Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75592 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75592 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
“I didn’t think he’d just let me take her. I was thinking maybe you could come, see the operations, and that will give you the best picture of the winery. You’ll understand far more than I could ever teach you.”
The idea has merit on so many levels. I’m sure it would help me and ultimately Ethan when making decisions if I knew what we were actually working so hard for but more than anything, Sylvie has been missing her homeland so much and she’s been so brave with all the horrible things that have happened to her.
“I’m so busy, Gabe. I don’t know that I can take the time—”
“Will you just think about it and talk to Ethan? I don’t know what it would take to turn your duties over to someone else, but if you could manage that, we could do a five-day trip. We’ll take one of the Mardraggon jets—”
“We have our own jet,” I feel the need to say, which is something he already knows.
“Not as fast as ours though,” he replies with a smirk.
I have to force myself not to respond. It’s that boyish smile that made me realize back in college that he wasn’t the horrible monster we thought all Mardraggons were bred to be.
“I’ll talk to Ethan. It might be that someone else has to go other than me.” Although I’m not sure who that would be. Trey and Wade are as busy as I am.
“Okay… thank you for considering it.” His eyes move over me one more long, luxurious time and he nods. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”
Gabe steps out from the alcove and disappears around the corner, presumably heading to Freedom Hall.
I lean back against the wall, touching my fingertips to my lips that still tingle from his kiss.
CHAPTER 12
Gabe
I cut away from Freedom Hall, having no desire to be around people or listen to boring speeches. I’m feeling edgy, out of control, and nothing settles those feelings like alcohol. It’s a good thing I know just where to get such a commodity.
The Mardraggon booth is a large U-shaped bar made of hand-carved cherrywood with attached swivel stools along the three sides. There’s a top overhang with pendant lighting at the back of the bar, in front of which stands a bartender in an elegant tuxedo. Upon a single shelf sits a bottle of every brand of bourbon we currently produce, each one with its own light shining from underneath to accentuate the bourbon’s rich amber hues, making the liquid within the bottles shimmer enticingly.
I believe I saw a report come across my email about the cost of constructing this temporary bar for the Spirits and Saddles Gala, and it was close to fifty thousand dollars. It’s going to be disassembled after this event and put into storage, probably never to be used again. Next year, for the same charity event, Mardraggon Enterprises will do something different but no less costly. It’s a fine example of just how much money we have and how much is acceptable to spend to market our product.
Technically, the event is just for people to sample the variety of Kentucky bourbons available, but you can also get a full drink—one or two fingers, whichever you prefer.
The bartender sees me, knows exactly who I am, and moves my way as soon as I take a stool at the middle of the bar. There’s no one else here and very few people linger in the lobby, since everyone made their way into Freedom Hall for the speeches.
I expect that’s where Kat has gone and then hate myself for even spending a moment of thought on her. She’s the current reason I’m here and saying to the bartender, “Give me the Copper Still Reserve, neat.”
He nods and bows slightly, as if I’m royalty. “Right away, Mr. Mardraggon.”
I drum my fingers on the polished wood surface and when the crystal glass slides into my line of sight, I mutter my thanks.
I don’t have to pay for this, but I pull a twenty out of my wallet and hand it to him for a tip. I ignore his effusive gratitude, pick up the glass and pull a long sip into my mouth. The warm rush over my palate and into my stomach provides a quelling effect and I sigh with satisfaction.
Someone approaches and takes the stool two down from me, but I don’t look that way. I have no desire to engage in niceties or meaningless conversation. It would most likely be someone fawning over the privilege of having the chairman of the board of Mardraggon Enterprises to talk to or someone who wants to talk about my father.
“I’ll take the Mardraggon 1921 Shadow Reserve.”
The hair rises on the back of my neck as I recognize the voice but it’s the request for the rare bourbon that has me turning on my stool.