Excerpt of Brewing Up a Bad Boy by Katherine Garbera

Chapter One

Alistair Miller stood in the archway that led from the bookshop into the tearoom of WiCKed Sisters in Birch Lake, Maine. Leaning casually against it, watching Poppy Kitchener. She moved with an effortless grace that he’d noticed the first time he saw her, before they got married, before he’d fucked everything up. Because she’d been insistent they handle everything through their solicitors, it had been nine years, two months and six days since he’d last seen her.

They spoke via email six months ago, when he’d asked to join the Secret Tea Society Discord, Tea Society, for short, which she ran. He’d heard about it via a mutual friend who was into brewing kombucha. He’d joined mostly as a way out of his isolation and to connect with other tea makers…but he’d be lying if a part of him hadn’t wanted to reconnect with Poppy. She was his first love, after all.

The Secret Tea Society had grown in popularity, along with Poppy and WiCKed Sisters. The Discord group was mainly comprised of independent tea makers who were innovative and a far cry from his family’s centuries-old traditional company and views.

In the online group, her profile photo was just a teacup with primroses on it. The cup wasn’t anything like the woman he had thought he knew. She was strong and pretty, of course, but also bold, quirky and not afraid to speak her mind.

He thought he was prepared to see her again. With her lush curly hair that she still dyed blond because it suited her coloring. A fair English rose with thick brown eyebrows, a heart-shaped face and a mouth that was always ready with a zinger when he got out of line.

The words she’d said to him when she left him for good still echoed in his mind whenever he let them in. There was no guard against being reminded of the worst parts of himself. Losing his wife in the name of a family business he felt trapped by had been a living nightmare. He shoved his hand through his thick hair, trying to shake off the negative thoughts.

He clocked the moment she noticed him. She’d matured into her face, and he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Her body stiffened, the smile she’d been wearing disappeared from her face, and she turned to the tall guy behind her to say something. It took him a moment to recognize the gangly man as Merle, her cousin. The same dude who’d texted him back in the autumn, when he’d first joined the online tea society, to tell him not to mess with Poppy.

Like I’d to listen to her nerdy cousin. As soon as the unkind thought entered his mind, he shook his head. Putting others down whenever he felt cornered—that was old Ali behavior. New Ali was more understanding and didn’t have to put up defenses every time he was insecure.

There was no doubt he was insecure at this moment.

Poppy Kitchener.

Of all the people who had been a guiding force in his attempt at transforming from a grade A douchebag into a semi-decent human, she was the catalyst.

She wiped her hands on a towel and came around the long counter, walking straight toward him. Her stride was long limbed. Even though she wasn’t tall, she carried herself like an Amazon when she got her back up. Obviously seeing him wasn’t a treat.

He should straighten to his full height and greet her with that polite smile that he’d learned at his mother’s knee and had been using for his entire life. But that polite, entitled boy had been burned out of him with rage, loss, and a hard look at himself. But he didn’t want to look desperate either.

His purpose was clear, yet seeing her distracted him. Poppy had always been a problem. She’d never been the woman he expected her to be. That was still true today. There was no way the co-owner of the highly successful WiCKed Sisters brand was going to agree to pretend to still be married to him.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

Taking a deep breath, he focused on his end goal. Surprising her hadn’t been his best idea, but time was running out. “I’m here to see you.”

“Why?”

Why indeed? He was pretty sure he could lead with, I’ve been trying to make up for being a total bag of dicks to you and everyone else in my early twenties. “Gemma’s wedding is this weekend. You never gave me a definitive answer about going. I thought maybe an in-person invite would convince you to go with me.”

“I didn’t RSVP, sors.”

“I did for both of us.”

“Wait…are you really still on about us being married?”

He didn’t like her tone. Or the fact that she was totally right about the situation. If he’d just come clean with his parents, then he wouldn’t be here. Poppy, more than anyone, understood how impossible it was to have a genuine conversation with his parents.

“Oh my days, you’re out of your head,” she said, walking away from him. She muttered under her breath as she collected the teacups and plates left on the tables as she went by.

Ali grabbed some dirty dishes as well, intent on following her into the backroom where she’d disappeared—but Merle immediately blocked his path to Poppy.

“Out of the way, mate.” The more time she had to think, the more likely she’d get ticked at him and stop talking to him again. All that work in the Tea Society would be for nothing.

“No. She’s not your wife and doesn’t want to pretend to be. Y’all are divorced. Let that sink in and go back to London.”

“I live in Kent now, Merle. This doesn’t concern you.” The longer that he stood there with Merle, the more tension built in him. The logical part of his brain tried to raise objections, but the spike in his blood pressure drowned that out. Merle somehow became an amalgam of every person who’d blocked him throughout his life. All he knew was Merle better move or he was going to deck the guy—

“Fuck.” He couldn’t start a fight with Merle. Putting the dishes on the counter, he said, “Tell her I need to talk to her about tea. It’s not just the wedding. It’s business. I’ll sit over there and wait.”

He was so tense it was hard for him to get the words out. But he wasn’t going to punch Poppy’s cousin. The old piece of him, the man who let anger rule him was…straining to get out. It was harder than he wanted to admit to keep that fucking monster under control.

He usually stayed out of situations that aggravated him. But this time, he couldn’t retreat to his cottage in the Kent countryside, where he took long walks, brewed his craft beer and chatted online, pretending he was a decent British gentleman instead of drowning in the chaotic isolation that was always right there at the edge.

“You okay?” Merle asked.

“Sorry for being a jerk,” Ali said. “But I do need to speak to her.”

Merle just nodded. “I’ll let her know.”

*

Poppy stood at the sink, her hands braced on the counter. Had she manifested this?

For fuck’s sake.

She hadn’t been prepared today for Alistair looking like every sex dream she’d ever had. He hadn’t lost his shine in the years since she’d seen him. If anything, he looked fitter. When they first met, he’d been leaner, wearing black and leather to go with the bad boy persona that had preceded him to uni. His black hair was just as thick and curled the slightest bit on the top.

God, her fingers were tingling just remembering how it felt to push her hands through it.

He’d deceived her, broken her heart and filled her with regret. Too bad that late at night when she’d had too much pink Moscato, she still wanted him. Even wanted to be his fake wife. To be the ballsy woman that her friend Liberty was and say yes to the wedding, sleep with him, use him and then tell everyone there they were divorced. Good riddance.

Time to take karma into her own hands, leave on her terms, taking back the legacy he’d charmed out of her hands when she’d lost her family’s tea recipe to Lancaster-Spencer. She should have heeded her ancestor’s warning not to trust anyone in the Lancaster-Spencer family—especially the men.

Except she wasn’t Liberty. She’d been born a people pleaser. She couldn’t hurt him even if she wanted to because of his eyes. Those same soulful eyes that held hidden depths she’d never really discovered, that suggested Alistair held on to a lot of pain.

Truthfully, that same look had been why she’d fallen for him. Sure, she had thought they were moving too fast, but there was always something about Ali that grabbed at her. That outward charming arrogance that looked a little edgy…and secretly sad.

A strong pair of arms wrapped around her, pulling her into a hug. She recognized Merle’s warmth and cologne—and the slight scent of cinnamon, which she knew came from Liberty. Hugging him back, she drew strength from her cousin.

“You okay?”

With her forehead against his chest, she groaned. No. No way, she was the opposite of okay.

He laughed in a kind way. “I tried to get him to leave. But he said it’s business and took a seat at one of the tables,” Merle said. “He almost slugged me but stopped himself and calmed down.”

That caught her attention, and she straightened. Alistair always had a quick temper and got into fights all the time when they used to go out. That violence was never directed at her but at the shitty men who would hit on her. Alistair always came to her rescue…just not the way she’d have wanted. It had made her uncomfortable and want to go home. For her, he had only his passion. Everything that Alistair felt manifested itself physically.

“That’s new.”

“Yeah,” Merle said.  He waited to see what she wanted to do.

Her cousin was six months older than her. They’d always sort of been the oddballs in their families and had bonded. Her mom’s biggest gripe about her was that she lived in Poppy’s World and Merle had simply said, What’s wrong with that?

“Options?”

“You sneak out the back, and I act like you’re still in here,” he suggested. “Then send Liberty in here to ‘talk’ to you, she goes back in the shop and kicks him out, so I don’t have to go up against your buff ex-husband.”

Poppy couldn’t help smiling at that and playfully punched him in the shoulder. “I know you’re not scared of Alistair.”

“You’re right. I also know he won’t get physical with a woman, and it was a near thing when I blocked his path. I don’t want to test it again. Seemed like he was holding himself back, and that’s not him, from what you’ve shared.”

She had the same feeling when Ali asked to join her online group six months ago. He listened, asked thoughtful questions, and there had only been one incident when he contradicted her and got superior about a tea-blending approach. Both of them had been right, and he was valid in stating there were other ways to do things than the way she did them. But it had smacked of their old relationship.

Ali used to frame her blending skills as lesser because she’d only learned them from the old book that had passed down through her maternal family. The same recipe book that his family had tried to romance, buy and steal from hers for centuries. Not without bitterness, she knew that the romance had worked on her in a way it hadn’t on Viola Kitchener. That woman had walked away from marriage to the prestigious Earl of Winfield and his fledging tea company, Lancaster-Spencer.

“You got any other ideas?” she asked. Even living in the romanticized version of the world as she did, she still fought her own battles.

“You talk to him,” Merle said. “Get some closure with him. Hate to be that guy, but I can tell you’re still into him.”

No denying that. “I’m not into him… I’m just not.”

Giving her a wry grin “It’s a good thing I speak Poppy. So what should I do?”

“Watch the shop. I’m going to talk to him. If it looks like I’m about to do something stupid, intervene.”

Merle didn’t budge. “Define stupid.”

“I won’t know until it happens.”

She tucked her hair behind her ear, took a deep breath and then walked purposefully out of the backroom, aware that Merle was behind her. But straight-up truth, all she saw was Alistair.

Sitting alone at a table near the front of her shop. His posture was perfect, as it was when he was nervous.

Or around his parents. His family had high expectations of everyone.

Including the woman she should be. She’d joined Lancaster-Spencer believing she’d have a chance to try her innovative tea blends, but they had stuck her in a job that frankly felt like Chandler Bing’s on Friends…sort of nondescript, doing nothing.

The influence they had on their second son was immense. He felt he never measured up, but frankly, why anyone would want their approval was beyond her. His father was arrogant, looking down his nose at everyone else. His mother was vain, working hard to keep her social standing ensuring that everyone she met was aware of it. And his brother…

George actually wasn’t that bad. He carried himself with the same bearing as his parents, but you got the sense he actually cared about people.

Alistair had been this fun-loving, sexy bad boy. Always doing what he wanted and taking her along on the ride of her life. Until their marriage, when he’d done a complete personality change.

So who was she getting today? The bad boy who’d romanced a shy girl and made her believe her love could smooth his rough edges? Or the proud, restrained second son of the aristocratic Miller family? Or the playful man who ran down a deserted street with her after they’d been kicked out of a pub for being too drunk and dancing on a table?

Catching her eye, he gestured to the chair opposite himself. He stood, pulling out the chair.

Stiffening her backbone, she told herself all she had to do was listen to him. But she knew the hardest part would be to remember what she wanted. She wasn’t going to even attempt to please Alistair. That Poppy was long gone.

*

Nothing worth having was easy to get. Despite his privileged upbringing, that was one lesson that Alistair had to keep learning. Right now, walking away from Poppy and WiCKed Sisters would be the sensible thing. But he couldn’t do that.

The lies he’d told were all coming together in the perfect shitstorm. And at the center of it was Poppy Kitchener.

She hadn’t even changed her name when they were married. Which was cool, a lot of women didn’t. But that had been one more mark against him in his mother’s eyes.

He was wound up from the exchange with Merle. Therapy had helped him start this journey, but there was still so much work left. Walking away would help. Removing himself from the stressful situation. Except he was pretty damned sure if he walked away from Poppy, the chances of getting her to talk to him again would be shot.

Meanwhile, the owner of the bookshop kept glaring at him between helping customers. Serafina. She was the one with the handmade manifesting journals. He’d thought about buying one.

Word around town was that these three were witches. Something that still surprised him; Poppy had never really seemed to have any interest in anything spiritual when they were together. Truthfully, he probably wouldn’t have noticed even if she had. Given his history with Poppy, he wouldn’t blame her for putting a hex on the journal.

Joke’s on her, he thought wryly. He’d already hexed himself. If there was a way to fuck up a good thing, then he inevitably found it.

Poppy walked over to him. She wore a pink satiny shirt dress with red rhinestones on it. The V-neck of the dress was respectable, but he knew the body underneath that demure dress. Had lain awake at night remembering holding her in his lap, the heat of her against his body.

Not now, he reminded himself as held out a chair for her. He needed every single etiquette and deportment lesson he’d ever received. He had to be the epitome of a gentleman. Not the man from years ago, who’d taken one look at the woman he was meant to persuade to sell his family her tea-blend recipe and almost forgotten his name.

Not this time.

He wasn’t going to allow it. He couldn’t. They both needed closure, and Poppy deserved some real compensation and acknowledgment from Lancaster-Spencer Tea Makers instead of having her family and her own name erased from the blend that they’d crafted and cultivated over the years.

“Thank you for coming back to talk to me.”

Poppy gave him what he thought of as a Poppy look. It was polite but told him he was on thin ice and had better not screw up.

“Explain this fake-married proposal. You said it was for business. Weren’t we real married for that?” she asked with more than a little bite.

Poppy came to play. For the first time, he realized just how much she had changed from the woman he’d courted and married almost ten years ago. Her new attitude was going to make everything more difficult. But he liked it.

“Lancaster-Spencer is aware of Willingham’s offer,” he said, remembering the email his mum had sent last night outlining what they knew about the offer, made by their biggest competitor. His brother George had texted over more details and a generous counteroffer.

“So?”

Yeah, Ali, so? It’s not like you convinced her to sign a contract and told her she didn’t have to read the fine print beforehand. Of course, he hadn’t read the fine print either. Who did, right? “Lancaster-Spencer will sue you if you sign it.”

“What the actual fuck?”

“Turns out that one of the clauses from our first contract was a noncompete. That’s why I’m here. I have an alternative for you.”

Red crept up her chest and neck and cheeks. In a minute, she was going to lose it, and he didn’t blame her.

“I’m sorry. I had no idea—”

“Of course you didn’t. You just did what your father ordered. Married me, got me to give you the recipe and then sign a contract giving your family company the rights to the one tea blend that was in my family for generations. The one that we were famous for blending and the one the first Earl of Winfield was unsuccessful in seducing from my ancestors when your family made a subpar blend.”

Her tirade was completely justified; everything she listed was truth. “Uh…”

But Poppy wasn’t done. “You were just doing your himbo duty. Being sexy and distracting, making sure I didn’t look anywhere but at you.”

Clenching his fists on his legs, Alistair took several deep breaths. She was winding him up, but what she said was true. He’d been the party boy in university, and his father had wanted him to prove his seriousness or he would cut him off.

So he’d done it. Gotten something no one else in the history of Lancaster-Spencer had. The rights to a small family-owned tea blend that had eluded them for more than a century. The goodwill from that gesture had opened doors for Alistair that he hadn’t realized were waiting for him. He was offered an executive job, but it fed a monster inside of him that he hadn’t realized was there: craving his father’s approval.

He’d wanted more and more. Until Poppy left.

“I’m a Miller, not a himbo. And you were happy enough to do whatever I suggested,” he reminded her.

“Not anymore.”

“Believe me, I’m very aware of that. And I’m trying to help you.”

“Remind me again how me pretending we are still married is going to do that?” she asked.

Slowly, he unclenched his fingers. “I’ve been working with George to come up with a fair offer for you.”

“Are you two in charge now?” she asked.

“No. Mum suggested that I try to bridge our estrangement, and at the wedding, we can talk to Dad. The family will be there as back up,” he said.

“Estrangement?”

“Yeah. That’s… Listen I know I should have told them the divorce was finalized, but I didn’t… you know how they are.”

“I do,” she said reluctantly.

“It’s become a habit now not talking to them about anything. But I will after you get the agreement you deserved when you married me. What do you say? Will you give it a try? George and Mum both want you to get a fair deal,” he said.

“Why now?”

He couldn’t tell her that he’d made it a condition for selling his own shares to both of them. They wanted him out of Lancaster-Spencer as much as he did. He had big plans for the money he’d earn from the sale. But they all hinged on Poppy saying yes to attending the wedding with him so he could finally right his wrongs.