Hollywood on Tap (Sweet Salvation Brewery 2)

He thought he’d made good time on his first trip across the brewery when he was trying to escape her. He was wrong. Busting ass to make it to his office—the warmest place in the building—without half the staff seeing him carting around the brewery’s shivering co–owner over one shoulder had him hustling through his office door in half his earlier time.

“If you don’t put me down right now, I’m going to—” Her pert ass hitting the chair stopped whatever threat was about to come out.

Sean crossed over to his desk and circled behind it, figuring the oak and the stacks of papers and dirty coffee cups covering it would offer him some protection—but maybe not enough, judging by the fire snapping in her blue eyes behind her defrosted glasses.

“You monosyllabic Neanderthal, I am not some little helpless female who can’t walk across the brewery.”

He shrugged. “I did what was needed.”

“What the what?” She dropped the clipboard from beneath the hoodie and shoved her arms through the its sleeves before rubbing her hands up and down her arms to warm them. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

Sean doubted there were half–crazed mules more stubborn than Natalie Sweet. “If I hadn’t, you would have stayed in that cooler, freezing your ass off until you’d said everything you wanted to say—which, by the way, is usually more words that most people use in a year.”

Well, definitely more than he did, since that speech he’d just given had used up his allotted speaking time for the next week.

She blinked in surprise before immediately recovering her ire. “It was the most logical place to wait for you. You don’t think I realize you’ve been ditching me every chance you could get? Anyway, I would have stepped outside the cooler.” She paused. “Eventually.”

He snorted.

“Well, you can’t argue it didn’t work because we’re together now and I have the flowcharts that I need your input on. It would be wasteful not to take advantage o

f the situation.”

“Tomorrow.” He grabbed his keys from off his desk.

“Why are you so dead set against securing the brewery’s future?”

Sean dropped his keys and shuffled through the paper pile in the middle of the desk. It took a second—okay, a few minutes—but he finally found the printed brochure for the Southeast Brewers Invitational, which he shoved across the desk toward Natalie.

She leaned forward to read it. “Breweries go head to head with one crowned champion in each of ten beer styles.” Natalie looked up. “You think winning a competition would be better for the brewery than giving it a solid operational foundation?”

“Winning will do a lot more for Sweet Salvation Brewery than your four–billion–point plan will.” Certainty as solid as a concrete block firmed his spine and filled him with confidence. “I’m going to make a beer that is going to blow those little buttons right off your sweater.”

Natalie’s sisters could tease her for the pearl necklace she always wore and she’d roll her eyes. People in Salvation could mock her for her family’s wild, lawless history and she wouldn’t even let it put a pause in her step. But to question her flowcharts? Mock her efficiency strategy?

Oh hell no, that shit did not stand.

“My plan has twenty–five points, thank you very much. Each of which is carefully thought out and considered utilizing the best manufacturing processes and customized to meet the needs of Sweet Salvation Brewery. All of which you would realize if you ever took five minutes to review my flowcharts.” Her cheeks pulsed with the heat of a thousand fires, fueled by frustration and indignation. “You may like to think of this brewery as your own personal playground, where things happen willy–nilly so the creative process can work itself out, but it’s not. There needs to be order. Direction. Documented processes.”

Her voice cracked on the last word and her throat tightened, preventing her from expressing the rest of her outrage.

Damn it, this would not happen now.

Clamping her jaw shut tight, she inhaled a deep breath through her nose and kept her gaze locked on the crack in the wall above Sean’s head. Her nose twitched and she swallowed hard as she blinked furiously to keep the tears at bay.

I will not give him the satisfaction.

“Are you okay?” Sean backed up slowly as if he had a roast chicken tied around his neck and was nose–to–nose with a rabid junkyard dog.

“I am…” The first hot tear slid down her cheek, followed by a thousand more. She could practically feel her nose enlarging and turning Rudolph red. She sniffled back snot. “Perfectly fine.”

“Don’t cry.” He yanked open his center desk drawer and rifled through the contents. “I didn’t mean to make you sad.”

“I am not sad, you numbskull.” She wiped the back of her hand across her cheek then pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “I am really fucking mad.”

“Then why are you crying?” He pulled a squashed mini–box of tissues from the drawer and held them out to her.

She swiped the box and yanked out a tissue. “It’s a common physical reaction to extreme annoyance.” Her voice wobbled like a deer in high heels and grew in volume with each word. “Especially when dealing with change–adverse jerks who think they’re artists of alcohol and won’t even consider for one damn second that all I’m trying to do is help.”