Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 116455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
“Why are you being like this?” I demanded. “Jesus, Flynn. This can’t be about the puddle. That was an accident! You saw that dog run into the street and the little boy chasing him—”
“It’s not about the fucking puddle!”
“Then it’s gotta be about that night three years ago—”
“Fuck you. We’re not discussing that night.”
“You told me to leave! You said—”
“I said we’re not discussing it,” Flynn whisper-hissed, his hand slicing through the air like a knife blade. “That night was a colossal mistake.”
I swallowed hard and reminded myself this was no more or less than the truth—no more than what I believed myself—and therefore, it didn’t hurt to hear him confirm it.
“Give me fifteen minutes of your time to look through this contract. I promise you’ll be glad you did. And once our business is done, I’ll be out of your hair.”
He exhaled once through his nose and rolled his eyes, maybe more at himself than me. “Fine, then. Sit. Clock is ticking.”
I sat down in front of his desk, which was cluttered with all sorts of knickknacks and Honeybridge memorabilia. Black-and-white framed pictures of his Grandpa Horace and some Honeybridgers long past mixed with more current shots of his brothers and his parents out at the Retreat, their family campground. The walls behind the desk were decorated with various awards arranged chronologically, as well as a painting and a pastel portrait of Grandpa Horace that were both clearly done by Castor’s twin brother, PJ, who’d always been the painter in the family. There was also the map that Horace used to have out over the bar—a map with a pin for every state and country he’d ever visited.
Flynn used to say he was going to fill up the whole map with pins when he got older, but I was pretty sure not a single other pin had been added since the last time I saw it. Flynn’s whole life was in this office. His entire world was this town.
“Time’s a’wastin,” Flynn said.
“Right, yes. Okay.” I opened my folio and turned it to face him. “Fortress is interested in acquiring exclusive distribution rights to Honeybridge Mead.” I beamed like a fairy-tale hero, offering the prince the keys to his tower prison. “We want to place Honeybridge in high-end restaurants, resorts, and wine shops. And as you can see, we’re willing to be pretty generous with our terms. You’ll keep the Tavern, obviously, and the operation here. I love what you’ve done with the place. It’s incredible, Flynn. Truly. And when you sign this deal, you’ll be able to do even more with it. Hire more people. Test more varietals. I noticed there’s no Honeybridge Firecracker on the menu, and you really need to fix that. Or you could take a sabbatical and travel a bit like you always wanted.” I gestured toward the map. “Savor your life.”
Flynn looked over the documents, seeming to ignore me as he read. He looked up with a frown. “This says the location of the manufacturing facility will be at Fortress’s discretion.”
I nodded. “Standard procedure. They put the factories in the places where the infrastructure is best suited to—”
“The label on the mead bottles says Honeybridge, Maine,” he interrupted.
“Sure, and it’ll continue to,” I agreed, not sure what he was getting at.
“But it won’t be from here if the factory is in freakin’ Mississippi.”
“Well, no, but the idea will be. I mean, you don’t get all your honey locally, do you? You don’t source the yeast here. You don’t forge the fermenters. So when you think about it, it’s already imported—”
“No.”
“Pardon?” I shook my head, my smile wavering. “No, what?”
“No dice.” He shut the folio and pushed it back at me. “You have absolutely no clue what this company is about. There is no way on this Earth that I’m letting you have any part of it.”
I sighed in frustration. “It’s not about me, Flynn. I’m just the messenger. It’s Fortress’s offer. It’s Fortress that can make you seriously rich—”
Flynn snorted. “Because being rich is the most important thing, right?”
“Maybe not, but it sure as fuck helps! Look, can’t you put aside what happened between us and—”
“Nothing happened between us,” he countered. He stood up from his chair and raised an eyebrow. “Don’t let me keep you from Massimo.”
Damn it. It figured he’d overheard that.
“Massimo is… He’s… It’s not…” I winced. How did I explain that we were friends with benefits, except not really friends and the benefits weren’t very beneficial, without sounding like an asshole?
I was pretty sure the answer was in the question.
“Save it, Wellbridge. Your time is up. And in case you had any doubt in the back of your mind—” He leaned over the desk and glared at me from close range. “—Firecracker will never be on the menu for you again.”