A Reunion of Rivals
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Reese Ryan
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18.4K
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22
HarlequinOne
Max Abbott had a king-size headache and a serious case of jet lag. After spending seven days in Vegas on a business trip that ended with the three-day-long bachelor party of a college friend, he was grateful to be back in Magnolia Lake—his small Tennessee hometown nestled in the Smoky Mountains.
He’d drunk way too much and slept far too little. And this morning, his thirtysomething body was clearly protesting his twentysomething antics over the weekend.
Max was the marketing VP of King’s Finest, his family’s world-renowned distillery. So he usually made a point of arriving in the office ahead of his team. But today he was so exhausted he could barely see straight. If it hadn’t been for his father—Duke Abbott, the company CEO—calling an emergency meeting this morning, he would’ve stayed home and slept it off.
Instead, he lumbered into the office still wearing his Saint Laurent shades at ten thirty—half an hour before the scheduled meeting. Just enough time to check in with his assistant.
“Good morning, chief.” Molly Halloran glanced up from typing furiously on her keyboard.
He removed his shades, squinting at the light pouring in from the nearby windows.
“Sheesh!” she exclaimed in a voice reminiscent of Lucille Ball’s in I Love Lucy. “Must’ve been some weekend.”
“It was.” Max parked his butt in the chair in front of Molly’s desk, not willing to expend the additional energy to take the dozen or so steps to his office. “And good morning to you, too, sunshine.”
“Can I get you some coffee? You’re going to need it if you don’t want to look like the stiff in Weekend at Bernie’s the rest of the day.” She bounced out of her seat and moved toward the coffeemaker before he’d even grunted his response.
Molly’s brutal honesty was one of the reasons he valued her so much. And if it caught him in the chin with a right hook every now and again, so be it.
He pulled out his phone and checked his text messages and email to see if anything pressing required his attention.
There was nothing that couldn’t wait until he was fully conscious, which, at this rate, might be in a day or two.
Max thanked Molly when she handed him a black mug engraved with the white King’s Finest Distillery logo. He set his phone on her desk and wrapped his hands around the warm cup, inhaled the fragrant black liquid and took his first sip of coffee of the day. He released a small, contented sigh, his eyes drifting closed momentarily.
“We’ve got twenty minutes to go over everything.” She tapped on the fitness wearable on her wrist. “That takes into account the five minutes you’ll need to walk to the conference room.”
Brutally honest and extremely efficient.
“Fine.” He took another swig of coffee, set his mug down and opened the notes app on his phone. “Shoot.”
“Your father is being tight-lipped about this meeting.” She lowered her voice, her blue-gray eyes shifting away from him. “But last week, while you were gone, he asked me and Emily to compile everything you and Zora had on your proposal to add fruit brandies to the KFD lineup.”
That woke him up more than the bulletproof coffee had.
Three years ago, his grandfather, Joseph Abbott, the founder of King’s Finest Distillery, had proposed that the company begin making fruit brandy. His father had been opposed. In a compromise, they’d spent a small mint to set up separate stills and bring in a brandy distiller. The company began experimenting with making small batches of fruit brandy, using the excess, overly ripe fruit supplied by his grandfather’s best friend, who owned an orchard just outside of Knoxville.
The brandy they’d produced was damn good. So for the past two years, Max and his sister, Zora, the company’s VP of sales, had been trying to convince their father to move forward with bringing a KFD brandy to market.
His father agreed that the quality was outstanding. Still, he hadn’t been ready to commit to expanding the company’s basic product line beyond the limited-edition moonshines they’d rolled out in honor of the company’s jubilee three years ago.
He would pick the day I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck to discuss this.
“Print me a copy of everything you have on—”
Molly shoved a binder with colored tabs in his direction. “That’s everything. Oh, and I took the liberty of updating the projected sales numbers. I also created a quick summary of the key selling points. It’s on page one.”
Note to self: get Molly that limited edition Star Wars electric pressure cooker she’s been eyeing for her birthday.
She finished briefing him on the materials, then urged him in the direction of the conference room, armed with a fresh cup of coffee, promptly at five minutes to eleven,.
At least now he more closely resembled a fully functioning human being.
Max entered the room and slid into his usual chair beside Zora.
“Glad you could join us,” his sister whispered, elbowing him in the ribs. “I thought we might need to send someone to revive you.”
“Ha-ha.” He didn’t look in his sister’s direction. Instead, he focused on the older man seated on the other side of the table whose snow-white hair and beard contrasted his dark brown skin. “Good morning, Mr. Bazemore.”
“Morning, Max.” A wide smile spread across Dixon Bazemore’s face as they both rose to their feet and shook hands. The old man had been the owner of Bazemore Orchards longer than Max had been alive. “Good to see you, young man.”
“You, too, Mr. B.” Molly’s instincts about the reason for the meeting had been right. Why else would Dixon Bazemore be here? Still, he asked, “What brings you to see us today?”
“We’ll go over everything during the meeting,” Max’s father interjected. “We’re waiting for one more person.”
Max glanced around the table. All of the members of the executive committee were present. His grandfather and father. His brothers Blake and Parker, the operations VP and CFO, respectively. Blake’s wife, Savannah—the company’s events manager. Zora, him and his father’s admin, Lianna, who was there to take notes.
“Who are we—”
“I’m sorry. I got a little turned around finding my way back here from the parking lot. But I’ve got your portfolio, Grandad.”
Max snapped his attention in the direction of the familiar voice. He hadn’t heard it in more than a decade, but he would never, ever forget it. His mouth went dry, and his heart thudded so loudly he was sure his sister could hear it.
“Peaches?” He scanned the brown eyes that stared back at him through narrowed slits.
“Quinn.” She was gorgeous, despite the slightly irritated flare of her nostrils and the stiff smile that barely revealed her dimples. “Hello, Max.”
The good to see you was notably absent. But what should he expect? It was his fault they hadn’t parted on the best of terms.
Quinn settled into the empty seat beside her grandfather. She handed the old man a worn leather portfolio, then squeezed his arm. The genuine smile that lit her brown eyes and activated those killer dimples was firmly in place again.
Max had been the cause of that magnificent smile nearly every day that summer between his junior and senior years of college when he’d interned at Bazemore Orchards.
“Now that everyone is here, we can discuss the matter at hand.” His father nodded toward Lianna, and she handed out bound presentations.
“As you can see, we’re here to discuss adding fruit brandies to the King’s Finest Distillery lineup—a venture Dad, Max and Zora have been pushing for some time.” Duke nodded in their general direction. “I think the company and the market are in a good place now for us to explore the possibility.”
“Excellent.” His sister beamed. “Would this be a permanent addition to the product lineup?”
“I’ll only commit to a limited-edition trial.” Duke frowned slightly. He always did what was best for their family-owned distillery. But Zora—the youngest and the only girl in a family of four boys—was still his “princess,” and his father hated disappointing her. “But if the numbers support it, as with the special-edition moonshines we introduced a few years ago, I’m willing to discuss making the line permanent.”
“Bourbon is what we’re known for,” Parker, also known as Negative Ned, chimed in. “Won’t adding other liquors to the lineup dilute our brand?”
Parker wasn’t being argumentative. He was painstakingly methodical and questioned everything. It was the way his intricate mind worked.
Zora rolled her eyes and folded her arms, not bothering to hide her annoyance. “Pepsi sells several types of soda, water, tea, juice and energy drinks. It hasn’t damaged their reputation as a top beverage company.”
Parker thought about Zora’s words for a moment, then nodded sagely. He scribbled on the ever-present pad in front of him and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Good point. Go on.”
Duke fought back a chuckle, then continued.
Max should have been riveted by the conversation. After all, this project was one he’d been fighting for over the past thirty months. Yet, it took every ounce of self-control he could muster to keep from blatantly staring at the beautiful woman seated directly across the table from him.
Peaches. Or rather, Quinn Bazemore. Dixon Bazemore’s granddaughter. She was more gorgeous than he remembered. Her beautiful, deep brown skin looked silky and smooth.
The simple gray shift dress she wore did its best to mask her shape. Still, it was obvious her hips and breasts were fuller now than they’d been the last time he’d held her in his arms. The last time he’d seen every square inch of that shimmering brown skin.
Zora elbowed him again and he held back an audible oomph.
“What’s with you?” she whispered.
“Nothing,” he whispered back.
Maybe he wasn’t doing such a good job of masking his fascination with Quinn.
Max opened his booklet to the page his father indicated. He was thrilled that the company was ready to give their brandy initiative a try, even if it was just a test run.
He understood why Mr. Bazemore was there. His farm had been providing the fruit for the brandy and would continue to do so. But that didn’t explain the presence of his ex.
Quinn shifted in her seat beneath Max Abbott’s heated stare. She refused to glance in his direction. She wasn’t here to flirt with the handsome-as-ever Max Abbott. She’d come to King’s Finest Distillery for two reasons: to help save her grandfather’s farm and to build a case study for the consultancy she’d launch as soon as the farm was on stable ground again.
It was a venture she’d mused about as an undergrad. But she’d settled into a comfortable public relations career instead. Until six months ago, when she’d found herself out of a job and unable to work in her field within a fifty-mile radius of her home in Atlanta.
With no immediate plans, she’d packed up her condo and accepted her grandfather’s invitation to their family farm just outside of Knoxville, where she’d spent her summers as a kid.
Just until she figured out her next move.
The excitement of helping her grandfather establish important strategic partnerships revived her interest in her forgotten venture. So she’d dusted off her business plan, plugged in the holes and improved on it. Now she needed to build her portfolio while she waited out the remaining six months of the non-compete clause in her employment agreement with her former PR firm. Then she’d return to Atlanta and launch her new practice.
This proposed partnership with the world-renowned King’s Finest Distillery would be the cornerstone of her growing portfolio. So if that meant pretending not to be affected by the man who’d broken her heart and crushed it into minuscule pieces without so much as a backward glance, she’d suck it up and do just that.
If Max could behave as if that summer between them had never happened, so could she.
Duke was explaining that they would begin the venture with apple-, peach-and cherry-flavored brandies, and that all of the fruit would be sourced from Bazemore Farms.
Quinn’s heart swelled when everyone in the room applauded. She was relieved no one had objected to making her grandfather’s farm the sole source for the fruit. It was a sweet deal for the farm, which had been struggling in recent years. Partly because of a shift in the market and how difficult it had become to get solid, reliable help at a price the farm could sustainably afford. Partly because of the shady accountant who’d taken over the books after her grandmother’s death several years ago.
“This will be a co-branded product, something we’ve never done before. A partnership that was brokered by Dixon’s lovely granddaughter, Quinn.” Duke gestured toward her. “She’s here in her capacity as an executive of Bazemore Farms, but she’s also a collaboration expert. We had a fine chat last week about some of her innovative ideas for quickly getting this venture to market. Quinn.”
“Thank you, Mr. Abbott.” Quinn stood, pulling a stack of presentations from her bag. She walked around the table, placing one in front of each person as she explained how she’d created lucrative partnerships between clients in the past.
“As a rep at one of Atlanta’s most prestigious PR firms for the past eight years, I...” Quinn stammered, unsettled by the jolt of heat that surged through her when Max’s eyes met hers as she handed him a copy of the presentation.
It was her nerves, not Max Abbott, that had caused her words to come out in a jumble.
Despite the silent outrage in the widened eyes framed by thick, neat brows, the man was still devastatingly handsome. He was a little older and his shoulders were a bit broader. But he looked essentially like the boy she’d fallen in love with that one passionate summer. The last she’d spent with her grandparents before going off to college. The summer Max had been an intern, living and working on the farm.
That was more than a decade ago. Time had treated him well.
“I’ve handled sensitive public relations campaigns for some of the biggest names in fintech,” she continued.
“We already have a PR person,” Parker interrupted, shoving his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
“You have a college student who handles social media, your newsletter, and the occasional press release.” Quinn maintained her warm smile. Duke had warned her Parker would be a tough nut to crack, and that Max and Zora might be insulted by the idea of bringing her on to execute the project that had been their baby. “But a project of this magnitude requires a dedicated, experienced professional who’ll get vendors and consumers excited about the new product line. Just as Savannah did for the company’s jubilee and the associated release of limited-edition moonshines a few years ago.”
Savannah smiled approvingly, and Parker nodded in agreement, silenced for the moment.
“If you’ll turn to page five, we can quickly review a rundown of how I’m proposing to help King’s Finest and Bazemore Farms make the most of this joint venture.”
“You’re bringing in someone else to execute our proposal?” Max ignored her completely, asking the question of his father instead. “Zora and I are fully capable of—”
“Speak for yourself, big brother.” Zora turned her chair toward him before their father could respond. “I have a lot on my plate. We’ve seen a real uptick in our international sales and domestic market share in regions outside of the South since the jubilee. I’m traveling extensively over the next few months. I can’t add another thing to my to-do list right now. Neither can my team. As long as we’re consulted regularly, I’m all for bringing someone else on to do the heavy lifting.”
Quinn exhaled quietly, and her racing heart slowed in response to Zora’s encouraging nod.
“And you’ve had your hands full with the expansion of our marketing efforts,” Duke reminded him. “So it would be better to have someone wholly dedicated to the project.”
Max’s nostrils flared, and a streak of red bloomed across his forehead and cheeks. He opened his mouth to object further, but his grandfather cut him off.
“Let Quinn finish her presentation, son. Then we can discuss any concerns privately and make our final decision.” Joseph Abbott nodded in her direction. “Please continue, Quinn.”
She smiled gratefully at the older man she’d always called Grandpa Joe, then inhaled deeply, smiled broadly and put on the presentation of her life.
She’d won over Joseph and Duke Abbott, the company’s founder and CEO. Zora and Savannah were also on board. Blake, she couldn’t quite read but Parker and Max definitely required convincing. So that was what she would do.
In this room, in this moment, Max Abbott wasn’t her first love, her first real kiss, her first...everything. He was a skeptical company executive, not unlike the dozens she’d encountered before in her career.
Despite whatever else Max might be feeling toward her—curiosity, animosity, maybe even attraction—he was a sensible individual. And like every other Abbott at the table, she knew he wanted what was best for King’s Finest.
She just needed to convince him that she was the best person for the job. And convince herself that working with her ex wasn’t her worst idea ever. Her entire future was riding on it.
