Page 4 of The Havenport Collection

Liam

I was knee-deep in a fermenting tank when my phone pinged.

It was the security system I set up. After some break-ins last year, I decided to install some cameras.

I had a really large space and worked late nights, so it seemed like the responsible thing to do.

I turned them off when the taproom was open, but since it was only nine a.m., I was a bit confused.

I pulled up the app on my phone. Someone was outside the loading dock entrance. It looked like a woman, all dressed up. Probably a rep trying to sell something. Since Trent was bottling, I decided to deal with it myself.

Climbing out of the tank and down the ladder, I trudged out to the door still wearing my rubber waders and boots.

The sunlight hit my eyes and I was temporarily disoriented.

When I opened them, I was greeted by a strange sight.

A beautiful woman, all dressed up, staring at me like a deer in headlights.

She was wearing a power suit and sky-high heels while clutching an expensive looking leather tote, and her hair was severely pulled back into one of those huge donut buns at the nape of her neck.

She looked like a business Barbie—if Barbie had sexy librarian glasses and a little more meat on her bones.

I was momentarily stunned. Brewing was, unfortunately, a bit of a boys’ club, and most of the people I dealt with were men.

It was a bit unsettling to see a gorgeous woman hanging out behind my building.

My eyes were drawn to her tight skirt which left nothing to the imagination. Damn. Those were some serious curves.

“Can I help you?” I tried to stand up straight and look authoritative, but I realized I just sounded like an asshole. I was so off my game right now.

Get it together, jackass. You own this place.

“Um, yes. I am looking for Liam Quinn.”

I give her a quizzical look. “I’m Liam.”

“Oh my God! Wow.” Her posture relaxed, and a big smile spread across her full lips. “I’m Cecelia Leary. I don’t know if you remember me from high school. I didn’t recognize you with the, ah…” She gestured to my beard and strange outfit.

“Holy shit.” I took off my baseball cap and then put it back on when I realized my hair probably looked insane.

“Cece? It’s been so long. My mom told me you were living in New York.

You’re so grown up now. It’s great to see you.

” And I meant it. The Learys were our family friends for decades.

Cecelia was about a year younger than me, but she was always around when we were little.

I remember a small, determined girl with wild, curly hair and a pretty, chatty teenager with even more wild, curly hair. “Ah. What are you doing here?”

Her shoulders slumped, and her face fell. “Oh. Um. Sorry.” She looked down at her shoes. “Um…I’m here for the job interview?”

“Sorry, what?” I had no idea what she was talking about. Why was this woman standing here all dressed up at my brewery, looking for a job?

Now instead of depressed, she looked thoroughly uncomfortable.

“Oh my God, this is so embarrassing. Your mom told me you were hiring someone to help with marketing and said I should be here at nine a.m. sharp. I thought you knew.” She stared at me with large, brown eyes, and I suddenly had an overwhelming urge to hug her.

She seemed pretty shaken up by my confusion.

“Sorry. My mom can be a bit of a flake sometimes. I am sure she meant to tell me but forgot.”

Her eyes widened even farther and she shifted on those insane heels. “You look busy. I should go.”

“No,” I shouted, a little too forcefully.

She should go. I don’t know what my mom told her, but I guarantee she has no idea what we need here.

“Come inside. I can show you around, and we can chat.” My mouth kept saying things I knew I shouldn’t say.

I felt this strange pull toward her. I wanted to keep her here.

Show her what I’ve built. Get to know her.

I gestured toward the door and repeated, “Come inside. I’ll show you around.”

She gave me a sheepish smile. “Are you sure? I don’t want to impose. I feel like an idiot.”

“No. Please.” I began to sound desperate. “My mom will kill me if she finds out I turned you away. You’d be doing me a favor.” I needed to get it together and find my balls. I was basically begging this woman to hang around my brewery at nine a.m. on a Tuesday.

She relented and walked in. Keep your eyes off her ass, Quinn. She is not a piece of meat. She is a family friend and potential employee. But I was a weak man. And damn, she had a nice ass.

Clearly, I had no idea what I was getting into.

“So, what is it you do? What is a Field Marketing Director?”

Her face flushed. “Well, I was responsible for a large territory selling a pharmaceutical product for arthritis. I targeted rheumatologists and internal medical providers and blah blah blah.”

“So you sold drugs?” I smirked, attempting a joke.

“Yes and no. I sold legal, FDA approved drugs that drastically improved the lives of patients all over the world. But if you want to trivialize the last eight years of my life, then yes—I sold drugs.” Way to go, Quinn, you just insulted the overqualified job applicant. Awesome.

Her attitude and the stormy look in those brown eyes made me sit up a little straighter.

I liked that she wasn’t a pushover. But there was a hint of sadness in her demeanor as well.

As I stared at her across the table, I noticed that her eyes were hazel with small gold flecks.

I let my gaze travel down to her mouth, and oh my God, she had the most pillowy, kissable lips I had ever seen.

Get it together and stop staring at her like a serial killer.

“So, it sounds like you have quite an impressive résumé. What are you doing here?” I realized I sounded rude, but was completely taken aback by this drive-by interview. I wasn’t on my game. I was getting distracted by her beautiful but sad eyes.

“I am in town for a bit, taking a break. And your mom said you needed help here, and I need a job to keep me busy for a while.”

“Okay. Well, do you have any brewing experience?”

“No.”

“Do you even like beer?”

She shrugged. “It’s okay.”

“Um, okay. Any bartending experience?”

“Yes, actually. I bartended during and after college at a few different bars in Brooklyn. It was really high volume and super intense. Amazing tips, though.”

Okay, I could work with that. I needed help, and here she was asking for a job. On paper, she was both over- and underqualified for this job. But I was desperate, and needed anyone with marketing experience. I knew I only had a few months to turn this place around.

Just as I was trying to think of something semi-intelligent to say, I heard my phone ping in my pocket. I didn’t even have to look to know it was my mother texting me to demand I give this woman a job.

“Listen,” she said, getting visibly uncomfortable, “it’s not a big deal. Your mom and my mom just demanded I come down here. I don’t want to force you to hire me. You can get back to your day, and I’ll find something else.”

I nodded, trying to figure out how to respond.

I was busy trying to reconcile the Cece I remembered from childhood with the woman sitting before me.

As a kid, Cece was bold and lively, always trying to keep up with the big kids.

I remember her on the sidelines at high school football games, camera in hand, trying to get the best shots.

This woman seemed defeated and a little shy, totally unlike what I remembered.

What had happened to her since leaving Havenport?

“Your mom also mentioned that Declan may need some freelance marketing help as well. Maybe that’s more my speed.”

My blood instantly boiled at the thought of her working for Declan, my taller, handsomer, more successful brother.

The brother with the man bun and gruff attitude that every woman in a ten-mile radius fell in lust with at first sight.

That wasn’t an exaggeration. Declan couldn’t get his teeth cleaned without multiple women falling at his feet.

He had some kind of masculine, scruffy charm that I could not figure out to save my life.

I was seized by the feeling that I did not want to lose her. She seemed smart and accomplished, and I could easily teach her about beer. My business was on the line, so I couldn’t afford to let her slip away.

I rubbed my beard and stared at her. She seemed sad, which was a personal kryptonite for me.

I couldn’t deal with a sad woman. It made me want to just jump in and fix everything.

And she was especially dangerous because she was sad and pretty.

I had been burned before trying to fix things for pretty girls.

Many times. But like the big dumb idiot that I was, I could not let her walk out the door without trying to help.

“Well. Here’s the thing. We actually do need help. Now that summer is winding down, most of our seasonal staff are gone. This is a small operation. Everyone here pitches in when needed.”

She nodded, taking notes in a fancy leather folder thing.

“It pains me to say this, but I need help with marketing, social media, and events. We brew great beer, and we have a limited but loyal commercial business. But I need to maximize this taproom and get our name out there more.” I don’t know what made me so honest with this relative stranger.

The truth was we needed lots of help. We needed to really step things up or we would be closing eventually.

I didn’t say that, obviously, but it was on the forefront of my mind.

I didn’t want to give up my dream, so I was willing to take drastic measures.

And Cecelia Leary was nothing if not a drastic measure.

“Well, that I can definitely manage. Your space is gorgeous. I’m already getting all kinds of ideas.”

I grimaced. I could already see her coming in and bossing me around and telling me all the things I’d done wrong.

Ugh. “This also includes managing the taproom. Thankfully, it’s only open on Friday and Saturday nights.

It’s easy. We only serve what we brew in here, so you just have to learn to properly pour beer and talk to customers about it.

But it also means you will have no social life. ”

“Okay, I can definitely do that.” She perked up and gave me an interested look. “Plus I have no social life at the moment.”

“Well, tell your husband or boyfriend or girlfriend or whatever that your weekends are gone for a while.” I pretended to be interested in the paper napkin I was folding and refolding on the table. I could not meet her eyes after saying that.

“There is no one to tell. I’m single and have no life. So I would be happy to bartend on weekends.”

Suddenly, the collar of my shirt felt too tight, and I could feel my cheeks redden.

Goddamn Irish heritage. Trying to establish control of this meeting, I decided to lean into my inner asshole.

I frowned at her. “But this is a small operation, and sometimes we need all hands on deck. We need you to help out with the tanks, clean and sanitize stuff, and run errands and do grunt work too.”

She nodded, taking notes in her fancy portfolio.

I could not shake the feeling that this was a mistake. But I couldn’t pinpoint why. She wasn’t the perfect candidate by any stretch, but she was here, she was willing, and she had some of the experience I needed.

I had to get my head out of my ass and focus on this interview.