idea. “Here. Let me pour you some. It’s Pabst. Or Genesee. I forget.”
And with that, he poured Amy some beer. Except he missed the glass and dumped it right down her front.
“Damn it!” she said, pushing back from the table.
“Oh, shit,” Connor said. “Here, let me help.” He grabbed some napkins and started blotting her front. Implants, given the way they jutted out at the same angle as a unicorn’s horn, and like the unicorn’s horn, felt like they were made of a very hard substance. “Are these new?” he asked, dabbing some more.
She smacked his hand away. “We’re done here.”
“Thank God,” he said. Probably shouldn’t have said that, but oops. “Great meeting you. I’m so sorry Jess couldn’t get here. She, uh, she’s fantastic. And she would’ve made me look really good.”
“Take care,” said No-Name.
“I’ll call you?” Connor suggested.
No one answered. They left the conference room, and Connor sat back down. Put his head on the table and sighed.
That didn’t go so well, it seemed. When he was sober, he’d find out for sure.
He checked his phone again. Still nothing.
It was a little past four.
This was not running late.
He bolted upright and hit his sister’s name. “Where’s Jess?” he barked.
“Oh, Con, she didn’t call you? I just found out myself. She’s at the hospital. There was a fire at her house. Everyone’s okay, but—”
He was out of the conference room, running. He grabbed the nearest bellboy. “Get me a cab. It’s an emergency.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
JESS HAD JUST gotten into her car at Blue Heron, about to head for Corning when she decided to swing by the house and bring Connor a good-luck charm—Yoshi, the little green plastic critter he’d won for her at the 4-H fair. Today would be tough for him, and wicked fun for her. The little monster would remind him to relax and smile a little.
And she’d remind him of that, too. It was really something, knowing that she’d helped him in this. Sure, he could’ve hired someone else to do it, but he’d hired her, and she’d done a great job, and she’d done it without guidance from anyone. He wanted her there. He wanted her to pitch his brewery to these people, with more than half a million dollars at stake, and he’d picked the girl from the trailer park, the class ho, to handle this for him. Not because she was sleeping with him—when he hired her, she hadn’t been. Because he had faith in her, in her intelligence and professionalism.
That morning, she’d put on her best suit, black and simply cut, the kind that would never go out of style. A low-cut white silk V-neck underneath it; still classy, but with a sexy little edge. The black heels with the strap across the ankle. She pulled her hair up into a perfect French twist and put on her makeup carefully.
“Hello, Older Woman Fantasy,” Ned murmured as she came into the conference room for a staff meeting.
“Shush, child,” she said, grinning.
“Will you spank me if I’m naughty?”
“Behave, Ned,” said Honor. “Jess, feel free to sue him. But you do look fantastic. Today’s the day, huh? Good luck. Tell Connor not to sweat or growl at anyone.”
Marcy burst in on her usual wave of energy and noise. “Sorry I’m late, so busy, have this superwealthy bride, and I want to— Uh.” She broke off at the sight of Jessica. “A little overdressed, aren’t we?”
“I have a presentation off-site today,” Jessica said.
“For what?”
For none of your business, she thought. “For Connor O’Rourke.”
“Why?”
“He’s opening a brewery,” Ned said. “And Jess is his woman.”
“And a marketing genius,” Honor added with a smile.
“Are you kidding me?” Marcy said. “You two are dating? I had no idea!”
“Jessica’s private life aside, why don’t we get to work?” Honor said, passing out some papers.
“No, of course, it’s just that I’m buried in my work these days. Busy, busy! No time for extracurricular fun, I kid you not.” She didn’t look at Jess. Great. Another reason for Marcy to dislike her.
