After hearing her story of growing up as a homeless orphan in Siberia, I could certainly understand why she’d have a particular soft spot for children. And I admired the hell out of her for it. She had no idea how much.
Then why don’t you tell her?
Just because we’d finally had sex didn’t mean we had to bare our souls to each other. Especially since it hadn’t even been a full twenty-four hours.
Admitting that we wanted each other and could no longer stay away was enough for now. There didn’t need to be any talk of feelings or emotions. Quite frankly, I wouldn’t even know how to navigate a conversation like that. Agreeing to a sexual relationship was at least an improvement on the constant feuding from before.
Although my world was certainly changed forever.
Fucking Lexi had been nothing short of transformative.
There was no matching that. For the rest of my life, I’d have to live with the knowledge that anyone or anything lesser than Lexi would be unfulfilling. Insufficient.
My satisfaction now lived and died with this woman.
She grabbed her chest and gasped. “Was that an actual compliment? He’s complimenting me now?”
Shaking off my disturbing train of thought, I shrugged. “Just stating facts, legs.”
She grinned slyly. “Uh-huh.”
Since I’d learned that she actually appreciated good whiskey—one of the three sexiest qualities a woman could have, in my opinion, right behind a sharp sense of humor and a healthy sex drive—I brought her to my new distillery in downtown Brooklyn that was scheduled to open next month.
From the ground up, Brooklyn Armor House was all mine.
Of all the distilleries and breweries I owned, this was the only one I’d created from scratch. All the others had been previously owned and operated and served as investments for me. Smart business. But BAH had been a dream of mine for years. A place that I could put my own personal touch on that was right in my backyard. I’d never before felt the rush of achievement that I did when I looked around the empty taproom, ready to receive visitors in no more than thirty days.
Short of actually laying the bricks with my own two hands, I’d built this place.
The architecture, the logo design, the décor, the overall vibe of the building itself, was all me. I’d chosen to use a lot of weathered, reclaimed wood in the décor, including with the rafters in the vaulted ceilings. Much of the wood the bar itself was made out of was taken from some of the first barrels of whiskey that BAH ever produced. There was even a metal spiral staircase in the back corner that led upstairs, where my personal office was, that I thought added a special note of character to the place.
I’d also hung my own personal pictures of myself with friends, business partners, and members of the alcohol manufacturing community from all over the world. The old man I purchased my Scottish distillery from was on the wall. The brothers who managed one of my breweries in North Carolina. The father-son team who ran operations at my Kentucky distillery.
The Brooklyn Armor House had a brand all its own.
I’d chosen the location specifically because it was in a working-class neighborhood with a variety of family sizes, ethnicities, and socio-economic classes. I wanted this place to appeal to everyone. Wanted it to feel like the kind of laidback, relaxed bar that everyone went to for a drink after work, to watch a ballgame, for a Saturday night date, or for parties. It wasn’t high-class or ritzy because that wasn’t what the Brooklynites of this neighborhood looked for. They could cross the bridge over into Manhattan if they wanted glamour and flash.
This was about creating an environment where customers could be comfortable and appreciate a damn good glass of whiskey.
It also didn’t hurt that we would be the only establishment in a ten-block radius that offered whiskey tastings. And since our in-house labels were not being mass produced yet and were only sold at BAH, those tastings would be unique and, I hoped, highly popular. My plan was to see how well the bottles sold at the distillery before I started channeling them through my distribution company.
For all the wealth I’d amassed that I didn’t necessarily think I deserved, at the end of the day, I drank the same damn whiskey as everyone else. They say education is “the great equalizer,” but I disagreed. From what