Free His Illegitimate Heir by Sarah M. Anderson Page A

basic. I’d love to get us back to having one or two spotlight beers that we could rotate in and out.” She got a wistful look on her face. “It’s hard to see that here, though.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œI mean, look at this.” She swept her hand out, encompassing the remains of their lunch. “ This. Most people who drink our beer don’t do so in the luxury of a private office with a catered four-course meal. They drink a beer at a game or on their couch, with a burger or a brat.”
    Suddenly, a feeling he’d gotten earlier—that she hadn’t approved of the setup—got stronger. “What about you? Where do you drink your beer?”
    â€œMe? Oh. I have season tickets to the Rockies. My dad and I go to every home game we can. Have you done that?” He shook his head. “You should. I’ve learned a lot about what people like just standing in line to get a beer at the game. I talk with the beer guys—that sort of thing.”
    â€œA ball game?” He must have sounded doubtful, because she nodded encouragingly. “I can get a box.”
    â€œReally?” She rolled her eyes. “That’s not how people drink beer. Here. I’ll tell you what—there’s a game tomorrow night at seven, against the Braves. My dad can’t go. You can use his ticket. Come with me and see what I mean.”
    He stared at her. It didn’t sound like a come-on—but then, he’d never gotten quite so turned on watching another woman drink beer before. Nothing was typical when it came to this woman. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
    â€œOf course.”
    He had a feeling she was right. He’d spent years learning about the corporate workings of the brewery from a distance. If he was going to run this place as his own—and he was—then he needed to understand not just the employees but their customers.
    Besides, the Braves were his team. And beyond that, this was a chance to see Casey outside work. Suddenly, that seemed important—vital, even. What was she like when she wasn’t wearing a lab coat? He shouldn’t have wanted to know. But he did anyway. “It’s a da—” Casey’s eyes got huge and her cheeks flushed and Zeb remembered that he wasn’t having a drink with a pretty girl at a bar. He was at the brewery and he was the CEO. He had to act like it. “Company outing,” he finished, as if that was what he’d meant to say all along.
    She cleared her throat. “Covert market research, if you will.” Her gaze flickered over his Hugo Boss suit. “And try to blend, maybe?”
    He gave her a level stare, but she was unaffected. “Tomorrow at seven.”
    â€œGate C.” She gathered up her tablet. “We’ll talk then.”
    He nodded and watched her walk out. Once the door was firmly closed behind her, he allowed himself to grin.
    Whether she liked it or not, they had a date.

Six
    C asey really didn’t know what to expect as she stood near the C gate at Coors Field. She’d told Richards to blend but she was having trouble picturing him in anything other than a perfectly tailored suit.
    Not that she was spending a lot of time thinking about him in a perfectly tailored suit. She wasn’t. Just because he was the epitome of masculine grace and style, that was no reason at all to think about her boss.
    Besides, she didn’t even go for guys in suits. She usually went for blue-collar guys, the kind who kicked back on the weekend with a bunch of beer to watch sports. That was what she was comfortable with, anyway. And comfort was good, right?
    And anyway, even if she did go for guys in suits—which she did not—she was positive she didn’t go for guys like Richards. It wasn’t that he was African American. She had looked him up, and one of the few pictures of him on the internet was him standing with a woman