by Kim Karr
This was about Tyler and me.
Mr. Dane cleared his throat. “Lawson asked me to join you today to help decipher the legalities surrounding the death of Malcolm Fairchild in regards to his will and his winery.”
For some odd reason, I felt that same sorrow I wanted to slap out of myself emerge, and I took a deep breath. I was way too emotional over his death. Father or not, he never loved me in the way a father should love a child.
Tabitha raised a hand as if she were in class. Mr. Dane smiled at her. “Yes, Tabitha?”
“What will are you referring to, exactly, sir?”
“I emailed it to you,” Lawson told her very matter of factly.
Her lips puckered. “And when was that?”
“As soon as I could.”
Tyler tapped his pen on the polished wood and I could tell he was hiding his smirk. This amused him.
Mr. Dane put his reading glasses on and thumbed through a stack of papers.
I knew there was some kind of dynamics at play here, but I didn’t know what they were exactly. If I had to guess, I’d say Tabitha and Lawson were not exactly the best of friends.
While he looked at the papers in front of him, I spoke up. “The doctor at the nursing home said my father mentioned I’d make a great CEO. Could that possibly hold any weight?”
Mr. Dane glanced up and then toward Lawson. “Have you checked into that?”
Lawson shook his head. “No, sir, I wasn’t aware.”
“That’s because he didn’t bother to interview his own client,” Tabitha muttered.
Mr. Dane resumed perusing the documents. “Why don’t you get the doctor’s statement,” he advised Lawson, “It can’t hurt.”
“Yes, sir, I will.”
Finding what he was looking for, Mr. Dane handed a piece of paper to Tabitha. “Here you go.”
She took it and gave it a quick glance. “It’s over thirty years old.”
With a sigh, Mr. Dane said, “Yes, and that’s why Lawson asked me to attend this meeting. As far as the law goes, it’s pretty clear. If there's a will, the executor should execute it, regardless of the timeframe.”
“Executor?” I asked.
He looked over at me. “In lay-person English, an executor’s job is to administer the process by which assets are transferred. This includes making certain to pay-off the deceased's debts, filing their income-tax returns, and distributing any remaining assets afterward according to the terms of the will.”
“Okay, I understand, but who’s the executor?”
“That’s just it, the person named is also deceased, which completes things even more.”
I nodded in understanding, and when I did, I felt something slide up my calf. I glanced under the table to find Tyler had taken his shoe off and was gliding his socked toe over my skin. The simple touch sent a tingle down my spine and I knew he noticed because his gaze grew lustful, his lids lowering in the sexiest way and making my pulse beat way too fast.
Damn him.
Mr. Dane went on. “The law isn’t always clear on such matters. We could request the will be nullified, and then, procced as if there weren’t one. In that case, an executor will be appointed by the court and the remaining assets will pass to the decedent's heirs according to the state of law but I’m not suggesting we do that.”
Tabitha’s hand went up again but this time so did Lawson’s. Tabitha was on one side, Lawson on the other side of Mr. Dane.
“Sir,” she said.
“Sir,” he said.
Mr. Dane’s eyes twinkled in amusement. “Ladies first.”
Tabitha gloated and then spoke. “I agree with you, sir. Wouldn’t it make more sense that since the named heirs in Mr. Fairchild’s will are both deceased, that we simply petition the court to assign a new executor? And if we do so,” she went on, “he would then be forced to revoke the will and subsequently have to follow the laws of California for estate disbursement.”
“No, Tabitha, unfortunately I don’t think it’s that simple,” he said. “Lawson is afraid if we do that, the court will request a very time-consuming review of the estate first, and I tend to agree with him.”
Now Lawson was gloating.
Mr. Dane went on. “After doing some research this morning and making a few calls, I suggest we avoid asking for an executor, and treat the will like we would any other jointly owned asset.”
Awareness started buzzing through my entire body as Tyler’s touch inched higher and higher. I couldn’t take it anymore. I moved my legs back and crossed them at my ankles to avoid any further contact.
“Oh,” Tabitha said, “That’s brilliant. We take the right of survivorship approach.”
“Exactly what I suggested when Mr. Dane and I spoke earlier,” Lawson said with a smile so big, his teeth showed.
Tabitha narrowed her eyes at him.
Now I was the one raising my hand. “What does that mean?”
Tyler spoke this time, his blue eyes swimming with suggestion as they found mine. “It’s simple. For example, if a couple’s bank account was jointly owned, then one spouse died, the other would get the account. In your case, we treat siblings in that same manner.”
I felt Tyler’s hot stare on me and I couldn’t look away. I swore someone had lit a match from the heat flaring between us. “Okay,” I said. “So does that mean it’s business as usual at the Highway 128 office?”
Mr. Dane shook his head. “Because you entered into a merger with California Jane before having the lawful authority to do so, we feel waiting until we have the court’s approval is the best course of action. We’d prefer not to get caught up in probate over semantics.”
I shifted a little and wondered just how warm it was in here. “How long do you think that will take?” I asked.
Mr. Dane started to explain the dynamics of the process. It was complicated and I started to get lost in all the legalities.
Tuning out, I glanced Tyler’s way again. He was drinking a bottle of water and I watched the way his throat bobbed when he swallowed. Even when he set the bottle down, I found myself staring at that short, trimmed facial hair that was more than a five o’clock shadow but not quite a beard.
It was so damn sexy.
Tyler folded his hands on the table and it was then I saw the twinkling platinum band on his ring finger.
I leaned forward to be certain my eyes weren’t playing tricks on me, and he did the same, mouthing, “Do you like it? I got a matching one for you.”
I shook my head and mouthed, “I don’t want it.”
“So, if that’s okay, Paris, I’d like to get started on the process,” Mr. Dane said.
Completely lost, I looked toward Tabitha.
She nodded.
“Yes, sir, I think that will be fine,” I told him.
Satisfied with the outcome, Mr. Dane stood. “It was great to have my three interns back in the same room. Things just haven’t been the same around here. Good day, everyone.”
Tabitha started yelling at Lawson as soon as Mr. Dane was gone.
In the midst of the war, Tyler stood up. “Looks like we’re office mates for a while.”
Okay, a while, not forever, I could manage that. “Office mates isn’t the right word,” I said over the arguing. “I think co-workers would better suit our situation.”
“Tomato, Tomahto,” he grinned. “See you at the office, and,” he drew an imaginary line around my torso, “you might want to change. We have production line checks this afternoon and an auction to prepare for.”
“Are you changing?” I asked.
“No, but I’m not wearing five-inch heels, either.”
I stood and ignored Tabitha’s use of foul language as she continued to yell at Lawson. “I’ll be fine,” I told him.
Something in his face told me I wouldn’t be.
Not in the slightest bit.
Paris
I STOPPED OUTSIDE his office knowing this was going to test all of my willpower.
&nbs
p; Spending the day with him and all his charm always did.
Tabitha had given me a pep-talk though, of course, so I was ready. She’d taken me to lunch after our meeting and explained everything that was going on. That the Highway 128 accounts would be frozen, not that there was anything in them. That the shareholder’s families would be notified of the pending management change and the formality of a vote would be extended. And lastly, the financials would be reviewed for any irregularities but that was nothing to worry about.
It was a lot.
However, she reassured me that I would be back in my office at Highway 128 in a month’s time, tops.
What had my father been thinking not updating his will? Clearly, he hadn’t thought much about his legacy since my sister and mother passed away.
Tabitha told me that I had to stay away from the office, but I could go to the house if I wanted. Which I did not.
That settling the debt would be a priority before assets could be distributed. That scared me.
In the meantime, she advised that I work under the terms of the merger and do what I could to keep Highway 128 afloat. That worried me.
Her final suggestion was that I demand equal production time for both brands, and then she added that I had to make certain to resist all of Tyler Holiday’s charm. So much easier said than done.
“Eye on the prize,” she said, and then added, “Remember, Paris, you wanting him to change won’t change him, he has to actually do it. And trust me, showing him what he’s missing out on is the only way.” Yeah, like I said, so much easier said than done.
I fixed my dress and hated that my nipples were protruding when I hadn’t even seen him yet. Resigned to my wayward body, I knocked.
“Come in.” The voice was slow, dripping caramel oozing all kinds of sex appeal.
Damn him.
I pushed open the door and it didn’t take long for my gaze to land on him. He was standing by the table in the corner near the window that overlooked the vineyard. As soon as he saw me, he strode over. “Paris, great, you’re here just in time to meet Buck on the production floor.”
His expensive suit jacket had been removed and his silk tied discarded. All I could see was his pressed white shirt rolled up to his elbows and unbuttoned at the top and the impressive muscle tone of his arms and chest beneath it.
That dizziness came back and I dropped my gaze down his dark slacks, landing on his expensive shoes.
“And Paris,” he said, bringing my gaze back to his stunning face. “These are for you.”
The flowers in his hand were magical. Springs of baby’s breath and lavender. Wildflowers and roses and geraniums.
“Don’t accept bribes,” Tabitha had warned.
Eye on the prize.
I took the flowers. “Thank you, Tyler, but these aren’t necessary,” I said, and tossed them in the trash can near his desk.
It killed me to do so.
His perfect features twisted in annoyance but he recovered quickly. “So that’s how we’re doing this?”
I feigned innocence. “Doing what exactly?”
He shook his head. “Why this merger, of course. I got it now, no problem,” he said.
I had to admit—that worried me.
“Come on, Buck is waiting,” he huffed, and stormed out of the office.
“Tyler,” I said, “I think we should start by bottling under the Highway 128 labels.”
“Do you?” he asked.
“Yes, I do. I want equal say around here.”
He stopped in the hallway and turned to look at me. The thing was, he didn’t merely look at me, he devoured me with his gaze. For a long moment, he stared at me that way, then said, “Not a problem. I was going to have you work on the auction and I was going to work with Paulo, but we can switch roles. Have you gotten the Highway 128 recipes to Paulo?”
I shook my head. In truth, I had no idea where the recipes were.
“Okay, I’m sure Paulo can call your former winemaker and have them sent over. While barrel selection and racking are going on, we were thinking of bringing the free-run wines into the lab and working with those, is that okay with you?”
Heat crawled up my neck and to my cheeks. “That will be fine,” I smiled. “But could you please remind me which ones those are, and what label I arranged to use?”
“I can,” he said in a low, husky voice as he started walking again. His strides were quick and when we stepped outside, I had a hard time keeping up in my heels.
“Free-run is the juice that flows from freshly picked grapes during the destemming and crushing processes, prior to the pressing process. When we put the grapes into the winepress, the grapes are stacked on top of each other and the weight of the fruit causes the release of some juice. That’s free-run.”
I tried to picture the entire winemaking process and wished I’d spent more time on the floor before the fire.
The corner of his mouth crooked upward as he glanced over my way. “Are you following me?”
I nodded.
He went on. “Red wines made from free-run juice are rare; only a limited amount of free-run juice is produced during each vintage’s winemaking process. And because of this, we want to sell it under a separate label.”
“Why?” I asked.
He smirked. “So we can get a much higher price point.”
“Oh, right,” I remarked. “Which vintage are we using first?” I asked.
That smirk grew wider. “I think I’ll let you and Paulo decide.”
The production facility was in much better shape than Highway 128 had ever been. “You have solar panels,” I said, pointing to the roof.
He kept walking. “Yeah. Wilhelmina had those installed back before the fires took priority. It was a start to modernization. Someday I hope to make this place state-of-the-art.”
I nodded, taking it all in, and then I stumbled a bit when we entered the production room. The height of the A-frame metal ceiling and the sheer volume of steel tanks dwarfed Highway 128’s.
His hand went to my back to steady me and his voice filled my ear, warm and sensual. “I told you to wear something more practical, maybe tomorrow you’ll listen.”
“I’m fine,” I assured him, squaring my shoulders.
Breaking the rules of our marriage addendum, he swatted by behind. “Good, then I think I’ll leave you to it. I’ll be in the office preparing for the auction. We don’t have a lot of time.”
Jackass.
Turned out, I wasn’t fine.
Not when I nearly skated across the concrete floor that led to the drain. Or when the overly potent scent of violet from the red wine fermentation process almost caused me to lose my lunch. And especially not when we started working on blends—looking at all of the components, sampling the barrels and performing trials.
I was at a complete loss.
It was close to five when Paulo sat me down to discuss ordering glass, corks, capsules, and labels, and nearly six when he took me out to oversee the framing of the vineyards.
To say my feet were killing me would be putting it mildly. It was more like my entire body was throbbing. Pain radiated upward from my toes and was about to shoot out of the top of my head.
Leave me to it. He’d made it sound so easy.
It was anything but.
Starving, cranky, and exhausted, I pulled in the driveway only to find my temporary husband sitting on the front porch enjoying a cup of coffee just as the sun was about to set.
Bastard.
“How did the afternoon go, Paris?” Again, he made sure to draw out my name and I really hated that rule Tabitha had insisted we add to the addendum.
“Fine,” I lied as I hobbled up the stairs. I eyed the empty rocker beside him and considered taking a seat but feared I wouldn’t be able to get up.
He raised his mug. “Great. I wasn’t sure what time you’d be home, so I went ahead and picked up takeout. There’s some Cashew Chicken for you in the refrigerator.”
&nbs
p; I couldn’t help but smile at him. “Thank you, I’m starving.”
He shrugged. “No big deal. It was on the way home.”
Home.
Why did I like the way he said that word so much?
Tyler was fresh from a shower. The ends of his hair still wet. He was wearing a long-sleeved thermal t-shirt with a quilted vest around his torso to keep him warm. His legs were propped on the rail in front of him and crossed at the ankle, the laces of his boots untied.
Damn all of his sexiness.
I paused with my hand on the doorknob. “Did you get the bottles categorized for the auction?”
He set his mug down. “Mostly.”
“What is it?”
“I hate selling them.”
“I wish there was another way.”
“Me too,” I whispered as I watched the sun get lost beneath the horizon.
He leaned back in his chair.
“Where did you get the rocking chairs?” I asked, realizing they hadn’t been there before.
Slowly, he stood. He appeared taller and larger when he stepped closer. The cool air around me suddenly shifted to a tropic-like temperature. “They were in that old storage room in the wine cellar.”
“Oh, you went back down there? Did you find the surveys?”
He stepped closer and oh, God, he smelled so good. “No, they weren’t in there. Lawson is going to go ahead and file a formal complaint with what we have.”
“Should I talk to Tabitha and see what she thinks?”
He placed his hand over mine and opened the door. “Probably not necessary but if you want to, go ahead.”
I stepped inside and wasted no time using the coat closet doorknob as an anchor so I could kick my legs back one at a time and reach back to take my damn shoes off.
One.
Two.
They fell to the ground with a thud.
“Shit,” he remarked, glancing down. “Are you bleeding?”
I twisted to where his gaze was aimed and yep, sure enough, the back of my heels had been rubbed raw and were bleeding through my hose. “It’s nothing,” I lied.
He didn’t believe me. “Do you want to eat or clean that mess up first?”