“Yeah, but a mother leaving her child?”

“I know. It’s awful.”

Grace returned her vision to the screen. “Financial markets... Cambridge University...”

“Will you just give this up? He’s never going to agree to go with me to that party, anyway.”

“Shush. I’m reading. Rowing team...yada yada yada. Oh. My. God.” She clamped her hand over her mouth. Her eyes were as big as hubcaps when she looked up at Ashley.

She found it.

“He’s in a calendar. Britain’s most eligible bachelors.”

“Oh yeah. That. Sorta funny, isn’t it? I mean, Mr. November? I’d give him crap about it if I wasn’t trying to keep him calm.”

“So you’ve seen the pictures?”

She shrugged it off, pretending to busy herself with her pen and pad. “It’s not like I bought one of the calendars.” Of course she hadn’t. It was sold out.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about this. We just hit the mother lode. This is perfect. You invite the hot British gin maker and I get to write the world’s most amazing press release. This might end up being the pinnacle of my career.”

“Oh please. It’s a calendar to raise money for a children’s hospital. They do it every year. I doubt it’s a big deal.”

“Uh, the picture of him with no shirt? I can guarantee people will care about that. A lot of people.”

Grace got up from her chair, set her computer on Ashley’s desk and flipped it around. They were both confronted with one of Britain’s most eligible bachelors and his splendid physique. “You told me he was handsome, but you really undersold it. Look at his abs. And those shoulders.”

Ashley shook her head, wishing she could erase the image of Marcus’s incredible torso, the one lovingly embossed on her brain. Is it stuffy in here? “You’re making a big deal out of nothing. That photo is probably airbrushed like crazy.” With the computer on her desk, it was impossible to avoid shirtless, sweaty Marcus, standing on shore next to the River Thames after a rowing race, smiling no less. “And I mean, he might look hot, but ignore that. He can be insufferable if he wants to be.”

“I could put up with a whole lot of insufferable for a guy with abs like that.” Grace returned to her seat, thankfully removing the influence of the pictures. “The network is going to be over the moon when I tell them you’re bringing one of Britain’s most eligible bachelors to the premiere party.”

“Hold on a second. I haven’t even asked him. Were you not listening earlier? He hates me. Hates. Me.”

Grace didn’t react to Ashley’s words, instead looking at her laptop screen. “It says here that he’s responsible for the US launch of a whole new brand of gin for his family’s distillery. That’s not an inexpensive proposition. We can help him with that. Every entrepreneur loves free publicity.”

And at what cost? Ashley’s pride, that’s what. The matchmaker truly couldn’t find her own match. After her heart and her pride were destroyed by James, her avoidance of men was intentional, but temporary. At no point had it meant that she wasn’t still hoping Mr. Right would turn up. Now she had to resort to bribing Mr. Not-Right-At-All, just to appease the network and save face.

“So, what are you waiting for? Call him. I’ll wait until you’re done before I start writing the press release.”

It’d been high school since Ashley had asked out a guy, and that hadn’t gone well. Suddenly her hands were clammy. She certainly wasn’t afraid of Marcus. But she was afraid he’d say no.

* * *

“I don’t need to tell you the gravity of the situation.” Marcus’s father’s voice was unusually cold. It was the tinny overseas connection on speakerphone, Marcus hoped. He couldn’t stand the thought of his normally cheerful dad being so gravely unhappy. “If we can’t get this endeavor of yours off the ground, the ramifications will be great. It’s not just the loss of expected growth. It’s the money we’ve put into it, as well. It has to work.”

Yes, it does. Marcus looked across the conference table at his sister, Joanna, the head of marketing for Chambers Gin. The worry was so plain on her face it broke his heart. “We’ll turn a corner,” Marcus said. “By the time we host the media night at the new distillery, we’ll be on our way.”

“I don’t want you to think I don’t trust you or your vision, Marcus. I absolutely do,” his father continued. “It’s just that the entire family’s livelihood is on the line. I don’t want to get in so far over our heads that we’re all left with nothing. That’s not the legacy I hoped to leave behind, and it’s definitely not the future I want for my children or my grandchild.”

“I’ll make it work, Dad. I don’t want you to worry about it.” Leave the worrying to me.

A pregnant pause filled the room. “Okay, son. I trust you. I’ve got some calls to return, but I’ll speak with you and JoJo on Friday, right?”

“Yes. Friday. Speak to you then.”

“Bye, Dad.” Joanna pressed the end button on the phone in the center of the conference table. “He’s so stressed. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him so stressed.”

Marcus tapped his pen on the all-too-thin stack of orders for the US gin, Chambers No. 9. “It’s not like we can blame him. We aren’t even close on our projections.” Marcus ran his hand through his hair and turned to stare out the office window overlooking the New York City skyline. And to think he’d been so sure they could capture the imagination of US consumers. They’d come nowhere close. He had the expertise to revive the family business, and he’d dip into his personal financial accounts if needed, but his resources did have their limits. That meant the clock was ticking. Chambers No. 9 needed a big boost, as quickly as possible.

When his father had swallowed his pride and admitted he needed help saving Chambers Gin, Marcus had let his adoration for his father and his deep devotion for his family lead the way. Leaving a highly successful and lucrative job as a European securities trader behind, he’d accepted this new challenge, no questions asked. He’d insisted only that his father trust him on this one point—they had to expand into the massive US market, and that meant launching a new artisan gin. Chambers No. 9. Cocktail culture had become big business, and there was a niche to be filled with carefully crafted spirits. Bold expansion was the only way. Go big or go home, as the Americans loved to say.

“We’re just off to a slow start,” he said, steeling himself. They would get out of this, and he would lead the way. He wouldn’t let anyone down. “Distribution is getting better every day, and we’re making inroads. It’s just going to take longer than we’d hoped. People don’t change their drinking habits overnight.”

“They do if there’s a reason to. Like a big piece of media attention or a celebrity endorsement. Something that could go viral.”

“The media plan is solid and very aggressive. We just got confirmation that International Spirits wants to interview me and put it on the cover. That’s big.”

Joanna closed her eyes, rested her head on her shoulder and unleashed a snore. “I’m sorry. Did you say something? I was so bored by the thought of International Spirits magazine that I fell asleep.”

“Hey, that’s a big coup, and it’s an important player in our industry. Oscar Pruitt is a very influential journalist. Dad’s been courting him for years.”

“It’s not going to set the world on fire. We need to find something for people to get excited about. Really excited. Something unexpected. Something sexy.”

Marcus sat back in his chair. Viral videos, memes and celebrities were not at all what he’d envisioned for Chambers No. 9, but he could be onboard with sexy and unexpected. “You’re right. Tell you what. We’ll do some brainstorming with the rest of the marketing team tomorrow. Perhaps we just need to get a bit more creative.”

Marcus’s phone lit up with a text. The message was from Ashley, their first interaction since the night before, when she’d grabbed his arm and managed to annoy him with her nonsense about hiding.