Bourbon Lullaby - Signed Paperback

Bourbon Lullaby (Bourbon Canyon Book 1)

Myles Foster: CEO, thief, broody grump. And, once upon a time, the boy who read me stories when it stormed. My brothers hate him for the knowledge he took from our family’s bourbon company to start his own empire. My sisters have forgotten him. But me? I’m going to be his new assistant.

To him, I’m just a temp with a deep knowledge about the world of spirits. But if I come clean about just where I got that know-how, he’ll toss me out before I can find out what happened to the boy who calmed my fears.

How did the angry foster kid with a chip on his shoulder the size of Montana become the owner of a respected distillery? How did he get my adoptive father to show him so much of the family business, only to run away and become a huge competitor?

How could he disappear from our lives and forget me when I could never forget him?

He doesn’t trust easily, and I’m only in his office because of a lie. But if that lie will get me all the answers I’ve been craving for twenty-two years, then that’s what I’ll do, right up until the moment he finally remembers who I am. And then it’ll be my turn to disappear.

Chapter One Sneak Peak:

I didn’t notice the expansive office. My attention was centered on the man.

Broad shouldered in an ash-gray suit, he had his back to me as he stared out the window. His ink-black hair wasn’t the messy mass it had been when he was younger. Every strand had its place now.

The window faced the lot. How long had he been staring out? Had he seen me gazing back? Had he witnessed my giggle?

He looked over his shoulder, not quite seeing me. “You’re late.”

I recoiled despite the delicious things his voice did to my nerve endings. “It’s not even eight.”

Mrs. Crane jerked to look at me, her eyes flaring.

Oops. But seriously.

“Early is on time, and—”

“On time is late,” I finished, smiling. One of Daddy’s favorite mantras. Myles remembered.

“Do you make a habit of interrupting?” He finally turned, and my smart retort stuck in my throat.

The man was fine. His suit was cut perfectly, tapering from his wide shoulders to his waist. Those eyes. They hadn’t missed a thing years ago, and they were harder now. The clench of his jaw could crush diamonds. Instead of a tie, the collar of his white dress shirt was open. One button only, but enough to expose the strong column of his throat.

He was so tall that I’d be able to nibble along his neck while he—

“Ms. Kerrigan.” His voice was a whip crack.

Double shit. I wasn’t supposed to have sexual thoughts about Myles. I snapped my gaze up, meeting that flinty stare. “Sorry?” Had I missed something he said?

I leaned forward, unable to pull myself back. I looked deep into his eyes, searching for recognition. I wasn’t the little blond child who hated getting her hair brushed. My hair was long and pin-straight but pulled back into a simple twist. The bangs—a bad decision after an even worse breakup—were growing out and tucked behind one ear.

Did he know who I was? People I’d grown up with called me and my sisters the Bailey girls, but the Baileys hadn’t adopted us yet when Myles had lived with us. Would he remember my last name?

His unyielding stare remained cold. No hint of recollection. No wish for reconnection.

A spark I’d kept lit for twenty-two years sputtered out, going dark. He didn’t know me? At all?

“You didn’t answer my question.” He almost seemed amused to have startled me into silence.

This couldn’t be the same Myles who’d read me stories about a bunny with his name. I’d thought I didn’t know what I’d come here for, but that was a lie. I wanted to get to know the guy he’d grown up to be. I wanted him to remember me. I wanted to know if a scared little girl had made as much of an impression on him as he had on me.

“Ms. Kerrigan?” He enunciated each syllable.

Mrs. Crane folded her hands and tipped her head down. She was going to let him be a condescending ass to me. Was this attitude normal, or was it some kind of test? Either way, could I handle it?

I snapped my spine straight. I wasn’t leaving. This wasn’t the Myles Foster I knew, no. Mr. Foster had built Colorado’s fastest-growing independent distillery, selling award-winning small-batch whiskey in a highly saturated market before the age of forty—which he’d turned less than a month ago in June. This Mr. Foster employed over fifty people between the distillery, warehouse, and packaging plant, and none of them would sell out his information to the press. If he’d harnessed that much loyalty, then part of him was still that boy who used to read me stories. The kid who’d even sung when the book called for it. His pitch had been terribly off-key.

My sisters and I might not have changed our last name, but we were still Baileys. We’d grown up learning Bailey principles and Bailey charm. We hadn’t been taught to give up. “Sorry, Mr. Foster.” I curved my lips into a smile that always infuriated my oldest brother. “I didn’t want to interrupt.”

He narrowed his eyes.

Mrs. Crane drew in a sharp breath that made her cough. She pressed her fingers to her lips. “Oh my. Excuse me.”
Myles wasn’t distracted. He kept me in his irate tractor beam. “I find a flippant attitude doesn’t work well in this environment, Ms. Kerrigan. You may go.”

I needed a moment before his words caught up with me. “Excuse me?” I had to be wrong. I’d come so far. I’d planned this. I couldn’t leave now that I had him in front of me. He had no idea the impact he’d had on my life. Or the effect his departure had had on me.

If his eyes had been cold before, they were frigid now. The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees, and goose bumps broke out over my skin.

“You’re fired, Ms. Kerrigan.”