Page 80 of Best Kind of Trouble
“I presume Briar didn’t tell you about the dress code,” Alicia says after a minute, tutting her tongue.
“Actually, Don here is the one who invited me. Briar’s always very good about communicating the rules. We keep a whole list of them at the brewery.”
Briar shoots me a surprised look. Probably because no one’s ever stood up for her in this depressing-ass place. I don’t need her to tell me that. The writing is on the wall.
Don gives a low laugh. “Well, she always was a rule follower. Not much of a leader, no matter how hard we’ve tried.”
“The person who creates the rulesisthe leader, Don, wouldn’t you say?” I give him a smile that saysfuck youas clearly as if the words ripped out of my mouth. I didn’t like him before I met him. I definitely don’t like him now. Briar’s mother is no better, simpering and agreeing with his every word. Barely even bothering to look at her daughter.
He laughs as if I’d made a joke. “Well, I’m not surprised she’s had to make some rules foryou.” Shifting his attention to Briar, he adds, “I’m glad you’re finding your backbone, sweetheart. I guess Briar Boot Camp was a success.”
“Briar Boot Camp?”
“Let’s not do this, Dad,” Briar says tightly.
Ignoring her, he tells me, “Just my nickname for the program I started a few months ago to toughen up my girl. I don’t know if she told you, but her last business was a failure. Success takes work.”
Briar’s cheeks go pink, and anger buckets into my bloodstream. I snap the band at my wrist so hard it nearly breaks.
“She’s lucky she’s got so many people rooting for her,” I say dryly. “What kind of program was this, exactly?”
“Let’s sit down at the dining room table,” Briar suggests, already walking as she says it.
Don throws a hand toward the door in a show of exasperation. “What my daughter doesn’t understand is that feelings have no place in business, but you get it, Liam. I can tell you do.”
I don’t respond. But only because Briar would probably prefer it if I don’t say the words I’m choking back.
We follow her down a hall lit with antique fixtures, to a butter-yellow dining room with an oversized rectangular mahogany table at the center, surrounded by chairs upholstered in leather with brass fixings.
But my gaze isn’t on the furnishings—it’s on the heavy wooden plaque bracketed to the wall, right above one of the five chairs with place settings.
Don’s Recipe for Success, it reads.
Briar resignedly sits in the chair beneath it.
“Ah,” the big guy says, patting his chest as he lowers into the chair at the head of the table. “I see you’ve noticed my wife’s little gift to me.”
“Nothing little about it.” It could definitely brain someone if it fell. Brain Briar, to be specific. “Is there assigned seating?”
“Yes,” Alicia says, beaming. “You’ll sit opposite Briar, between Don and me, so the girls can get cozy across from us.”
“Girls?” Briar asks with a frown, eyeing the setting next to hers with suspicion.
Her parents sit down, so I round the table and do the same.
“We have another guest joining us for dessert this evening,” Don says. “Didn’t I mention it?”
“No,” she objects emphatically, “you didn’t. Who’s coming?”
“Your friend Melly.”
Briar instantly turns to me, her back stiff. “I think I’d like to have one of those beers now, Liam.”
“You brought beer?” Alicia asks with a sour look. “I selected wines to accompany the courses.”
“No problem. I’m sure she’ll have some of that too,” I say, pulling the six-pack out of my backpack and handing Briar the one she likes best, the spiced fig ale.
“We don’t have a bottle opener,” Alicia says stiffly—an obvious lie. In a house like this, where wealth is flaunted, they probably have five of everything.
