lied and dragged the brewery into an international fraud investigation.
“Crap,” she muttered.
She wanted nothing to do with any of this. She certainly didn’t want to talk to Eric again. But now she had information that might affect a police investigation.
“Crap.” She had no choice.
Beth picked up the phone, but she didn’t call the police. She called the brewery instead. Eric wasn’t in, so she asked for his voice mail, even as she wondered if a brewery would have a voice mail system. Somehow, she pictured messages being written down on napkins, but then the phone clicked and Eric’s voice was in her ear.
Beth closed her eyes at the sound. His voice was gruff and deep and sexy, and she was abruptly taken back to Saturday night and her fantasies about him.
Silence rang in her ear and she realized she’d already heard the beep. “Oh, hi. Eric. This is Beth. Cantrell. I wanted to talk to you about something. Um…could you give me a call?” She left her cell number and hung up, accidentally clattering the phone hard against the receiver.
Cringing, she waited. And waited. Ten minutes later, she made herself get back to work. An hour later she told herself to stop worrying. And by the end of the day, she’d put him from her mind. If he never wanted to talk to her again, so be it. Good riddance to bad rubbish. She’d only been trying to help.
CHAPTER EIGHT
E RIC HADN’T PLANNED ON setting foot in the brewery until Tuesday. He’d worked from home instead, making calls and booking hotels for the winter beer fest in Phoenix in November. He didn’t want to talk to his family, and when Tessa finally called, he let it go to voice mail. But by the end of the day, he was pacing the small dimensions of his condo, desperate to get behind his desk and do the last few things on his schedule that he couldn’t do from home.
By six-thirty, he’d decided it was safe. Tessa was likely long gone, and if Jamie was still there, he’d be in the front room. Eric could sneak in, shut his door and work for another hour or two before heading back home.
When he saw neither Tessa’s nor Jamie’s car in the lot, Eric breathed a sigh of relief. Monday was a fairly quiet evening, so they’d left the barroom in the capable hands of Chester, who’d recently been promoted to supervisor to let Jamie spend more time on the restaurant plans.
Eric walked in without worrying he’d run into a family member he owed an apology to, and sat behind his desk with a grim smile. He had fifteen voice mails, but he knew from experience to leave those until he was done with his current worries.
He sank into his work, the only place he could manage to lose himself, and was surprised to look up an hour later and realize how much time had passed. Once he’d sent the last graphics file he owed the ad agency, he picked up his phone and jotted down messages. Distributors, the glass company, a follow-up question from the liquor board. He was in auto mode halfway through, but then a message took him by surprise. A big surprise. Eric wrote down Beth’s number and hung up the phone, his heart suddenly speeding.
What did she want? And why had there been so much tension in her voice?
He’d assumed he’d never see her again, and the sudden shift of expectations made his pulse surge. He grabbed the phone and started to dial the number, but stopped before he got past the area code.
It was nearly eight o’clock. He was done here. Why call her when he could use this as an excuse to see her?
“Because you don’t want to see her,” he told himself even as he hung up the phone. And it was true to an extent. He didn’t want to see her, but maybe he needed to. Because every hint of the weariness that had dogged him all day had vanished at the possibility.
She was wrong for him. She hated him. Yet she made him feel alive.
That had to be a tale as old as time, but here he was telling it again. And here he was shutting down his computer and
“Crap,” she muttered.
She wanted nothing to do with any of this. She certainly didn’t want to talk to Eric again. But now she had information that might affect a police investigation.
“Crap.” She had no choice.
Beth picked up the phone, but she didn’t call the police. She called the brewery instead. Eric wasn’t in, so she asked for his voice mail, even as she wondered if a brewery would have a voice mail system. Somehow, she pictured messages being written down on napkins, but then the phone clicked and Eric’s voice was in her ear.
Beth closed her eyes at the sound. His voice was gruff and deep and sexy, and she was abruptly taken back to Saturday night and her fantasies about him.
Silence rang in her ear and she realized she’d already heard the beep. “Oh, hi. Eric. This is Beth. Cantrell. I wanted to talk to you about something. Um…could you give me a call?” She left her cell number and hung up, accidentally clattering the phone hard against the receiver.
Cringing, she waited. And waited. Ten minutes later, she made herself get back to work. An hour later she told herself to stop worrying. And by the end of the day, she’d put him from her mind. If he never wanted to talk to her again, so be it. Good riddance to bad rubbish. She’d only been trying to help.
CHAPTER EIGHT
E RIC HADN’T PLANNED ON setting foot in the brewery until Tuesday. He’d worked from home instead, making calls and booking hotels for the winter beer fest in Phoenix in November. He didn’t want to talk to his family, and when Tessa finally called, he let it go to voice mail. But by the end of the day, he was pacing the small dimensions of his condo, desperate to get behind his desk and do the last few things on his schedule that he couldn’t do from home.
By six-thirty, he’d decided it was safe. Tessa was likely long gone, and if Jamie was still there, he’d be in the front room. Eric could sneak in, shut his door and work for another hour or two before heading back home.
When he saw neither Tessa’s nor Jamie’s car in the lot, Eric breathed a sigh of relief. Monday was a fairly quiet evening, so they’d left the barroom in the capable hands of Chester, who’d recently been promoted to supervisor to let Jamie spend more time on the restaurant plans.
Eric walked in without worrying he’d run into a family member he owed an apology to, and sat behind his desk with a grim smile. He had fifteen voice mails, but he knew from experience to leave those until he was done with his current worries.
He sank into his work, the only place he could manage to lose himself, and was surprised to look up an hour later and realize how much time had passed. Once he’d sent the last graphics file he owed the ad agency, he picked up his phone and jotted down messages. Distributors, the glass company, a follow-up question from the liquor board. He was in auto mode halfway through, but then a message took him by surprise. A big surprise. Eric wrote down Beth’s number and hung up the phone, his heart suddenly speeding.
What did she want? And why had there been so much tension in her voice?
He’d assumed he’d never see her again, and the sudden shift of expectations made his pulse surge. He grabbed the phone and started to dial the number, but stopped before he got past the area code.
It was nearly eight o’clock. He was done here. Why call her when he could use this as an excuse to see her?
“Because you don’t want to see her,” he told himself even as he hung up the phone. And it was true to an extent. He didn’t want to see her, but maybe he needed to. Because every hint of the weariness that had dogged him all day had vanished at the possibility.
She was wrong for him. She hated him. Yet she made him feel alive.
That had to be a tale as old as time, but here he was telling it again. And here he was shutting down his computer and
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