First, no one mentioned Veronica Diarmuid’s appearance. I’ll have to give Thad a piece of my mind for keeping that tidbit to himself. Thad Martin, Junior was his lawyer. His father, Thaddeus Senior, was his parents’ attorney. Kurtis acknowledged Veronica was gorgeous, but off-limits. Clementine Distillery wouldn’t end up with similar lawsuit issues historically plaguing the Clements’ stables and household.
Kurtis knew he wasn’t his father, nor his grandfather—even though he’d used generational property and trust money to begin Clementine Distillery, which required him to carry a version of the family moniker—and he wouldn’t make the same mistakes they had. This was why knowing history was important. If we don’t study history, we’re doomed to repeat it. Learn from the mistakes of others and all that jazz.
His cell phone vibrated, and the text message icon popped up. Kurtis chose to ignore it and rose, pocketing his phone and heading for lunch with his new distillery team.
The atmosphere was light in the kitchen, Kurtis noted. He was glad—it seemed like everyone was going to get along just fine. It didn’t appear like anyone would be extremely needy or lazy, and for that, he was grateful. And he was even more grateful he was able to hire Veronica and James. They both came with significant experience, even though neither were beyond their early thirties. Just babes in the distilling business.
Everyone sat at the large table in the open end of the room, near some panoramic windows letting in natural light. They seemed to be easily chatting as they ate, and he heard occasional laughter. Always a good sign.
He put together a plate with fresh fruit and vegetables, and then made a turkey pita, before he pulled a bottle of water from the refrigerator. Next, he headed to join his team. His cell phone vibrated in his pocket, distracting him, and then he felt a warm body and soft curves, just as a feminine Oh reached his ears.
His plate hit the floor with a plop and he focused his attention on steadying the delicious-smelling woman encroaching on his personal space.
“I’m sorry, I was reaching for my phone, and—” he said.
“It’s okay, I bobbed when I should’ve weaved,” Veronica murmured.
They regained their balance, and he realized he still held her upper arms. He stepped back, narrowly avoiding the mess he’d made of his meal.
“Here, let me help you.” She stooped at the same time he did, and their hands brushed as they both tried to gather up the remains.
He paused, and looked at Veronica. Her eyes were a brilliant emerald green, and her fiery red hair was twisted up into some knot behind her head. A few tendrils corkscrewed against her jawline, and he resisted the urge to tuck them behind her ear. “No need, I’ve got it.”
Just then, Suzannah appeared. “Geez, Kurt. You need to focus on your surroundings more. I might be used to staying out of your way, but these guys aren’t, yet.” She produced a broom and dustpan from seemingly nowhere, and had the detritus whisked away before Kurtis had properly risen.
“Again, sorry about my klutziness, Veronica.”
“Don’t worry about it. Oh, and most people call me Roni.”
Let go of her hand. Idiot. Kurtis released her hand, after holding it for entirely too long.
She blushed in the way only a fair-complexioned Irish redhead could. From her chest, the flush crept up her neck and then settled in the apples of her cheeks. She tipped her head and appeared to regard him thoughtfully. Then, she smiled.
Kurtis briefly wondered whether he was having a cardiac event. He felt as though the wind were knocked out of him. When he realized it was just the beauty of Veronica’s smile, he recovered quickly. The way it lit up her entire face made her eyes sparkle—mischievously this time. “I look forward to working with you.”
Her expression blanked briefly, and then she said, “Listen, I’m going to run home and change. I’m sure this isn’t appropriate apparel for traipsing around fields and renovated barns.”
The air whooshed out of Kurtis’ lungs and he allowed himself to peruse Veronica’s body—under the guise of inspecting her clothing…since she pointed it out. She wore a vibrant green silk blouse that hugged her slight frame in a wrap fashion. A mint camisole peered out from the deep V. Over her slim hips, a pencil skirt hugged her curves and reached below her knee. Sensible square-heeled navy pumps finished her ensemble. After trailing his gaze up her body, he said in a soft voice he hoped only she could hear, “Definitely not the best outfit for what’s planned this afternoon, but—since you pointed it out—I couldn’t help but notice how wonderfully it compliments your coloring and figure.” Warning! Warning! Impending boner! He stepped away from her, hopefully far enough to get her floral-and-fruit scent out of his nose.
He glanced at the table where Thomas, James, and Derek sat as boisterous laughter sounded from the group. They’re wrapped up in discussion. Thank god.
“Thank you. I’ve eaten lunch, so I’ll just pop home and be back by one. I’ll see you then.”
He nodded. “Drive carefully.”
She turned and walked away, and Kurtis couldn’t even force himself to pull his eyes away from her legs and rear in that skirt. Her gait was fluid and graceful. When she passed the last large window across the porch, she glanced over her shoulder and their eyes connected briefly. Or was it his imagination?
“Tsk.”
Kurtis turned toward the sound.
“I remade your sandwich and got you more fruit and veggies. Go eat, and stop being stupid,” Suzannah admonished.
“I’ll eat at my desk. I should check email and whatever came in on my phone when I dropped my lunch, anyway.” He wasn’t about to acknowledge Suzannah’s accusation. She’d obviously caught him ogling Veronica.
She leaned toward him and said in a growly whisper, “Remember, you wanted to hire Roni based on paper-only, Kurt. She’s highly sought-after right now, and I heard through the grapevine that the only reason she took this position was because she wanted the opportunity to be creative. Don’t. You. Screw. This. Up. With. Your. Hormones.” She stepped back and regarded him with narrowed eyes for a minute before she marched away, rejoining the guys at the table. They had a platter of cookies in the middle of the surface, and they all seemed to be laughing. Again.
He grabbed his sandwich and water before stalking toward his office. He cast a glance at his employees who seemed to be entertaining themselves instead of watching him, thankful they were entrenched in their own conversation.
Turning into the dark-paneled room, he managed to settle his plate on his desk without further incident and plopped into his chair.
Stabbing at the keyboard of his computer, he opened his email and stared at the screen without seeing. The semi I’m sporting right now is not even cool. Down, boy. Down, boy.
About Author Deelylah Mullin
Deelylah Mullin has been penning tales since she could hold a pen. Er, crayon. After a wonderful experience in Fourth Grade Writers’ Club, she continued to pursue creative endeavors. Throughout her academic career, creative writing was always a focus. As well as music. There’s gotta be a reason she got a bachelor’s degree in music, right?
While she has always written, her stories have evolved over time. When she was young, she was inspired by Madeline L’Engle and moved on to Stephen King and Robin Cook. Today, her stories are full of romance and a happily-ever-after. Even if they may be slightly weird, creepy, or sappy sweet along the way.
