LITMIR.BIZ

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the elusive brewer would be interested in meeting to discuss an investment opportunity. He never heard a word back—until this moment.

      Now as he stared at the woman claiming to be the reclusive new genius of beer making, Connor was tempted to toss the fraudulent Ms. James out on her ear. It would be even more fun to call security and have her ignominiously escorted out to the sidewalk. The shameful exit might give her a minuscule taste of the pain and humiliation he’d endured when she walked out of his life all those years ago.

      But that would send the wrong signal, Connor reasoned. Maggie would take it as a sign that he actually cared one way or the other about her. And he didn’t. The purely physical reaction to her presence meant nothing. He was a guy, after all. And he had to admit he was curious as to why she’d hidden herself away and worked under an assumed name. She was a talented brewer, damn it. Her latest series of beers and ales were spectacular. And why wouldn’t they be? She came from a long line of clever Scottish brewers, including her grandfather Angus, who had retired from the business years ago.

      So he’d give her a few minutes to tell her story. And then he’d kick her excellent behind right out of his office.

      With a generous sweep of his hand, he offered her one of the visitors’ chairs. Once she was seated, he sat and faced her. “You’ve got five minutes to say whatever you came to tell me, Maggie.”

      “Fine.” She sat and cleared her throat, then smoothed her jacket down a few times. She seemed nervous, but Connor knew better. She was playing the delicate angel, a role she had always performed to perfection.

      He scowled, remembering that he used to call her his Red-Haired Angel. She still had gorgeous thick red hair that tumbled down her back, and her skin was still that perfect peaches and cream he’d always loved to touch. God, she was as beautiful as she was the day he met her. But she was no angel. Connor had learned that the hard way.

      “My formulas have won every eligible competition for the past eighteen months,” she began slowly, picking up speed and confidence as she spoke. “I’ve singlehandedly transformed the pale ale category overnight. That’s a quote from the leading reviewer in the industry, by the way. And it’s well deserved. I’m the best new beer maker to come along in years.”

      “I know all that.” Connor sat back in his chair. “It’s one of the reasons why I’ve been trying to hunt down Taylor James all these months. For some reason, he didn’t feel compelled to respond.”

      “He wasn’t ready,” she murmured, staring at her hands.

      Connor was certain that those were the first truthful words she’d uttered since walking into his office.

      She pursed her lips as if weighing her next sentence, but all Connor could think was that those heaven-sent lips were still so desirable that one pout from her could twist his guts into knots.

      His fists tightened. He was about to put an end to this nonsense when she finally continued to talk.

      “Here’s my offer,” she said, leaning forward in her chair. “I’ll sell you all of those prizewinning formulas and I’ll also create something unique and new for MacLaren. It’ll be perfect as a Christmas ale and you’ll sell every last bottle, I guarantee it.”

      “At what price, Maggie?”

      She hesitated, then named a figure that would keep a small country afloat for a year or two. The amount was so far out in left field, Connor began to laugh. “That’s absurd. It’s not worth it.”

      “Yes, it is,” she insisted. “And you know it, Connor. You said it yourself. The Taylor James brand is golden. You’ll be able to use the name on all your packaging and advertising and you’ll make your money back a thousand times over.”

      She was right, but he wasn’t going to admit that just yet. He stared at her for a minute, wondering what her real motivation was. Why had she come to him? There had to be other companies that wanted to do business with her. Or rather, with Taylor James.

      “Why now, Maggie?” he asked quietly. “Why do you want to sell those formulas? And why sell to me?”

      “Why?” She bit her luscious bottom lip and Connor had to fight back a groan. Irritated with himself as much as he was with her, he pushed himself out of his chair and scowled down at her. “Answer me, Maggie. Tell me the truth or get the hell out of here. I don’t have time for this crap.”

      “You want the truth?” She jumped up from her chair and glared right back at him. “Fine. I need the money. Are you happy? Does it fill your heart with joy to hear me say it? I’m desperate. I’ve been turned down by every bank in town. I would go to other beer companies, but I don’t have the time to sift through bids and counteroffers. I need money now. That’s why I came to you. I’ve run out of choices. It’s you or...”

      She exhaled heavily and slid down onto the arm of the chair. It seemed that she’d run out of steam. “There. That’s it. Are you happy now?”

      “At least I’m hearing the truth for once.”

      She looked up and made a face at him. He almost laughed, but couldn’t. She’d expended all her energy trying to finagle a deal with him and she just didn’t have it in her. She might well be the worst negotiator he’d ever dealt with. And for some damn reason, he found it endearing.

      For his own self-preservation, he’d have to get over that feeling fast.

      “Where did all your money go?” he asked. “You must’ve gotten a hefty settlement from your rich husband.” He gave her a slow up-and-down look, taking in her faded jeans and worn jacket. “It’s obvious you didn’t spend it all on shoes.”

      “Very funny,” she muttered, and followed his gaze down to her ratty old boots. After a long moment, she looked up at him. “I know what you must think of me personally, but I’m too close to the edge to care. I just need a loan. Can you help me or not?”

      “What’s the money for?” he asked.

      She pressed her lips together in a stubborn line, then sighed. “I need to expand my business.”

      “If you’re selling me all your formulas, you won’t have a business left.”

      “I can always come up with new recipes. My Taylor James brand is going strong, growing more profitable every day. And my new Redhead line is popular, too.”

      “Then what’s the money for?” he asked again, slowly, deliberately.

      “I need to upgrade my equipment. I need to hire some help. I need to develop a sales force.” She sighed and stared at her hands. “I need to make enough money to take care of my grandfather.”

      He frowned. “You mentioned Angus earlier. Is something wrong with him?”

      It was as if all the air fled from her lungs. Her shoulders slumped and God help him, he thought he saw a glimmer of tears in her beautiful brown eyes.

      “He’s been to the hospital twice now. It’s his heart. I’m so worried about him. He runs out of breath so easily these days, but he refuses to give up his goats. Or his scotch.”

      “Some things are sacred to a man.”

      “Goats and scotch.” She rolled her eyes. “He insists that he’s hale and hearty, but I know it’s not true. I’m scared, Connor.” She ran one hand through her hair, pushing it back from her face. “He needs medication. They have a new drug that would be perfect for someone in his condition, but we found out it’s considered experimental. The insurance won’t cover it and it’s too expensive for me to pay for it.”

      Connor frowned. This wasn’t good news. Angus Campbell was one of the sweetest old guys he’d ever known. Connor and his brothers were first inspired to make their own beer while watching Angus at work in the Campbell family pub. That brew pub had been on Main Street in Point Cairn for as long as Connor could remember. Growing up, he and his brothers had all worked there during the summer months.

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