Page 18 of Tough Luck

I laughed, leaning my forearms on the table. “Remind me to add ‘mandatory nacho intake’ to the employee handbook. No one should be forced to pitch marketing strategies on an empty stomach.”

When the waiter arrived, we ordered a giant platter of the supreme nachos—extra jalapeños for me, none for her—and a pitcher of a cold CCB amber ale.

When the beer arrived, I poured us both a glass and raised mine slightly. “To surviving my first week without any more flying spear tackles.”

Sofia clinked her glass against mine, a brilliant, genuine smile lighting up her face. “I promise to keep all wrestling maneuvers restricted to gym mats from now on.”

I wanted to tell her that would be a shame, but I took a large sip of my beer instead.

The drink was ice cold and hit the spot perfectly after the grueling ten-hour day I’d just pulled. I watched her take a sip, her shoulders visibly relaxing as the tension of the week finally began to melt away. Up close in the amber glow of the bar’s neon lighting, she looked incredible. The forest-green blazer she’d worn all day was gone, leaving her in a simple black top that made her hazel eyes look impossibly bright.

“So,” she said, leaning back and cradling her glass in both hands. “You run your own agency in San Diego. Why come back here? I mean, besides your dad’s health. Was it hard coming home again and leaving the beach for the mountains?”

“A little,” I admitted, shrugging. “I didn’t realize just how much I’d grown to love California. I built my firm from scratch, but family comes first. When Jax called and told me how bad Dad’s blood pressure was getting, there wasn’t really a choice to make. Jax is great with logistics, but I think he hates the executive side of the business, and my brother Chris is buried in his medical books. When the board decided I was the one to take over temporarily, it fell on me.”

“It’s really admirable,” she said softly, her gaze holding mine with a sincerity that caught me off guard. “A lot of guys wouldn’t just drop their life to play savior for a few months.”

“I’m not a savior. I’m just a son trying to keep his dad from collapsing at work,” I murmured, my voice dropping an octave as I looked at her. The noise of the crowded bar seemed to fade into a dull hum. “And honestly, finding talent like yours in the building has made the transition a hell of a lot easier.”

Before she could respond to the sudden shift in tone, the waiter put a massive, sizzling platter of nachos between us. It was a mountain of tortilla chips smothered in melted cheddar, black beans, guacamole, and sour cream, with jalapeños on one side of the plate. I shifted that side toward me.

“Oh my god,” Sofia breathed, her eyes widening. “I’d forgotten how beautiful this is.”

“The Nugget doesn’t mess around.” I smirked, digging in.

For the next hour, the conversation flowed effortlessly. We talked about everything and nothing—the nightmare clients from my past, both of our childhoods growing up in Golden. We had missed meeting each other in school because I went to a private school and she attended public. We talked about her family’s connection to the Blueberry Bakery and other clients that she’d brought to the firm since she was hired full time last year. She had an incredibly sharp, sarcastic wit that kept me on my toes, and I found myself laughing more than I had in months.

I was just reaching for the last jalapeño-laden chip when I felt a sudden, heavy pat on my shoulder.

“Rick? Holy hell, man, I thought that was you!”

I turned around on my stool, my heart skipping a beat as I recognized the towering frame and thick beard of Marcus Lorence, co-owner of Clear Creek Brewery. Standing right beside him was a bored-looking dark-haired man who was scanning the room, eyeing each and every woman as if looking for someone.

“Marcus,” I said, instantly shifting into executive mode as I stood up to shake his hand, though my mind was frantically spinning. I had gone to school with the guy. I knew he was co-owner of the account my father was trying to get, but I hadn’t thought he would recognize me. We’d gone to the same school, but Marcus was from one of the wealthiest families in the state, so we hadn’t run in the same circles. “Great to see you. What are the odds?”

“We were just finishing a late meeting,” Marcus boomed, his loud voice cutting through the bar chatter. “This is Ed Collins, my other half at CCB.” As I shook the man’s hand, Marcus looked past me, his eyes landing directly on Sofia, then back to me, a knowing smirk creeping into his face. “I’d heard that you were back in town. And who’s your friend?”

“This is Sofia Ferreira,” I said, gesturing to her. “She’s our lead strategist on your campaign.”

“A pleasure, Sofia,” Marcus said smoothly, pulling out a nearby empty stool without asking and gesturing for his partner to do the same. From what I remembered of Marcus, he’d been the “It” boy in our class. He’d dated all the popular girls, starred in all the sports, and had been everything but valedictorian. That honor had been mine. “Can we join you for a round?” he said, his eyes zoned on Sofia. “Is that our amber ale?”

“Absolutely,” I said, catching Sofia’s eye, then waving to our waitress for more glasses and another pitcher of cold beer.

Once the fresh beers arrived, Marcus leaned his massive forearms on the table. “So, Rick, your dad’s been excited about your big pitch for months. Give me a teaser. What’s the vibe? Because the corporate agencies in Denver are trying to turn us into a brand for hipsters and jocks, and it just doesn’t feel like what we had in mind.”

I smiled, gesturing toward Sofia. “Well, Marcus, I’ll let Sofia give you the five minute pitch, because she’s the one who is working on it.”

Thankfully, Sofia didn’t miss a beat. The momentary panic in her eyes vanished instantly, replaced by that fierce, confident spark I’d noticed over the past week.

“I’ll make this a short pitch,” Sofia said, her voice smooth, articulate, and completely captivating. “The other agencies want to sell your beer to people who only look at mountains on Instagram or watch sports on the television. We want to sell it to the people who actually climb mountains and play the sports. Our concept is entirely hyper-local. Clear Creek isn’t just a beverage; it’s the ultimate, premium reward for living the Colorado lifestyle. It’s forged in the Rockies, and poured right here in Golden.”

Marcus stared at her for a beat, a slow, appreciative grin spreading across his face. He slapped his hand on the table. “Hell yes! See, that’s what I’m talking about! ‘Poured in Golden.’ I love that. Man, I can’t wait to see the full presentation next week.”

He took a long gulp of his beer, then paused, his expression turning a bit thoughtful.

“Though I should probably give you a heads-up,” Marcus added, leaning in a bit closer. “You guys have some unexpected local competition. Another Golden agency reached out to us out of the blue, and they actually managed to snag a pitch meeting with us the day before yours.”

I raised an eyebrow, my competitive instincts instantly flaring. “Really? I didn’t know there was another agency in Golden?” It was half joke and half truth. Golden wasn’t a big city, but it was big enough, and I’d been gone long enough to lose touch with what was going on.