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“Well, I haven’t really looked into it, but I did look up Whispers, and it’s a small town a few hours’ flight away. Looks really pretty.”

“What’s the name of the distillery?” she asks, grabbing her phone again. “We need to stalk him on social media.”

“We are not stalking him,” I groan, but she ignores me.

“Whoops, my fingers have already moved.”

“It’s called Whiteman’s.” She’ll find him online, no matter what I say. I know the name because I’ve done nothing but look at his business card for the last hour straight. I should have thrown it in the trash like I was going to, but I didn’t. It’s still burning a hole in my pocket.

“Whiteman’s Whiskey. I’ve heard of them. It’s like super expensive shit. Is this the guy?” she asks, thrusting her phone toward me, and I lean forward to see a very attractive older man’s profile image staring back at me.

“Nope, the guy I saw today was named Connor,” I tell her, and she looks back at her phone.

“Oh… Ooohhhhh…” Her eyes bug out. “Look at that! He’s…” she trails off, lost for words, as she shows me an image on her small screen of the man I saw half-naked this afternoon. He’s in suit that’s tailored to his perfect body, and I swallow.

“Let me see!” I say, jumping off the sofa and moving to her, sitting on the arm of the chair to look over her shoulder.

“So, this is him?” she confirms, and I grab her phone. My gasp is audible, and my mouth immediately dries up.

“Yep…” The word comes out as a squeak as I look at the man who hasn’t left my mind. I read the words under his headshot.

“Let me read,” Trisha says, snatching the phone back while I sit in shock. I mean, I saw him in the flesh, so I shouldn’t be surprised, but in that photo, he’s in a suit and, damn, he looks good.

“Says here that he and his father, Tanner, own Whiteman’s Whiskey, the most sought-after whiskey in the country. Let me search some more… ’cause websites can be fake,” she says, her eyebrows pinching as she gets into detective mode and I go sit back down on the sofa, my nerves now a little frayed.

“Oh shit, he’s like a gazillionaire… Says here he’s best friends with the president,” Trisha says.

“What?” I think I’m going to faint. How can such an arrogant, egotistical man be friends with the president? I love our president, everybody does, and his first lady is awesome too.

“Apparently, they went to college together. Oh, and he’s single,” she teases, and I roll my eyes.

“C’mon, Daisy, I’ve barely known you to date. Maybe a few guys from the apps, but you never put yourself out there,” Trisha says, and she’s right.

“Yeah, well, I’m a professional. I can’t go hitting on the clients that come into Sunshine. I’m also not going to date a man who is such a…”

“Good-looking, rich, smart go-getter with big balls… Gee, Daisy, they all sound like pretty good qualities to me. Besides, there’s nothing wrong with getting to know your clients. I hit on our patrons all the time.”

“Well… for starters… it’s unprofessional. People come to forget about their worries and to relax and relieve their stress.”

“I bet this guy Connor would luuuurrrrve for you to relieve his stress,” she murmurs.

“Trisha!” I admonish, throwing our lumpy cushion at her head, but she catches it in time.

“He’s a client, not to mention, just offered me a job. There’s no dating in that equation,” I tell her, and she thinks about that.

“Hmmm, so you’re actually thinking about taking the job, then?” she asks, and I swallow. It’s all I have thought about since he left. He’s clearly used to getting his own way, but I did enjoy talking about business. I enjoyed the fact he listened to my thoughts and ideas even more. But I couldn’t leave my mom all alone to manage Sunshine.

“I’m not sure I could handle him being my boss,” I tell her, not admitting that the desire to give the job a go is actually growing. I push that feeling down. Not going to happen. It can’t happen.

“He wouldn’t technically be your boss. You would be a consultant, which means you’re not on his staff, just merely an expert hired to tell them what they need to do. Which you would be more than qualified for, I might add.”

I take a deep breath, it all feeling a little too surreal.

“So, what are you going to do?” Trisha asks as she flicks through image after image, showing them to me and each one looking better than the last. He’s in a suit, then in jeans and a button-down shirt, has a backward cap on in another, then I see all the ones with his various girlfriends. A lot of different ones. All the same type. Blond, skinny, tall, luxurious. He clearly has a type, and it’s the complete opposite of me.

“I already told him no. Although, he’s not really taking that as an answer. Told me to think about it and call him on Monday. But I can’t leave Mom.”

“Of course you can. She’s holding you back. Not on purpose. You know I love your mom. But the two of you are just not aligned on the business. You’re young, hungry for more, and she’s close to retiring, wanting a simpler life. Besides, it's only for a month or two, and then you’ll come back,” Trisha says, putting it all into perspective.