Page 59 of Bourbon and Secrets

As I finish with my cufflinks, Ace says, “You do realize that this is black tie, right? Not just all black attire?”

“My last one got ruined. Besides, I’m not going to put on a fucking bow tie to play poker and schmooze some asshole who wants a cut of our sales, Ace.”

“The sales from Blackstone Auctions last year alone doubled our net profits. It’s a higher scale than what Maggie’s been able to accomplish with her secondary market sales. If we want to stay in front of the reselling of our most valued bottles, then we need to have a direct connection to who’s curating those sales. Blackstone might be a prick, but he’s the kind of man who gets people things. Our bourbon is on the playing field, and if we shake some hands tonight, it’ll have been worth the connections alone. Just need to decide how dirty we want to get here.”

Twenty minutes later, we’re pulling into an estate just outside of Fiasco’s town line. It feels a bit ostentatious as we make our way up the long drive. It looks more like a museum than a home. The landscaping is meticulously kept, with the large fountain in the center of the circular driveway and uplighting that disappears into the night sky.

“What else is being auctioned off here?” I ask Ace.

“The only thing that I know is what I’ve negotiated directly with Blackstone—our rare bottles. I want to see where they land and for how much. Beyond that? No idea.”

The valet opens both mine and Ace’s door at the same time. I stand and button my jacket, pocketing my glasses for now. “How much money we spending?”

“We’re not,” he says as we walk through the double doors. A rolled-out deep red carpet runs from the threshold to the mainballroom at the end of the long entryway. “We’re only here to play the politics on this.”

People, mostly men in tuxedos, are peppered throughout the event. The few women who are here are either serving cocktails or are dressed like showpieces. It’s evident it’s a boys’ club.

“Atticus and Lincoln Foxx, what an interesting turn of events.” Wheeler Finch greets as he walks closer. And just on his heels is Waz King. Wheeler walks around Fiasco as if he runs the place, while Waz acts as his crony. I fucking hate both of them. Finch & King might be the premiere brand in Kentucky horse racing, but they’re self-serving, sleazy hustlers to the core.

I hear Ace mumble, “Goddamnit” just before he signals the cocktail waitress circulating close by.

I’m not surprised to see Wheeler at something like this—if it felt shady before, his attendance confirms it. I’ll have to tell Hadley I got to see dear old dad tonight, looking as pretentious as ever in his white suit jacket and black bow tie, rubbing elbows earlier with a circuit court judge and the rumored candidate running for governor next election year.

“Wheeler.” Ace nods. “Waz,” he says with a glance.

Wheeler tuts, “How’s my daughter doing? She’s still nannying for you?”

“Your daughter runs one of the most successful spots in Fiasco.” I clap back, trying to make him feel like an asshole for the backhanded question. “She spends time with my family. That includes my girls.”

Waz pipes in, “She doingfavorsfor you too, Ace?”

Just as Ace starts to tell him to shut his mouth, Wheeler cuts in, “Take a walk, Waz. Blackstone wanted to show off something shiny. Maybe go see what it might be.”

But it’s the sound of laughter behind Wheeler, who’s circled by a set of leather club chairs and candlelight, that captures myattention. More than that, it has my heart racing and stomach clenching.

I hadn’t talked to Ace about what’s happening with Faye, but he shifts closer and quietly asks, “That’s who I think it is, isn’t it?”

I grit my teeth, grinding down on my back molars so hard that I’m surprised they aren’t cracking. “Yeah. It is.” I take in every inch of what I’m seeing and still can’t process what the hell she might be doing here. She said they were “friends,” but that “show-and-tell” game he’s playing doesn’t look like the kind of friendships I know.

Blackstone raises his meaty hand holding a rocks glass and calls out, “Gentlemen. Come and join us.” He snickers to himself like we’re not close enough to hear him say, “Two Foxxes and a Finch.” But it’s where his other hand is gripping that has me fuming. Faye sits perched on his lap, his other hand resting on her thigh, nearly at the fold of where her thigh crease meets her hip. As if she’s his.What the actual fuck?

I pull in a steadying breath, something to ground me so I don’t react and yank her off him. His hand doesn’t belong on her. Why is she allowing it? I can feel Ace glance at me as I stare at Blackstone’s hand.Motherfucker.

The moment we step forward and her green eyes meet mine, I see the panic immediately. She tenses, her bare shoulders lifting slightly as her chest stutters with a subtle gasp. Her dusty pink cocktail dress shimmers in the low lighting, her hair tucked beneath a wig of pastel peach and pink streaked hair right around the same shoulder-length as her natural blonde.

She doesn’t look anywhere else except at me, searching for what I might say or do next. I give her nothing, because as much as I want to rip her off of his lap and into my arms, I know that she’s been telling me half-truths since she showed up in Fiasco, and this isn’t the place or time for explanations. I expect toget those later, as I’m officially done waiting. For now, I’ll play along.

“Gentlemen, I’d like you to meet some of my guests,” Blackstone says, starting introductions to the half-dozen men peppered around him. But I don’t register any of their faces or names. I’m only focused on one. “And this beautiful, shiny thing is my Rosie Gold.”

Her eyes stay connected to mine for only a moment longer before she smiles and greets us politely. But it's Wheeler who says, “Rosie Gold. How interesting. You’re not what I was expecting. The burlesque dancer at Midnight Proof. Isn’t that right?”

Looking up at him, she smiles, but it’s one for show. “Mr. Finch, it’s very nice to see you. And yes, I’ve been dancing at Midnight Proof. Your daughter was more than generous, booking a short residential spot at her beautiful speakeasy.”

Wheeler watches her for a beat before he taunts, “You remind me of someone, but for the life of me, I thought that person hadn’t set foot in Fiasco in years.”

“Fortunate coincidence,” Blackstone says as he drains his glass. “This lovely girl perched this pretty little ass right on my lap in Nashville, and it ended up being a helluva coincidence that she’s performing right here in Kentucky while I take care of some business.” He rubs his lips along the curve of her shoulder, as if he’s earned the right to touch her like that. It has my fist clenching at my side, something Faye takes notice of as her eyes flick to me again. “I knew she’d make a nice little showpiece for tonight.”

I’ve heard enough. “If you’ll excuse me. I’m going to take a look at what your bar has for bourbon.”

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