Page 17 of Single Malt

“I’ve already had one eighteen-year-old ask about drinking.” Her cheeks flushed. “Sorry. That was unprofessional of me.”

I made a dismissive gesture. “Don’t worry about it.” Before she could debate it, I brought the conversation back to what we’d been discussing. “Do you plan to limit drinks or make it a completely open bar?”

Freedom sighed and rubbed her forehead. “That’s a good idea.”

Shit. I hadn’t meant to make her feel bad.

I wanted to tell her that she would’ve thought of it herself, that this was something I’d come up with first because it was part of my job as a supplier of alcohol to think of things that affected how I did that job. Such as how much whiskey needed to be provided for specific events. But I knew that, no matter how helpful and informative I was trying to be, it could sound condescending and patronizing, which was the last thing I wanted.

“What did the other suppliers say?” I asked instead.

“I haven’t talked to them other than the basic preliminaries,” she answered, seeming to snap out of her frustration fairly quickly.

I couldn’t stop the smile that came when I heard that I was the only one she’d asked about this. She could’ve reached out to all the suppliers, and it would’ve been completely professional.

But she’d just asked me.

“Each person could get a marker of some kind when they come in, and they could use that at the bar.”

I wasn’t sure if she was talking to me or herself, but since it wasn’t a question, I kept my mouth shut and listened, waiting for a chance to help.

“Tickets can be lost or stolen. Given away.” Her forehead furrowed as she talked through the idea. “People might come through more than once, just to get more tickets. If no one’s having a party, that increases the likelihood of crashers who just want to drink and goof off.”

Watching her mind work was fascinating.

“An ID scan would work for students and faculty.” She turned toward the door, the expression in her eyes making me think that what she was seeing wasn’t actually there, only a picture in her mind. “Scan it at the entrance and have a two-drink limit on it. Scan it at the bar where it’ll register if the person is twenty-one or over. Provide guest cards for non-faculty and students. Keeping track of both will also give us a more accurate count of attendees, which will help for similar events in the future. So, if we estimate one hundred to one hundred twenty invitations, then the capacity…” Her voice trailed off, and I assumed she was doing the math in her head.

“Impressive.” I couldn’t help myself.

“What?” She blinked as if she’d forgotten I was there.

Not good for my ego, but I didn’t mind a bruise or two.

“How you broke down my question and figured out a way to get what you wanted in only a few minutes.”

“Impressive for a woman.” The words had bite.

“No,” I countered. “For anyone.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, as if she didn’t believe me, but she didn’t actually argue.

I took the opportunity to expound on my statement. “I’ve done business with people all over, and I’ve seen plenty of them have to postpone decisions because they can’t think on their feet like you just did. It’s usually either something impulsive because they don’t want to take the extra time, or them needing to run numbers and that sort of thing. You did it all in your head, including the math.”

A flush stained her cheeks, and for a moment, I thought that my explanation had made her angrier. When I looked closer, though, I realized she was embarrassed. I didn’t know if it was because of what I’d said or the fact that it was me who’d said it, but I liked the reaction. I liked that I’d gotten under her skin in some way.

“So, like I said, impressive.” My voice had lowered unintentionally, and the statement came out almost…sexual. Her blush grew darker, but now I could see the heat in her eyes.

Fuck.

She wanted me too.

“Let’s take a seat and discuss numbers.” Freedom gestured toward the stools. “I’d like to get your thoughts on how the different types of beverages might be broken up between guests.”

I grinned, even more pleased than I had been only a few minutes earlier. She wanted my opinion on more than just my own area of expertise.

And maybe after giving my opinion, she’d let me take her to dinner.

Eleven