Good Girls Don't (Donovan Brothers Brewery 1)

“Because it was a meaningless night, Tessa. For both of us. If I call her today, she might think I’m interested in something serious and that is not going to help the situation.”

Tessa reconsidered. “Oh. You may be right. If she decides she wants to see you again, that’d be disastrous.”

“Exactly. As it stands, we left on neutral terms.”

“Wow, you’ve got a whole language for this.”

“Shut up,” he snapped. “I’m not some kind of man-slut.”

“Okay, I’m sorry. That was below the belt. So to speak.” When he only scowled harder, Tessa stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “Don’t be mad.”

“Whatever. Did you talk to Roland Kendall?”

Tessa shook her head as Jamie took the rag from her hand and began polishing the bar. It looked just fine, but it was never quite shiny enough for Jamie, as far as she could tell. “I left him a message, but I haven’t heard back.”

“He knows it was me, Tessa. We’ve got to tell Eric before he hears it from Kendall.”

“Not yet. If there’s even the slightest chance Kendall didn’t recognize you, then we are not telling Eric. Do you know what he’d do to you?”

“He’d never trust me with anything but the bar and act like I was born with half a brain? Yeah, I’m familiar with his opinion of me.”

Tessa kept her mouth shut as she stacked glasses. Strangely enough, even though the place was called Donovan Brothers, Tessa seemed the only one at ease with her role at the brewery. Eric held on to the brewery with both hands, loath to let his siblings take on new responsibilities, and Jamie struggled against his brother’s iron grip. Tessa was trying to help Jamie without upsetting Eric, but good Lord, Jamie seemed to trip over his own feet every time.

Tessa headed for the back to slice lemons for the hefeweizen, but when she walked through the double doors, she was nearly trampled by their brewmaster, Wallace Hood.

He didn’t glance in her direction as he stalked past, rushing from the office area back to his glassed-in paradise of beer tanks and tubing. Eric stepped out of his office.

“What’s wrong with Wallace?” Tessa asked.

“He’s convinced his tanks were violated. I’ve

told him that nothing in there was touched.”

Tessa watched as Wallace ran a gentle hand over one of the steel behemoths, his brow furrowed in furious worry. She understood that. If circumstances were different, she’d want to clutch her computers in her arms, too. But they were long gone, and she had bigger worries to hug to her chest.

One of those worries shook his head and sighed. “The alarm company should be out in an hour to check the wiring and box, but our contract is up next month. I’m not renewing.”

Just as she’d suspected. Eric was not the forgiving sort. The reminder made her avoid his eyes as she turned and headed for the kitchen area. The brewery didn’t serve food beyond peanuts and pretzels, but they did host occasional catered events, so the kitchen was fully outfitted. Still, it had none of the homey friendliness of the front room, so Tessa never lingered. Plus, she really had to get out of here. The sight of Eric only reinforced her sense of urgency. She cut the lemons into wedges with the ease of someone who’d done it thousands of times. Prepping the bar had been her first job when she’d turned twenty-one.

Wallace’s voice was muted by the floor-to-ceiling glass, but every time she looked up, his jaw was moving in furious conversation with his equipment. His lips were probably moving, too, but she couldn’t see them past his full, dark beard. She had no idea how old he was. Somewhere between thirty-one and forty-nine was her best guess. He was six-five, he had the body of a professional linebacker and he wore mountain-man-style plaid shirts every day. Despite the fact that he’d worked at the brewery for ten years, the only other thing she knew about Wallace Hood was that his alternative lifestyle did not match his appearance in the least. In fact, his personal life was so complex that she’d never quite figured it out. He was neither gay nor straight, but refused to classify himself as bisexual. He was both intensely private and mysteriously social. Men and women moved through his life as if he’d installed a revolving door in his bedroom.

Usually, watching him in his giant glassed-in room was like watching an interesting movie, but today his silent diatribe only increased her tension. The whole damn building was bubbling with stress, so she piled her two dozen sliced lemons into a plastic container and hurried toward the front room.

Jamie took the bowl from her and popped the top to be sure the lemons were good. He was strangely perfectionist about some things, so she’d learned not to take offense and merely washed her hands and tipped her head toward the empty seating area. “It’s been slow. The warm weather has kept everyone outside, but I expect you’ll get a lot of thirsty people in soon. I’m running a special for half off the first pint tonight, so if anyone mentions Twitter, that’s the offer.”

“Got it.”

“The signage for the new golden wheat is almost ready. Eric tapped it this morning.”

Tessa was drawing him a sample of the new brew when the front door opened. At first, all she saw past the sunlight was a jacket and a tie. Then she recognized the man wearing them. Detective Asher, he’d said. “Hi, Detective!” she called.

“Good afternoon, Miss Donovan,” he said with a smile that disappeared as quickly as it flashed over his face.

“Just Tessa,” she replied, feeling her smile widen. He was cute. Really cute, in a jaded, hard-jawed way. Like he’d stepped out of some noir detective novel, muttering about having seen too much life already.

“Then call me Luke.”

“Luke Asher…” She frowned and cocked her head, taking in his brown eyes and nearly black hair. She looked him up and down suspiciously. His eyebrows rose. “You’ve been to my house,” she said.