The Guy Next Door (21 page)

E
RIC
D
ONOVAN DIDN’T
often fantasize about strangling his younger brother. But this time, Jamie had outdone himself, and Eric was glad his brother wasn’t within arm’s reach.

The roar of the convention hall assaulted Eric’s ears, the noise ratcheting his tension to a whole new level as he handed out samples of Donovan Brothers beer to the crowds. Their booth was one of the most popular at the Boulder Business Expo, which was exactly why Jamie was supposed to be handling beer duty. Jamie was the face of Donovan Brothers, after all. Eric worked behind the scenes.

When his phone buzzed in his pocket, he shoved the tray of Flatiron Amber Ale toward the reaching hands and watched half the miniglasses disappear into the feeding frenzy.

“Well?” he snapped into the phone.

“I’m sorry,” Jamie said. “I can’t track him down. I’m going to have to stay at the brewery to cover his shift.”

“Shit,” Eric growled, closing his eyes in an attempt to focus his thoughts. “Jamie, this is…less than ideal.”

“I’m sorry, man.”

“I warned you that it’s never a good idea to hire a friend. And that goes doubly for you and the kind of
slackers you hang around with. What the hell am I supposed to do now?”

“I sent Henry over. He’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“Henry is a dishwasher!”

“He can hand out samples as well as anyone else.”

Eric wiped a hand over his face and shook his head. “All right. I’ll handle it.” As usual.

“I’ll try to get—”

“Yeah, we’ll talk later.” The samples of ale were already gone. Eric snapped the phone shut and rushed to play bartender, checking the faces again to be sure they were all middle-aged. No problem there. The expo wasn’t exactly bubbling with teenagers.

Eric didn’t have his brother’s charm or easy way, but he could at least draw a few samples and get them out to the crowds. Unfortunately, he couldn’t hand out samples
and
strike a new distribution deal at the same time. Given the choice, he would’ve pulled out of this local conference altogether rather than miss the chance to negotiate with the owner of High West Air.

The airline was based in Denver and designed to compete with the newer, high-quality airlines. High West offered more legroom, no luggage fees and warm brownies on every flight. And Eric was
this
close to closing a deal to make Donovan Bothers Brewery the only beer on the menu. High West wanted something hipper than a big name brand, and Eric was determined to fill that need. It was a perfect partnership, but the owner of the airline was an arrogant pain in the ass and took pride in never being available for a meeting.

This time, Eric had him cornered. Roland Ken dall was at the expo, and Eric was going to nail him down.

Fifteen minutes later, he saw Henry hurrying toward
the booth, and he felt his blood pressure drop a notch or two. This day could still be salvaged from the ruins, regardless of Jamie’s screwup. Henry, thankfully, had been outfitted in a brand-new Donovan Brothers polo shirt, so he looked almost like an actual bartender. He also looked closer to seventeen than twenty-one, so Eric could only pray the kid had brought his ID in case the authorities stopped by.

“Mr. Donovan,” he panted. “Jamie said—”

“Can you draw a beer?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Okay, keep the samples going out. Be polite. Smile. Ask for ID if anyone looks under thirty-five. And direct any questions to me. All right?”

“Sure. No problem.”

Keeping one eye on Henry to be sure he could handle the task, Eric pulled out his phone and placed a call to Roland Kendall. “Yeah?” a harsh voice answered.

“Mr. Kendall, this is Eric Donovan. I’m hoping to take you to lunch today.”

The man grunted in response. He was a grouch, no question about it, and he loved being the one with the upper hand. “I can’t do lunch,” he barked. “I’m getting together with a supplier.” A
real
supplier, he meant. Eric ground his teeth together, hard. He’d been working this bastard for six months. “Dinner then?”

“Not tonight.”

He tempered his voice, hoping to hide his frustration. “How about tomorrow? Mr. Kendall, you know how determined I am to secure this contract. Give me one chance to tell you what we have to offer.”

Another grunt. Eric rolled his eyes.

“We’ll talk tomorrow,” Kendall said just before the line went dead.

Christ, this guy was killing him. The bastard clearly wanted Eric to do a little more begging. Fine. He was strong enough to handle that if it meant taking the brewery to the next level. Getting his beer into the hands of national travelers would create new demand for the product. And new demand meant new territory.

He snapped the phone shut and rubbed his forehead.

“Mr. Donovan?” Henry called.

Eric took a deep breath. When he looked up, he saw that Henry was scrambling with the glasses but still keeping up. Then Henry tipped his head toward the far edge of the table, and Eric saw a familiar face and found himself smiling for real.

“Donovan!” Andrés Villanueva called with a wave. He was the top chef in Boulder and had just opened another restaurant that the critics were going nuts for. Eric grabbed two samples and headed over.

“Congratulations on all the buzz,” he said, handing Andrés a glass. They clicked glasses and downed the ale, and Eric felt marginally more relaxed as the bitter coolness soothed his nerves.

“Hey, we got your new summer wheat on tap,” Andrés said. “Really nice. A little hoppier than last year’s. I like it. Give my compliments to your brewmaster.”

“I will, thanks.”

“We’re having a tasting dinner tonight in the Evergreen suite. Come by. Seven o’clock.”

“I hope you’re serious, because I haven’t managed to sit down to one of your meals in months.”

“Absolutely. Bring Jamie, too.”

“He’s covering the bar today.”

“Damn,” Andrés said with a grin. “I was hoping he’d bring a beautiful date I could steal out from under his nose. I swear to God, I almost succeeded with that blonde he brought in last fall.”

Eric could only laugh, because he’d be damned if he could figure out which blonde it might’ve been. “I’ll see you at seven.”

By the time Andrés moved on to the next booth, Eric’s mood was considerably lighter. He wanted to get out from behind the table and mix it up himself, but until his brother got the staffing mess straightened out back at the brewery, Eric was going to be stuck here. He’d better make the most of it.

The brewery was in a unique position. Sure, they needed all the friends he could garner in the food and beverage industry in Colorado, but contacts outside the industry were important too. Donovan Brothers wasn’t a restaurant-style business. It was strictly the brewery and tasting room. So to keep their name in the public eye, they sponsored marathons and charity events. They threw parties at the finish line of bike races and worked with up-and-coming art galleries on openings. Eric had worked damn hard to saturate the Colorado market of restaurants and bars, and now it was time to expand.

He worked the crowd until the lunchtime lull then stepped back to return a call from his glassware supplier. Halfway through the conversation, he caught sight of a woman a few booths down. She wore a straight brown skirt that stopped at a respectable length, just a millimeter below her knees, but the fabric cradled her tight ass like a glove. His words slowed to a stop.

“Eric?” the salesman prompted.

“Right. Sorry. Yeah, Wednesday will be fine. I’ll see you then.” He disconnected, his eyes still locked on the brunette as she laughed and shook her head at a man visiting her table. Her dark hair was pinned up in some sort of professional-looking twist, and she wore a white button-down blouse with her brown skirt. Totally conservative, yet something about her radiated sensuality. Maybe it was the small waist offset by that round little ass. Maybe it was the long neck. Or maybe it was the pair of four-inch dark green heels he glimpsed when she walked to the far end of her booth.

Yeah. It was definitely the heels.

Eric cleared his throat and got busy unpacking more of the souvenir glasses. He stacked them within easy reach of the tap, gathered up the used glasses people had left behind and stowed them in the empty box. Then he glanced toward the other booth again. This time, she was on the phone, looking serious now, nibbling on a fingernail while she listened. Eric watched as her lips closed over the tip of one finger before she shook her head and started talking. He knew he was only imagining the tiny glint of wetness on her nail, but he narrowed his eyes anyway.

She probably wasn’t as sexy as he thought she was. He was just stressed. And she had a sweet face that seemed a warning against thinking dirty thoughts. He spared one more look for her curves then put his head down and finished packing. But when he stood and hoisted the box to his shoulder, his eyes swept by her again, and he realized she was watching.

His double take was less than subtle. There was no covering it up. Her eyes slid away, but they touched on
him again a second later. Her lips quirked in the briefest of smiles.

With the box on his shoulder, Eric couldn’t just stand there staring, so he turned and walked out of the booth, his head buzzing with awareness. He couldn’t quite tell her age—somewhere between twenty-five and thirty-five, maybe. Old enough that she wasn’t just some pretty face hired to be a marketing bunny.

“I’ll be back in five,” he called to Henry before heading toward the loading area. He didn’t need to walk by her booth, but on the return trip, loaded down with a box of clean glassware, Eric took the long way around, just out of curiosity. He was still fifty feet away when it became clear the woman was no longer at her station.

He was in the middle of a mental shrug when the booth branding became visible. The stylized letters of the sign became words. The words registered in his brain and took on meaning. Eric’s mental shrug became a psychic flailing.

Ho-ly
shit
.

No wonder she oozed sensuality. The woman worked for a sex shop. Oh, the sign said “erotic boutique,” but a sex shop by any other name was…

Good God.

His pulse sped as he walked by, trying not to stare. But that was probably conspicuous as hell. Every other red-blooded man in the vicinity was staring.

The White Orchid. Hell, even the name was sexy-class, just like the woman. He knew of the place, of course. It was infamous and only a half mile away from the brewery. He’d never been inside, but the art deco-style building appeared completely benign, offering no hint at the naughty wares sold inside. The displays
in the large windows were tasteful. High-heeled boots and cute little hats, not a sex toy to be seen. Not in the window, anyway.

Eric’s heart pounded as if a bullet had just zipped past his ear, but as he slipped back into the comfort of his safe, unsexy booth, he wasn’t sure why. Had his pulse picked up because he’d just avoided a bullet? Or because he’d come so close to an amazing explosion?

Whatever the reason, he kept his eyes straight ahead for the next half hour. Still, his brain spun to a blur with thoughts of what a woman like her might be like if someone got a chance to get close to her.

“B
ETH
,” C
AIRO GROANED
, “I can’t take another minute here with these people. It’s geek city.”

Beth Cantrell nodded as if she understood, but she was occupied with staring at the hunky geek serving beer a few stalls over. She’d taken her lunch when he’d disappeared earlier, hoping she might accidentally run into him in the hall, but no such luck. She was back now though, and enjoying the show.

“Actually, you know what?” Cairo said. “They’re not geeks. Geeks can be hot. These guys are just…dweebs. Preppy dweebs.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Beth agreed. Preppy dweebs were the horror of her friends’ existence, but they were Beth’s secret, shameful craving. A secret she’d carry to her grave. All the women in her world dated edgy guys. Men with tattoos and piercings. Men who lived alternative lifestyles that matched up perfectly with the alternative girls who worked at The White Orchid. Unfortunately, Beth’s image was a bit like a mirage in a desolate sexual desert.

She eyed the dark-haired guy in the blue polo shirt again. She’d caught him looking a couple of times.…

Cairo gave a long-suffering sigh. “I told you this was a stupid idea, Beth. A
business
convention? We don’t belong here.”

That snapped her out of her distraction. “Excuse me? We’re a legitimate, profitable local business. How do we not belong at the business expo? I’ve already arranged a meeting with that cute little slipper company—”

“Oh, right. The kitten heels!”

“And I’m very interested in the tea shop. The owner says there are several tea blends that are supposed to enhance female sexual experience, and she’d love to have a feature in the store. Next winter, we could do a front table with the teas and those white-fur panties. I think we still have that Russian fur cap…” That would be spectacular, now that she thought of it. A mannequin wearing faux-fur bikini bottoms, a little bustier top and the Russian hat, standing next to a table with an array of female aphrodisiac teas. Not with the kitten-heeled slippers, though. Furry snow boots would be perfect. Maybe they could even prop a little teacup in the mannequin’s hand…

“Cairo,” she said, “do you want to try out one of the teas?”

“Sure, but maybe you should try it instead. When was the last time you had any action?”

No way was Beth going to reveal that answer. “The point is not to torture anyone. I want to know if the teas really increase blood flow to the sex organs. And if they work, you have the perfect outlet—or two—to help alleviate the effects.”

Cairo grinned, her gorgeous face brightening to
nuclear levels of pretty. No wonder she had two boyfriends. Two edgy, energetic boyfriends who were happy to entertain Cairo at the same time if that was what she was in the mood for. And she usually was.

Beth was thrilled for Cairo, and a tiny bit envious, but in all honesty, the idea of sleeping with two guys left Beth shaky with anxiety. Still, she hid her nervous thoughts behind a smile. “So will you try the tea?”