Page 24 of Bourbon and Proof

Picking up my fork, I pepper my food with hot sauce, sitting taller and smiling at the people around me. I’m pissing off plenty, but no matter how much uneasiness flares in my gut, not touching that money and ignoring the threats is the only power I hold.

Chapter 9

Ace

“You needto start taking more risks,” Griz says as he steeples his fingers in front of his mustache.

Risks aren’t something I like taking, unless it’s a gambit and there’s a purpose. I haven’t shared with my grandfather what I’ve been planning and how it all encompasses Foxx Bourbon and Fiasco. He certainly doesn’t have a clue about the agreements I was forced to make years ago because of risks that didn’t have any strategy behind them.

“Like you’ve been doing?” I clap back.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean, Atticus?” he says, low and slow.

Foxx Bourbon is a well-oiled machine, simply because I won’t have it any other way. And its success—through Prohibition, the Depression, and when Kentucky elected over-eager politicians and our country appointed questionably capable leaders—continues because of the relationships built and favors earned over the years.

I’ve never had any moral dilemmas about the things I’m required to do to keep my business thriving and family safe. Favors are a currency I value, which is why when Hadley walked into my office the night of Faye and Lincoln’s joint bachelor party, she saw a woman with her hands on me and not the plans being negotiated. Plans I wasn’t expecting to have to make moves on just yet, but Griz forced my hand by inviting those friends.

There’s a small group I trust. Friends of the Foxx family who go back generations, but then also some new ones who are smart and tactical. The Architect, much like The Jeweler, is someone with her own agendas. She has thriving businesses and a very specialized, rare talent. We each have our own titles for the other as a way to keep a less detailed paper trail if anyone looks too closely. The Architect, specifically, has a knack for removing problems. She runs one of the most prominent architectural firms in the country. She sees the macro-equation, the bigger picture, and what needs to happen in order to get there.

I’ve been takingtoomany risks. And no matter what I do lately, those risks seem to be involving Hadley. It’s a challenge most of the time trying to ignore her, but now that I’ve felt her hands on me? I blow out a breath and shake my head, trying to ignore it again.Fuck.Tilting my head back, I look up at the wood beams that run the length of our kitchen.

“What are you doing? Why are you looking up like that?” He stirs his coffee and flips open the top of the pillbox labeled “Sunday.” I stare at the palmful of pills that I know ranges from a multivitamin to an alphabet of other things that he swears are keeping him alive. “Your brothers want to see our company not only make great money, but evolve.”

This bullshit again.

“They want to shake things up around here, and I can’t understand why you’re giving them such a hard time.”

It always comes back to this. I don’t understand why he’s so eager to push me on it. I shouldn’t have to tell him that we thrive on tradition. He’s the one who muttered those words first. Our brand can make small adjustments and moves in this industry, but if it’s too much, then we’ll lose our footing.

“Because I fucking love bourbon,” I rush out with frustration.

The process, the taste, the variety of how it can hit someone’s palate differently every time. But I’ve been pushed to my limits here. “I’ve said yes. To everything they’ve asked, the fucking barrels aging in a cave, the peach flavor bullshit—which I still can’t fucking handle, by the way. What else do you want from me?”

“I want you to be happy. I want you to make your own blend that you’re excited about the same way that they’ve been. I want you to bend more easily on things that are good for you.” He leans back and folds his arms in front of him. “You’re going through the motions. I want you to find more than just bourbon to be passionate about.” Clearing his throat, he adds, “You’re not taking any chances. You’re being too careful.”

I hate how the word “careful” lingers with his disapproval. Out of all of us, I’ve done everything he’s ever asked of me, and here I am, still feeling like a goddamn kid and not good enough. Being careful is the only way all of this is going to work.

“You saycarefullike that isn’t exactly what you told me to be all those years ago...”

“Do I want to know?” Griz asked, just as I hit the top step of the porch. The darkness hid the blood and sweat that blended into the hair on my arms. I was distracted by what had just been negotiated. And still buzzing from the piece of shit I’d killed before that.

I cleared my throat and stopped my momentum to focus on him. “You don’t. So don’t ask,” I said as I continued my path inside. The sun was going to start peeking over the horizon lineany minute now, and I needed to clean up, figure out exactly how I was going to keep this agreement with Wheeler off the books, and make sure Hadley kept away from me for a while.

“Just be careful, Atticus,” he called out from behind the swinging door. “When it comes to her, be very careful.”

Griz waves at the air in front of him, like he’s heard enough. And dismissing the memory that I seem to have no problem recollecting. I never knew if he assumed something had happened, or if he just knew somehow that there was trouble. Griz had a sixth sense about these things. And yet, I was never going to offer up any details. He had always been adamant aboutnotdoing business with Finch.

“You know Hadley walked in,” I say, pulling the carton of eggs from the refrigerator.

He puts down his coffee mug as I carve out the center of each slice of bread. “When?” he asks.

“I was trying to figure out why, of all nights, we had uninvited visitors,” I say while cracking open an egg, then tossing the shells into the sink behind me. “And come to find out, you had invited them.” I crack and toss three more times, trying not to get angry about being left out of whatever loop Griz had made. “Why would you do that and not tell me first?”

“What did Hadley walk in on?” he asks, ignoring my question.

“The Architect was perched on my desk. She had some interesting information to share about a Pacific Northwest winery and a horse sanctuary out in Montana.” I pause to see if he gives me any kind of reaction to that. But he simply sips his coffee and watches as I move around the room. “That, and Julian was fucking flirting with her at the bar.”

“Ah,” he says, like that’s the most important piece of information. “So this is about Julian flirting with Hadley.”

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