“I thought it was your fortieth,” she said, her eyes twinkling at him. “Did I even get you the right card?”
Someone cleared their throat. One glance at Joe, whose cheeks had pinked up at her compliment, told Becca it wasn’t him. Joe looked over her shoulder and smiled, and a shiver wracked down Becca’s spine.
“Mr. Carter,” Joe said. “It’s good to have you back. Was it me you wanted to talk to?”
Becca froze. She couldn’t have turned to look if she wanted. Her spine would have cracked or something.
“Thanks, Joe. No, it’s Miss Hartson I was looking for. That’s if she can spare me a couple of minutes.”
Joe didn’t notice the undertone in Daniel’s voice at all. Instead, he smiled again. “Of course.” He patted Becca’s arm. “She’s the best. As gorgeous on the inside as she is on the out. Take care of her.” He winked at Becca. “I’ll email you the details for the cake later.”
Becca nodded. “Fine,” she managed to squeak. “Thanks.”
Inhaling a ragged breath, she forced her feet to move because her spine still wasn’t playing ball, and turned to look at Daniel.
He was only inches behind her. Close enough that she had to lift her head to look him in the eye. He was staring down at her with dark eyes, his brows pulling together. Becca breathed in and immediately regretted it because he smelled way too good. Warm and spicy, like a pine forest on a hot day. She smiled at him, and was completely unsurprised when he didn’t smile back, because, ha, she’d anticipated that.
He could play the moody Heathcliff-esque card if he wanted to. Sure, he was good looking if you liked guys who filled out their expensive blue cotton shirts perfectly, unbuttoned at the collar to reveal a strong neck.
But his defined Adam’s apple and sprinkling of dark hair at the top of his chest didn’t affect her. Not one little bit. She judged people on personality, not looks, and so far Daniel Carter hadn’t indicated he even had one.
“You’re very friendly with the staff,” he said as they walked toward the executive corridor.
Why was it that everything he said felt like a criticism? Becca kept her voice steady. “You say that as if it’s a bad thing.” She glanced up at him from the corner of her eyes. He was facing straight ahead, his broad shoulders pushed back.
“I find it’s better to keep a distance,” he told her. “The higher you climb, the more important it is to define the difference between you and the people who work for you. You can’t be everybody’s best friend and their manager, too.” He opened the door to his office, stepping aside to let her walk in first.
“Maybe there’s a middle ground,” Becca said. Because there was no way she wanted to be like Daniel.
His expression was unreadable. “Take a seat,” he said, pointing at the chair in front of his desk. His office was completely different to Nathan’s. No mass of papers strewn across the desk, no photos of his family and friends on every surface. Just a laptop and a phone on his desk, along with a glass of water.
Becca sat in the chair he’d indicated and reached up to check that her hair was perfectly pulled into her bun. She found it so much easier if she kept her thick locks tied back while she was at work. Spending half your day with your head bent over a still or a mash tun meant you got hot and bothered. And it was so much easier to tuck into a plastic cap.
Daniel walked over to a cabinet on the wall and pulled out a bottle of the International Blend Becca had been working on for the past year and a half, along with two small tasting glasses. Without saying a word, he poured a glug of whiskey into each, passing one to her.
“Taste it.”
Becca blinked. “I’ve just had a cup of coffee,” she told him. “I’m not sure my tongue’s ready for it.”
“I know. I saw the coffee being delivered. How many cups do you drink a day?”
“That’s a personal question.”
He shook his head. “It’s a professional question. You’re one of my distillers. The quality of your taste is my business.”
“I drink two, maybe three a day.”
“And you eat a lot of cake, too. Do you have a sweet tooth?” His voice was low.
Becca pressed her teeth together. The way he looked at her was unnerving. It felt like being pulled into the principal’s office when she hadn’t done anything wrong. “I don’t eat a lot of cake, I make cakes,” she said, refusing to pull her gaze from his. He couldn’t know she’d just stuffed a huge slice down her throat. “There’s a difference.”
He pushed the glass toward her. “
Taste it.”
She lifted the tumbler to her lips and let the whiskey cover her tongue. Daniel did the same, his gaze set on hers as the dark amber fluid passed over his full lips. She felt like she was in some kind of battle, but she had no idea for what.
“Tell me how it tastes.” His voice was low.