“How would you like to be the new face of Carraig Aonair Whiskey?”
His brain screeched to a halt. “Huh?”
“I know this is probably not the way you’re accustomed to being approached about things like this, but my family asked if I would make the initial proposal to you and—”
“Your family?” But even as he said it, his brain whirred into action again and started connecting all the floating dots. The CAW 1869. The way she took her shot. The Irish toast. The unexpected visit. The It’s in my blood.
Holy shit. Colton’s spine slumped against the back of the booth. “You’re one of those Winthrops?”
“It’s not something I advertise.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because I’m embarrassed by them.”
He let out an incredulous laugh that sounded unhinged. It died as quickly as her smile. “So, let me get this straight.” He swiped a hand across his jaw. “I don’t hear from you for a year despite my best efforts to get you to talk to me—”
“This has nothing to do with that night.”
That night. Jesus. That’s all it was to her? “—and suddenly you walk into a bar that almost no one knows I come to and, just like that, ask if I want to, what, endorse your family’s company?”
“That’s a decent summary, yes.”
“Wow.”
“I can’t give you any details, because you’d have to negotiate that with whatever people normally handle that sort of stuff for you, but—”
“Stop.”
Her mouth closed.
“I—” Colton shook his head and dragged both hands over his hair. “What the hell, Gretchen?”
“I’m not sure how to answer that.”
Colton leaned forward, arms on the table, and lowered his voice. “You have to be kidding me. You ignore me for a year, and this is what I get from you?”
Her shoulders tensed. “I’d rather not bring our previous entanglement into this.”
“Well, sorry, sweetheart, but I’m dragging it front and center. And for fuck’s sake . . . previous entanglement?”
“How would you prefer I refer to it?”
“How about what it was? A night of amazing sex and the start of something with serious potential?”
She looked at her hands. The only other sign of discomfort was a hard swallow. “I’m sorry,” she said after a moment, finally raising her gaze again. “That was a mistake.”
“Two minutes ago, I would have disagreed with you.”
She had the decency to flush. “I didn’t mean to insult you.”
“Well, congratulations. You did it without even trying.”
“Look.” She sucked in a breath. “I’m here because my brother asked me to talk to you and gauge your level of interest.”
“That would be zero.”
Gretchen bit her lip, and an unwelcome flashback intruded on the conversation. Her standing nearly naked in front of him, chewing her bottom lip, trying to explain why they could never work.
She swallowed. “If you’re only saying no because of our . . . that night, can I at least convince you to listen to an official proposal from the company?”
Colton grabbed his beer and sucked down the last warm remnants. God, he hated Budweiser. He set the bottle down harder than he intended. Tense silence throbbed between them as he tried and failed to think of something to say. Un-fucking-believable. Could this day get any worse?
On the stage, J. T. started to play the intro melody to a classic, “River” by Joni Mitchell. “This is my favorite Christmas song,” J. T. said before launching into the lyrics.
Gretchen made a disgusted noise. “This is not a Christmas song.”
“Of course it is,” Colton fired back, not because he cared but because he was pissed off and arguing with her seemed like a good idea. “The word Christmas is in the first line.”
“Just because the word Christmas appears in the song doesn’t make it a Christmas song. It just happens to take place at Christmas.”
“Which makes it a goddamn Christmas song.”
Her eyes sparked. “Turning this song into a Christmas song dilutes its message.”
“Oh, please, enlighten me.”
“The entire song is an apology. It’s a wistful homage to the bittersweet loneliness that follows the end of a relationship.”
He blinked. That was actually deep, but he’d be damned if he’d show her he was impressed. “Loneliness at Christmas,” he countered.