Mutual Release (30 page)

Evan’s warm hand on her arm made her sniffle and look into his eyes. Their brown-green depths were full of concern. “I’m sorry. This is really none of my business.” He squeezed her shoulder, but the touch was brotherly, devoid of anything but friendly support. And made her nearly breathless with desperation.

“No, no, it’s fine. To be honest I have never told anyone the whole story, believe or not. I’m not one of those women with a posse of girlfriends to party with and confide in.” She shrugged, unwilling to accept any sympathy for that. She’d made that particular bed and would lie in it alone. “So, after about a year of wedded boredom, as I channeled my growing, um, sexual frustration into learning everything I could about James’ family’s business, I caught him.” Julie shoved away the urge to tell him the real story, sensing he was starting to suspect her half-truths.

Evan leaned back, a knowing look in his eyes. She shot him a sad smile. “No, not with another woman. With a man – Grant, the sales manager at one time. A great guy. And the guy who now lives with James down in the Bahamas, or France, or Spain. I forget.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” She pushed her empty cardboard cup away from her, just for something to do with her hands. “That’s me. Julie the ‘beard.’ No,” she said and blocked his hand, unable to take anything resembling sympathy as she described her life “covering” for her gay husband. This was her life. Had been her life, and it was pretty fucking cushy compared to how she started out. “James was horrified when I caught them. Offered to stop, to stay with me, to have the… the family I wanted.” She stood up, not sure why she was even telling him this. “I told him it was obvious he was unhappy with me and I had no business enabling his fake life anymore.”

“Bet that went over well with the matriarch.”

“Huh, well, as far as she knows,” Julie buttoned up her leather coat, ready to leave, needing to escape to her own thoughts, “her beloved boy Jamie got fed up with the trailer park trash girl and left her, and lives far, far away so as not to sully himself with her dirty background.”

Evan frowned and stood. “That’s…”

“No, it’s fine. James and I have an understanding. I mean, we even talk every other week or so. I run the company, keeping the profits I actually make. He handles the joint bank account like he always did, just from wherever the hell he is at the moment. Running a company was not his thing, you see. And his mother condones whatever he is doing as long as it is not anywhere near me and I keep making her money. James convinced his mother I knew what I was doing. She believes everything he says. I made money right away. Easy.”

“How is it that every time I am around you I do something really stupid?” Evan crossed his arms over his chest.

Julie stared at him. “Not sure, Country Club. But I agreed to answer your nosy question, so don’t sweat it. And just to finish it, James remains Chairman in name. He attends one meeting a year. He signs the annual report. His parents have no say because the minute he turned eighteen they let him have access to his trust fund. The fund bought me my condo and my car. But otherwise, I pay my own way. Thanks to the profits I earn at his – at our – company. His mother tolerates me because I make sure she gets a healthy monthly dividend. Weird. But there it is.”

“So… you
are
legally married?” Evan’s eyes darkened in an odd way, triggering a different response in her. One that made her want to do really embarrassing things with him, right there in the empty bar.

“Yes, I am. I don’t wear a ring, obviously. But on paper… I am Mrs. James Dawson. It works for us… so far. Once it becomes legal for him to marry Grant, who knows?”

“But… you haven’t… I mean, it’s been, what, five years or so since he… left?”

“No, three. And no, I haven’t. I’ve been too busy trying to make a fucking living for myself running a giant distribution company.” Anger flooded her brain at Evan’s seeming small-minded focus on one stupid detail. She grabbed her purse from the chair and stared him down. “So, enough of my personal true confessions. Here is the deal. I’m interested in you.” She blushed at his grin. “Not you, you over eager asshole – your company, your brewery. But not enough to jump in just yet. Will you give me limited rights to a few accounts, let me see if I can get some of my hungrier sales guys to push it, focus on it, and get some traction? I won’t demand exclusive rights. I don’t believe in that shit. It only hurts breweries, and when breweries hurt, my bottom line suffers.”

“Wow.” Evan took a step back, his face blank. “Um, sure. I think.”

“Great.” She took a breath, tried to regain some equilibrium. “Thanks for listening,” she smiled at him, “Country Club.”

He grinned back, and her heart nearly pounded out of her chest. She turned away and walked towards the Tap Room front door. She had to get the hell out before she threw herself in his arms and told him… everything… all of it. Because suddenly that was exactly what she wanted to do. The need to confess how she’d manhandled and manipulated James into their current bizarre circumstance was so strong she stopped, nearly turned and spilled it all. He put a hand on her arm, his eyes making her choke back the urge to gasp at his touch.

“Anytime. I mean it.”

She cursed her way back to the office, the forty-five-minute ride giving her plenty of time to remind herself she had said too much, revealed too many private details while not telling him the truth. It would only bite her in the ass ultimately when he turned into just another jerk. Men were not her friends and never would be. Pretending this one was somehow different was a recipe for disaster. No matter that he was so comforting, so… absolutely fucking
perfect
.

Chapter Twelve

“I just have to ask,” Julie said, holding the monthly sales report and staring down her nose at the chain store sales team. “Who in the hell thinks this is in any way acceptable?”

Silence met her ears. They had skidded and lost traction with some major stores, including the growing Major Organic Grocery presence in the state. Nothing pissed Julie off worse than walking into a major retail chain and taking stock of the beer cooler only to find her brands shoved to the bottom and giant display stacks of beer she did not represent littering the endcaps. The Michigan craft beer boom was in full swing. And while she had a firm grip on the big dogs, small-timers were popping up all over the place, Big House Brewing being one that was creating a fair bit of low-level buzz, now that they were on her radar.

She put the paper down on the table, flipped on the laptop, and worked her way through the steady decline of shelf and floor space she’d been tracking for all their brands. “Complacency,” she said, turning and removing her glasses, “will not be tolerated. I do not employ ‘order takers’ at Dawson. You people are trained sales professionals. Anyone who wants to sit back and collect a fucking paycheck should get up and walk out. Now.” She met every set of eyes. “Well? What are you waiting for?”

No one moved an inch. She smiled. “Good. Now, let’s talk about how we’re gonna fix this.” The next hour was spent doing positive brainstorming and planning, and by the time she ended the meeting she felt good about the result. Collecting her laptop and notes, she listened as the staff bantered, laughed, and talked about upcoming events. A sudden strange sensation of loneliness nearly forced her back into her seat. But she smiled at everyone in the room and no one in particular, then walked out, leaving them to chatter, gossip, whatever they did when she wasn’t around.

“Julie.” Paul leapt up when she rounded the corner to her office. “Someone is here to see you.”

She shot him a look. He knew damn good and well she had no time for surprises. There was a distributor summit in two days and she had to give the keynote address. She needed to write the damn thing and study the stats about the growing craft beer market share they were all scrambling to get in on – the market she had discovered early and was struggling to hold on to.

She still had not decided what to do about Big House or her strong feelings about its owner. Nearly a week had passed since her little tour and confession time, and the distance had given her some perspective. And a fair bit of wild sexual fantasy.

She sensed every blood vessel in her face flush and turned away from her assistant. She could not square the nearly irresistible urge to call, reach out, email, text, hell, just drop in at his house or condo or whatever and… talk… then let him do whatever he wanted to do with her. In her entire life, Julie had never had such urges. They were irritating, distracting, and made her have to haul out one of the vibrators James and Grant had given her, back when they were still pretending James was her husband.

“Tell them they have to make an appointment,” she said, shoving open her door, pissed it was closed in the first place. God, she was on edge. Something had to give. But she was not about to admit the raw, wild sex she dreamed about with one Evan “Country Club” Adams was the answer. No fucking way. She started to speak, to order Paul to bring her the stats she’d been gathering for her speech. The sight of Evan sprawled on the couch in her office, reading a beverage industry magazine as if his life depended on it, made her suppress a smile.

He looked up at her and put his hand on something at his feet.

She tried to keep her voice calm when she spoke. “Seriously? A picnic? Are you that much of a sad romantic?”

“Sad? No.” He got to his feet. He was dressed like any other man, in a pair of jeans and a blue button-down shirt with a small brewery emblem over the pocket. But he wore it better than anyone she could conjure at that moment. “Romantic? Not so much. Eager to see you again? Without a doubt. Shall we?”

She tried to resist but, as she would come to learn soon enough, it was futile. So she put her laptop on the desk and told Paul she was going out “for lunch” as she ignored his knowing smile and nod to the man with the very warm, possessive, and inappropriate hand on the small of her back.

* * * *

Evan drove a little like a deranged maniac, but Julie was too busy admiring the sexy lines of the classic E-type Jag to pay much attention. She had a lead foot herself and had been accused more than once of having a death wish on Interstate 696 between downtown and her office building.

They ended up in some random park, close to Ann Arbor. He pulled the basket out of the boot, and a six-pack of beer. “Please spare me the hard sell again.” She sighed as he handed her the blanket to spread out.

“No, today is just about enjoying the last decent weather before winter.”

The early November had gotten abnormally warm, allowing them to sit outside wearing light jackets, blinking in the sunlight. He pulled out some food, but she was suddenly not hungry. She sat, awkward in her tight skirt and jacket, watching him fuss around with the set-up. Finally, he leaned back on one elbow, slipped his shoes off, and chose a piece of cheese and a strawberry from the array of choices he’d brought. He lifted them to her as if saluting, then ate them.

Julie was mesmerized by his face, the line of his jaw, the way his throat flexed as he swallowed. She had to look away, plucking at her skirt, unable to figure out what to do with her feet, or hands, or eyes. The old sensation of being the one awkward girl at the party filled her brain, pissing her off.

The distinct sound of a beer bottle being opened made her look around again. He smiled and held the Big House Brewing-labeled bottle out to her. She frowned at him. He waggled it. “Come on, you know you want some.”

“Maybe. But not sure if I want it from you.” She grabbed it, feeling a tad like Gollum with his “precious” as she cradled it close and ignored him as best she could. He shrugged, opened his own bottle and knocked back half of it, smacking his lips and holding it up to the sunlight.

“Now that is perfect. Here, try some with this.” He handed her what looked to be a lump of white non-descript cheese. She took it.

“I try not to eat dairy. Or drink before five, thanks.” She held the cheese and the beer, trying to summon a superior look.

His goofy smile made her want to smack him – or kiss him. But the damn thing was as contagious as always and the corners of her mouth kept trying to turn up. Finally she huffed, leaned back against a tree, and popped the cheese in her mouth, then sipped the beer. The explosion of rich chocolate nearly made her fall over.

“Wow!” She held out her hand for another piece and repeated the process.

“That is good,” she said, without meeting his eyes.

“You are the most uptight woman I’ve ever seen.” His soft voice belied the harsh statement. “I mean, really, Julie, we are having a picnic, just friends sharing some great beer and snacks, and you’re sitting there like there’s a flagpole up your ass. Relax, Boss Lady, for real.”

She blinked, then burst out laughing and couldn’t stop. Tears streamed down her face, and she nearly choked by the time she got herself back under control. He just lay there watching her sipping and eating as if observing a nature documentary: The Uptight Female Executive Out Of Her Element. Of course, nature shows always ended up being about animal sex. She flushed red at the thought. He handed her a napkin so she could wipe her face.