Page 72 of Bedazzled
“No!” My gaze darts over to my phone, sitting on the elaborate nightstand. “I’m here paying off my debt to you, Nolan. You’re not my dad taking away my electronics because I missed curfew.”
“Yes, but maybe…” he drew it out, likely to make me insane which was going to take very little effort at this point. “Maybe you will start getting a bit nervous? Wanting to chat with your best friend Ella about your concerns?” He strolled a little closer, deliberately looming over me, “Perhaps Ella would be worried enough to call Maksim? Then, these two men you seem so concerned about would be distracted? This is a complicated scenario tonight with many moving parts, dear.”
My heart was thumping at just a touch under myocardial infarction level. “I won’t call anyone,” I managed, “but you’re not taking away my ability to communicate.”
How had I ever thought this conniving fuck was attractive? His smile downgraded to a frozen grin. “All the same, you will leave them here. I do hope you’ve memorized your script for tonight.”
“I’ll go over everything in the car,” I tried to sound confident, but I’m pretty sure I looked ready to burst into tears. Which I was.
Chapter Twenty-Three
In which Tania discovers that when things are bad, they can still get so much worse.
Tania…
I am going to fucking die.
I stepped out of the Range Rover, so terrified I was about to vomit on the front step of the distillery. What the hell was O’Rourke thinking? A six-hour crash course would make me sound like a… libation historian? I didn’t even know that was a thing!
Remembering O’Rourke’s nasty little smile, I straightened my shoulders and sucked in a deep breath. I cannot let these Irish assholes be suspicious of me. I can’t become a risk to Yuri and the men poised to take over the new O’Connell Distillery.
So, when an older gent in a good suit with red hair fading to gray came bustling down the stairs, I held out my hand authoritatively. “Kenneth Byrne? A pleasure. I’m Maureen Ryan.”
“So happy you could make it,” he enthused, pumping my hand up and down vigorously in his. “While I certainly know our product as the distiller, I know your grasp of the history behind it will make the presentation so much more satisfying.”
The history. Of whiskey. Oh, god I’m definitely going to die tonight.
Attempting to look wise, I pushed my glasses back up and nodded. “Indeed. I’m very much looking forward to seeing your process for the O’Connell Collection.”
Byrne gave me an excited grin. “Shall we?” He extended his arm and I took it.
“We shall.”
I’d been on a wine tour when Ella and I visited Napa Valley in California once and had loved it - how beautiful the vineyards were, the elegant stone houses, the mysterious caves where the wine was stored in massive casks.
I had not expected a distillery that was as uniquely beautiful.
The O’Connell Distillery was at the end of one of the most gorgeous old streets in Dublin. It was a massive brick building built a hundred and fifty years ago and it was magnificent, with the old paned windows, curved at the top to a point like a cathedral’s and a slate roof. Inside, their designer wisely kept the ancient oak floors, the stone fireplaces, and even the modern updates, like the exposed silver duct work and heavy industrial-style lights blended together perfectly.
Byrne walked me through the exhibition space quickly with an apology and a promise to go through for a better look at the distillery later. “I’m a little nervous, and I’d really like to coordinate tonight’s script with you now.”
I tried to give an expression of well-bred surprise. “You? You’ve been the master distiller here for, what, twenty years? Surely you can’t be nervous.”
“These are new owners and they are not forgiving of mistakes.” It was all he was willing to say and I certainly couldn’t blame him.
“We’ll go over it as many times as we need to make the evening flawless,” I assured him, not mentioning that if anyone screwed up tonight, it would be me.
The event space was lovely, located on the second floor with a long deck area overlooking the gleaming copper pot stills and oak barrel fermenters.At least I remember what they’re called,I thought, trying to build some confidence. The other side looked out on the old cobblestone street and thankfully, few people strolled on the sidewalk. I didn’t know what the evening entailed, but I was pretty sure it included violence and the fewer innocent bystanders, the better. Two long mahogany bars flanked each side of the room and the center held a small raised platform with a podium and a mic.
“...So they’ll roll the cask in and place it here…”
Oh, crap Byrne was talking. He was gesturing here and there, showing me the plan of action while waiters were setting up round tables with white linen and I tried to pay attention.
“How many people are we expecting tonight?” I asked.
“Around a hundred,” he said distractedly, “the O’Connell’s are bringing in all their most important… ah… family members.”
Watching one of the waiters bringing in clean glasses, I couldn’t help think he looked familiar. I could have sworn he was one of Thomas and Lauren’s bodyguards from that disastrous New Year’s Eve party last year when the enemies of the Morozov Bratva opened fire at the stroke of midnight. I still couldn’t hear fireworks going off without jumping and shrieking. He looked up briefly and then away, and I did the same. Of course, Yuri and Maksim will have people infiltrating tonight. And here I am staring at one of them like a moron.
