Page 28 of A Little Too Late
Come on, I privately snarl.Everything is resting on these next few days. The Sharpes are here for due diligence meetings with our accountants and lawyers. Everything has to go exactly right, so that they feel confident enough to prepare the final contract.
I’ve taken it upon myself to plan, host, and cater to their every whim while they’re here. We are going to show the Sharpes a good time if it kills me.
Reed finally raises his glass, and I try to relax.
“I have a good feeling about this deal,” the elder Sharpe says. “Due diligence is going to sail right through. You seem like people who like a job done right.”
“Oh, we do, sir,” I can’t resist saying.
“Yeah, I think Granddad is right,” Trey chimes in. “And you know what that means, right, boys? It’s time for the ritual.”
All three Sharpes cheer.
Reed lifts his perfect jaw. “Someone fill me in? What’s the ritual?”
Grandpa hitches up his trousers by the belt buckle. “We never do a deal without sharing our family moonshine. Get out the bottles, Trey.”
Oh, jeez. I don’t know what moonshine is, and I don’t really want to.
Trey lifts an expensive leather briefcase onto the bar. It has the Sharpe snake logo on it. (Seriously, asnake?) He pops open the gold buckles. He lifts the lid, and I notice that the interior is covered in ostentatious red velvet and molded to perfectly accommodate two cut-crystal decanters.
“Whoa, how’d you get that through airport security?” Melody asks with a grin.
“We chartered, hon,” Trey says with a flirty wink. “Which is how you’ll travel soon, too, am I right? Nobody flies commercial with the masses if they don’t have to.”
Melody gives an uncomfortable chuckle, and Reed looks nauseated.
“Can we get some glasses?” Trey actually snaps his fingers at Halley.
Uh-oh. I wonder if Halley will go off like a bomb at this display of macho rudeness. But she bites her lip and pulls down a set of cut-crystal glasses.
“We’ll need shot glasses, too,” Trey says, without so much as a thank-you.
I make a mental note to buy Halley a gift certificate from the nail salon in town as she plunks down the shot glasses on the bar with a little more force than necessary.
“All right,” the second Sharpe says, lifting one of the decanters. It’s filled with a clear liquid. “This is Sharpe family moonshine, distilled in a bathtub dating to 1862. Trey, pour the shots.”
His son grabs the bottle and pours. “We don’t sell this,” Trey says. “You have to be a friend of the family to ever experience it.”
“I’m honored,” I lie as Trey passes me a shot glass.
Wow, the scent of the liquor is strong. I’m pretty sure it would be useful at the nail salon in town—for removing nail polish.
“And this is our fifteen-year whiskey, aged in French oak barrels on our estate,” Grandpa says, uncapping the other decanter. Its contents are a rich cognac color. And he begins to pour healthy amounts into the larger glasses. “Goes for two hundred and fifty bucks a pop in our Texas store, and the newest vintage sold out in thirty-three minutes last year.”
“I’m so impressed,” Reed drawls, and I give him what I hope is a warning glare.
Not that I don’t take his point. The Sharpes are a challenge. With their snakes and their moonshine and ostentatious display of wealth, they are clearly compensating for something.
But that is not my problem. All I have to do is smile and have a little whiskey. What’s the harm?
“None for me,” Mr. Madigan has to remind Trey, who’s passing out shot glasses.
“Why’s that?” the young buck asks, and I try to hide my flinch. Does he not know how rude a question that is?
“Doctor’s orders,” my boss says cheerfully.
“Bummer,” Trey says. “You’re missing out.”
