Briggs - A Carolina Reapers Nove - Samantha Whiskey Page 0,4

shut along with her eyes as she took three measured breaths.

Memories washed over me. I’d been such a stupid, foolish rookie, but I wasn’t now.

“Look,” she started as she opened her eyes.

“No. I’m done looking.” It didn’t matter how beautiful, how smart, how funny she’d been that night, she’d been responsible for the collapse of my whole fucking life. “Tell your lawyers I’m out. Take back the money. Burn the paperwork. Whatever.”

Panic flickered across her features for a second, but she blinked it back. “You can’t. You’re under contract.” She shrugged, but the movement was tight. Nervous. “You’re the face of my new line. My first line as CEO. I designed it all around you.”

“Well, that’s just too damned bad, Duchess.” I stuck my hands in my pockets.

“Don’t call me that.” Those eyes sparkled with fire.

How many men had set her ablaze since that night? How many others had there been? Even worse? How far would it have gone if her brother hadn’t busted in on us and then traded my ass?

“Fits perfectly for the spoiled little rich girl you are.”

“Spoiled?” She sputtered. “I busted my ass to graduate college early! Everything I have is tied up in this company! Damn, Cormac! I thought you’d be…” She floundered, locking her jaw and shaking her head.

“What? Happy to see you? You ruined my life, Bristol, so excuse me if I’m not ready for round two. This isn’t happening. Find someone else to be the face of your line.” I threw back the rest of my drink, wishing it would just take effect already and numb me out even just a little. I didn’t want to feel this—any of it.

“Do you see how amazing that tux looks on you? I designed it for you. It. Is. Happening.” She forced out every word through those pretty, gritted teeth.

My gaze dropped to her lips, and I felt it, that magnetic pull that had put us in that situation four years ago when she’d been seventeen-fucking-years-old. But she wasn’t seventeen now. She was a fully grown woman.

And I still wanted her. Fuck.

“You’re under contract!” she snapped.

I sucked my teeth for a second and nodded. “Yeah, well, we’ll just have to see about that.” Then I walked away like I should have done four years ago.

2

Bristol

A headache pulsed behind my eyes, and I shifted in my new office chair to lean over my desk.

“How is it that I didn’t drink on New Year’s Eve, and yet, I feel hungover?” I asked, pinching the bridge of my nose.

“Oh, let’s see,” my best friend’s voice filtered in over the speakerphone. “Could it be because you rushed yourself through college, sprinted across the graduation stage, and then didn’t hesitate to spend all your inheritance on a menswear company?”

I glared at the phone.

“Stop glaring at me,” Grace teased, and my eyes widened.

“We’re not on FaceTime,” I chided right back. “Stop pretending like you know me.”

“Not pretending, Bristol.”

I sighed, leaning back in my chair.

“It couldn’t have been that bad, could it?” she asked, her tone much softer.

I bit my bottom lip, my heart racing at the memory from last night. When I’d seen Cormac…God, all those memories from that night had come rushing back—not that they’d ever fully left me alone. No, those few precious minutes where Cormac had stolen my breath? They had been the fuel to my fantasies on lonely nights and even lonelier days. Hard as hell to find true companionship or intimacy when my big brother scared off anyone who dared approach me.

And I’d come to terms with that over the years, realizing that if a man wasn’t brave or bold enough to try with me—regardless of who my brother was—then he wasn’t worth the energy. But Cormac? I’d never come to terms with what had happened between us or what had happened to him after.

That old familiar guilt ate at my insides, and my heart sank at the realization that I may never be given my chance to make amends.

“I don’t know, Grace,” I finally answered her. “I had all these expectations for last night.”

“Yeah, I know,” she said, and I could just picture her brow furrowing, her arms outstretched to wrap me in a hug. Grace had been the best friend I’d ever had—we met freshman year of college. She was the creamer to my coffee and vice versa. She loved me for me, not my family name or the money that came with it.

“I never thought we’d be best friends or anything,” I continued,