Clayton (Bourbon & Blood Book 2) Read Online Free
Author: Seraphina Donavan
going to be the death of you.”
My hands are in my hair again, this time pressing at my temples where the headache is building from a dull roar to an agonizing scream. “As much of a shit as Samuel's been to us, fucking people over isn't restricted to family. I'm digging, Mia, digging up every bit of dirt and filth on him I can... you can't do that without getting a little dirty yourself.”
“What have you done?” There’s fear in her voice, worry for me and for everyone else.
“Nothing that I can’t come back from. Not yet, anyway,” I tell her. It isn’t completely true, but if it will ease her mind, so be it.
“This isn’t good for you.” There are tears in her eyes. Mia, in spite of her stoic resolve and her usually calm demeanor, is a softie on the inside. She’s got a tender heart. I know, because I watched our father break it.
“No, but he isn’t good for anyone. And if I can build a life here, for all of us, that he doesn’t get to taint with his presence, it’s worth the cost… So just be smart. Be discreet. And let me handle Samuel when the time comes.”
Mia doesn’t say anything else. She just stands there looking at me quietly for a moment before turning and heading out the door, presumably to her own office.
The rest of day goes by in a blur. I finish up payroll, handle some complaints from distributors because they don’t have the product they need.
Bourbon production cannot be rushed. The four year mark is a guideline, not a hard and fast date. The barrels aren’t ready yet. Maybe another month, maybe another four, but I can’t say. It’s simply done when it’s done, and if they don’t want to wait for it, then we’ll just find new distributors.
I leave the office and drive to the elementary school to wait in the purgatory that is the pick up line. There’s another car beside me, and I know the woman behind the wheel. She’s recently divorced and I can feel her eyes on me while I sit there, trapped.
She rolls down her window. “Clayton Darcy, is that you?”
Fuck. I roll down my own window. “Hello, Gina. How are you?”
She smiles flirtatiously. “You ought to come over sometime and I’ll show you.”
That is never going to happen. “It was good talking to you, Gina. I’d prefer to keep out conversation and our interactions G-rated, if possible.”
She huffs out a breath, clearly insulted. “It’s your loss.”
“I’m sure it is. Have a good evening.” And that is why I hate to pick up Emma Grace at school. Every single, almost single, and unhappily married woman in Fontaine is looking at me like a fat kid looks at cake. I’m not stupid enough to think it’s because I’m that hot. In this town, the name Darcy equals money, at least to people who don’t realize we’re all teetering on the edge of bankruptcy. And since Annalee cut me loose, they’re looking at me as a reasonably attractive meal ticket.
The line moves steadily forward. I’m close enough to the front door now that I can see Emma Grace. My heart melts. That’s the only way to describe it. Every time I look at her, it just gets me. She’s wearing a pink dress and a white sweater and the ugliest fucking cowboy boots I’ve ever seen.
I can picture her and Annalee fighting over those boots in the morning. Emma Grace usually wins out just by sheer force of will and the overwhelming use of the word why . People underestimate the power of the word until they’re dealing with a stubborn child. Then it takes on a whole new meaning.
She runs forward, ignoring the teachers telling her not to, and opens the car door.
“Daddy, I don’t like boys,” she says as she climbs into the backseat and buckles herself in.
“Boys in general, or a boy in particular?” I don’t really care. I just pray for a few more years of reprieve. The thought of some god-awful, horny ass, disgusting teenage boy ever looking at her makes me want to increase the size of my gun collection.
“Most boys. Some are
My hands are in my hair again, this time pressing at my temples where the headache is building from a dull roar to an agonizing scream. “As much of a shit as Samuel's been to us, fucking people over isn't restricted to family. I'm digging, Mia, digging up every bit of dirt and filth on him I can... you can't do that without getting a little dirty yourself.”
“What have you done?” There’s fear in her voice, worry for me and for everyone else.
“Nothing that I can’t come back from. Not yet, anyway,” I tell her. It isn’t completely true, but if it will ease her mind, so be it.
“This isn’t good for you.” There are tears in her eyes. Mia, in spite of her stoic resolve and her usually calm demeanor, is a softie on the inside. She’s got a tender heart. I know, because I watched our father break it.
“No, but he isn’t good for anyone. And if I can build a life here, for all of us, that he doesn’t get to taint with his presence, it’s worth the cost… So just be smart. Be discreet. And let me handle Samuel when the time comes.”
Mia doesn’t say anything else. She just stands there looking at me quietly for a moment before turning and heading out the door, presumably to her own office.
The rest of day goes by in a blur. I finish up payroll, handle some complaints from distributors because they don’t have the product they need.
Bourbon production cannot be rushed. The four year mark is a guideline, not a hard and fast date. The barrels aren’t ready yet. Maybe another month, maybe another four, but I can’t say. It’s simply done when it’s done, and if they don’t want to wait for it, then we’ll just find new distributors.
I leave the office and drive to the elementary school to wait in the purgatory that is the pick up line. There’s another car beside me, and I know the woman behind the wheel. She’s recently divorced and I can feel her eyes on me while I sit there, trapped.
She rolls down her window. “Clayton Darcy, is that you?”
Fuck. I roll down my own window. “Hello, Gina. How are you?”
She smiles flirtatiously. “You ought to come over sometime and I’ll show you.”
That is never going to happen. “It was good talking to you, Gina. I’d prefer to keep out conversation and our interactions G-rated, if possible.”
She huffs out a breath, clearly insulted. “It’s your loss.”
“I’m sure it is. Have a good evening.” And that is why I hate to pick up Emma Grace at school. Every single, almost single, and unhappily married woman in Fontaine is looking at me like a fat kid looks at cake. I’m not stupid enough to think it’s because I’m that hot. In this town, the name Darcy equals money, at least to people who don’t realize we’re all teetering on the edge of bankruptcy. And since Annalee cut me loose, they’re looking at me as a reasonably attractive meal ticket.
The line moves steadily forward. I’m close enough to the front door now that I can see Emma Grace. My heart melts. That’s the only way to describe it. Every time I look at her, it just gets me. She’s wearing a pink dress and a white sweater and the ugliest fucking cowboy boots I’ve ever seen.
I can picture her and Annalee fighting over those boots in the morning. Emma Grace usually wins out just by sheer force of will and the overwhelming use of the word why . People underestimate the power of the word until they’re dealing with a stubborn child. Then it takes on a whole new meaning.
She runs forward, ignoring the teachers telling her not to, and opens the car door.
“Daddy, I don’t like boys,” she says as she climbs into the backseat and buckles herself in.
“Boys in general, or a boy in particular?” I don’t really care. I just pray for a few more years of reprieve. The thought of some god-awful, horny ass, disgusting teenage boy ever looking at her makes me want to increase the size of my gun collection.
“Most boys. Some are
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