Mr. White
Page 9
I open it as slowly as I can, but it still gives a loud jangle, sounding brassy in the quiet of the early morning. The air smells wet with dew, and for now, it’s cool, but the signs of a scorcher are there. By nine a.m. it will be over eighty. I’m sure of it. I hurry down the street. The parking lot at Dottie’s is full, and a glance through the picture window shows a full counter of local color. I cut through the park and make my way to Millie’s Organic Grocery. Jason’s wife no longer runs it, but the new owner kept the name. There’s an unnatural spring in my step as I grab a basket and wander the aisles, wondering what Emmaline enjoys for breakfast. I settle on honeyed Greek yogurt and fresh berries.
“Well, hello there,” a sexy dark voice says while a hand palms my ass. “Fancy meeting you at this hour.” The implication is obvious. I turn slowly. Someone has obviously mistaken me for Austin.
“Macey?” I croak in surprise.
Her eyes narrow briefly, and then widen. “Declan. Ohmygod I’m so embarrassed. I thought-I thought-”
“I was Austin,” I finish. “Don’t worry.” I wink. “Your secret’s safe with me. Have a nice morning.” I knew it. I knew he was tapping her. I could see it written all over his face at the wedding. And there’ve been hints - little looks. I’ll give him credit for being discreet. Jason would tear him to pieces if he found out. I don’t know whether to high-five him or tell him to zip his dick back into his pants.
I stop at the baked goods and pick out two fresh chocolate croissants. And coffee. I remember tasting coffee on her breath in the afternoon, but what if she prefers tea first thing in the morning? I wrack my brain as I visualize her workspace. I don’t recall seeing a coffee machine. I head for the tea aisle instead, but fuck, there are so many choices. English Breakfast, Irish Breakfast, Earl Grey, Mint, Chamomile, Lemon Ginger. Fuck me. Whatever I pick, it will be wrong. I’m sure of it. And what do the French drink? This is more French breakfast than English breakfast. Coffee. They fucking drink coffee. Jeezus, this is why I don’t do relationships. There’s too much crap to remember, too many dates, too many expectations. All I want to do is provide sustenance to the beautiful woman still soft and naked in her bed.
Why does this have to be so complicated?
Fuck it. I decide on both. I grab a box of Irish Breakfast because it looks fancier, and lemon ginger, because why the fuck not? And I order two lattes to go. I’m never doing this again, I fume as I leave the store with breakfast and a carrying tray.
But I change my mind as soon as I see the delight in her eyes when I gently wake her up with a tray of food. “You did this for me?” She says with such surprise and gratitude that my heart aches.
My throat gets itchy and I nod. “You’ve got to keep your strength up,” I tease, holding a blackberry to her mouth. She takes it with an appreciative moan.
“That’s so delicious. I never want to forget this.”
“You keep saying that,” I remark.
She gives me a long unfathomable look. Only this time she’s not peeling back the layers of my psyche, I get the feeling that she’s weighing something heavy. But the moment vanishes with her smile. “I know. I just want to… savor every moment.”
“Why is that?” I probe, heart beating a little faster. I’ve entered dangerous territory. Will she parry away? Or will she reveal something intimate? I hold my breath, waiting.
She looks away, face falling a little. “I lost my dad when I was seventeen,” she says quietly, then sighs heavily. “It makes you appreciate things differently, I guess.”
There’s more to that story. I know it. I can see it written on her face, and I remember the look in Dottie’s eyes. I decide it’s best to not tell her I already know. But I have to offer her some measure of comfort, she looks absolutely forlorn. I notch my finger under her chin. “Hey,” I say softly, and wrap my other arm around her. “I’m sure he was very proud of you.”
She gives me a look of pure grief. “Thank you.”
I have zero experience with giving comfort. But I drop a kiss to her temple. “If you ever want to talk about it…” I offer, wondering darkly if Danny knows about this.
“I know. And thanks.” She takes a deep breath and a sip of her latte. “Sorry to be such a downer.”
“We all carry sadness, sweetheart.” Although I’m not sure I do. Anger? Definitely. Sadness? I can’t say.
We linger over breakfast, and I feed her bits of croissant and stain her lips with berries. After, we shower until the water runs cold. By the time we’re dressed, it’s well after nine. I check my phone and see a series of Google alerts. I scan them, face drawing tighter with each notification.
“Declan?” Emmaline’s hand comes to my arm. “What is it?”
“Another fucking scandal,” I bite out, praying to an unknown wine god that my new winemaker doesn’t get wind of this and bail. “My brother, Nico. You haven’t met him. His wife, Veronica, has run off with California’s Senator Whelan. She’s served Nico divorce papers, and apparently she’s pregnant with Whelan’s child.”
“But isn’t he married to-”
“Not for much longer.” I nod. “I have to go. I’m gonna be fielding calls all day.”
“Wait.” She hurries over to a desk piled high with fabric. “Here. Take this. For whenever you need it.” She hands me a key. “I’ll be in and out today, but my place is yours.”
In more ways than one, I think wryly. But I don’t have time to bring that up now. I pull her in for a fierce kiss. “Make sure that vibrator is fully charged. We’re playing tonight.” She kisses me back with a giggle that quickly turns into a moan. I can’t get enough of her, and I’m in awe with how understanding she is, how easy this feels.
“Don’t worry about locking the door behind you,” she calls as I head down the stairs, shoving the key into my slacks.
It burns in my pocket all day.
Chapter Seventeen
The day speeds by in a blur. I spend most of the morning nailing down closing terms for the Prairie properties, in between approving specs for the plans to rebuild the vineyard house, and ordering up both a contractor’s trailer, and a trailer for my winemaker to occupy during the build. There are no B&B’s on Mt. Veeder that aren’t vineyards, and right now, I don’t want anyone in the industry to know what I’m up to. I’ve secured her something down in Yountville, and made reservations for her at the French Laundry for her trouble.
At one, I meet ‘Big Mike’ McCallister over at the fire station. The business plan he emailed me is solid, but I still want to taste the beer. I’ve consumed enough microbrews to recognize good beer when I taste it. And his is… “Very good,” I say after tossing back a citrusy, hoppy IPA. “Damn good.”
Mike blushes and stands a little taller, face as red as his beard.
I work very hard not to roll my eyes. “Tell me about your plan again?” I ask. I want to hear it in his words. You can tell how committed to a project someone is by the passion in their voice.
“We’ll start small. Only six regulars and a rotating seasonal. Maybe an experimental tap, and of course the root beer. Dottie and Jamey said we could keep the food truck inside the warehouse, and I’ve thought about rotating chefs. No one’s interested full time, but the local cooks have all expressed interest in taking a day a week or every other week.”
“So you won’t have food overhead.”
He shakes his head. “No sir. I want to concentrate all my energy on beer.”
“Good man. And tell me about your market?”
“Well, the old timers will only drink a lager or maybe a pilsner. So I’ll have one of those on tap. The diner usually closes mid-afternoon, and those guys like to come in to cool off, and The Trading Post is too loud for them. The folks my age will try a new beer, and they’ll likely drop in before heading to the Trading Post for pool and dancing. The Trading Post has committed to keeping two of my beers on tap, so I feel pretty good about regular business.”
“You want to distribute?”
I read about Tall Grass when I was researching Mike, and I think he’s spot on. People have pipe dreams of world domination, when slow and steady is what lands you on top. Every time. I extend my hand. “I like what I hear, Mike. I’m happy to be a silent partner and help you get off the ground.”
He shakes my hand vigorously. “You won’t regret it. I promise.”
I stop by the liquor store on the way back to the lodge and buy the most expensive bottle of whiskey they have - Johnny Walker Blue, and a Cuban. Once my lawyer gets contracts drawn up, I plan to have a nice sit-down out back and celebrate my success. Surprisingly, I haven’t heard from Nico. He’ll call at some point. Even more surprisingly, I haven’t seen hide nor hair of Jason. I was sure he’d be over here calling me to heel by now. I don’t know what to think about the fact that he hasn’t. At five, I close my laptop and head downstairs with my bottle and my cigar. Still no word from Nico. I grab a tumbler and fill it with ice before heading out back.
It’s still hotter than fuck, but at least the patio is in the shade this time of day, not that it’s any cooler in the shade. It’s too humid here for my taste. Give me the evening breezes of Napa any day of the week. I drop into one of the Adirondack chairs and light my cigar, raising a toast to myself. My thoughts turn to Emmaline as I puff quietly. She’s quite possibly the most complicated person I’ve ever met, aside from myself. And if I was capable of falling in love, I think I’d be a goner.
“That better not be my Pappy Van Winkle you’re polluting with ice cubes,” says Austin as he drops into the chair next to me.
“Sadly, no.” I motion to the paper bag on the ground at my feet.
Austin pulls out the bottle and shakes his head. “Man, you’re slumming it.”
That’s the difference between Austin and me. Austin is all flash. He’s all about the big-ticket items. The fancy Pagani and the penthouse suite, and the exorbitantly expensive booze. Me? I give less shits about that kind of stuff. I’d rather have my empire speak for me. Sure, I wear hand-tailored suits, but I’m satisfied more easily. At least where material things are concerned. My convertible Mercedes coupe goes plenty fast on the highway, and once you reach a certain price point, booze is booze. I shrug. “It was the best bottle they had at the liquor store.”
“So why the celebration?”
“Just added to my real estate empire today,” I say with more than a little pride. It feels good to be doing something to further myself. Even the biggest tycoons have had setbacks. It’s the getting up and moving ahead that matters.
Austin takes a swig right out of the bottle, then raises it. “Congratulations.”
“Ask me where,” I say after taking a puff.
“Bahamas,”
“Nope.”
“Grand Cayman.”
I shake my head. “Farther north.”
He takes another swig from the bottle. “Quit fucking with me,” he growls, with a glare.
It’s only then I notice the lines of exhaustion around his eyes. Up too late screwing Macey, I wonder? I table that thought for the moment. “You hear from Nico today?”
“Wait, you’re gonna keep me in suspense?”
I have to admit, I like fucking with my brother. “Well, did you?”
He shakes his head. “Why?”
“Ronnie served him divorce papers today.”
His jaw drops. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
It was worth the bombshell just for the expression on his face. “Guess she was so unhappy when Nico told Dad to fuck off she went and got herself knocked up by Senator Whelan.”
Austin cringes with a laugh. “He’s got to be at least sixty.”
“Fifty-eight. It’s all over the tabloids.”
Austin pulls out his phone, eyes going wide as he sees some of the headlines. He lets out a slow whistle. “I always knew she was a social climber,” he says with a shake of his head. “Good riddance.” Austin says it so vehemently, I wonder what secrets he’s been keeping. “How’d you find out?” he finally asks.
“I have Google Alerts set up on all our names.”
“So you haven’t talked to him yet?”
I shake my head, and puff on my cigar. If I were him, I’d have hightailed it out of town, but it’s anybody’s guess as to where. “He’s probably holed up someplace licking his wounds.”
“Does Jason know?”
“Doubt it.”
“Who’s gonna be the one to break it to him?”
I lean forward with an awful grin. I’m not setting foot on Jason’s property until he asks me back. “I’m gonna leave that to you, big brother.”
Austin gives me a funny look. “And maybe I’ll let the rumor mill take care of Jason.” He drinks from the bottle and changes the subject. Case closed. We won’t discuss our older brother by six minutes again. “So tell me about your big deal.”
I shoot him a grin. “I bought a building. Several, actually.”
“Bully for you.”
“On Main.”
“Wait, here?” It’s the second time his jaw drops in the span of a few minutes. I fucking love dropping bombs on him. “Why the hell’d you do that?”
I shrug. “Why the hell not?”
“Isn’t that taking diversification a little far?”
I take a puff and slowly exhale. “Let’s just say I was helping a friend.”
Austin’s eyes narrow and he leans forward. “Who is she?”
He’s no dummy, but he also doesn’t know Macey grabbed my ass in the grocery store. “I could ask you the same.”
For a split second, his eyes fill with panic, and he tries to change the subject. “Tell me about the buildings.”
I let him, because I’m actually a little excited about it. “Nothing much. Decent investments that will appreciate over time. One I’m leasing to a brewer. Big dude named Mike.”
Austin perks up. He likes beer more than I do. “Does he have numbers? I might be interested in going in as a silent partner.”
“I’ll let him know.”
Silence falls between us. And I puff away, thoughts returning to Emmaline until I hear Austin snoring. I lean over and gently sock his arm. “Hey, you’re snoring.”
He wakes with a start, giving himself a shake. “Shit. I’m sorry. I’ll head in. I was on kid duty today.”
Kid duty? This is news. He starts to rise, but I motion him back down. “Let me guess. The cute little girl with the hot mama isn’t as cute as she seems?”
“She’s a demon,” he grits. “And she scares the shit out of me. I’m never fucking having kids.”
I raise my glass. “I’ll drink to that,” I say, relieved that Emmaline is on the same page where babies are concerned. But Macey, on the other hand, is a different story. She’s already got one kid, and that seems to act like a domino. Where there’s one, there’s always more. “Better not say that too loud around Macey.” I watch Austin for a reaction.
He freezes, and I bite my cheek to keep from laughing. I’m gonna love busting his balls over this.
“It’s not like I’m going to do it again,” he says strongly. “It was a one-time thing.”
“Sure it is.” I narrow my eyes. “You’re tapping her mom, aren’t you? You and Macey, doing the nasty.”
“You’re fucking the blonde from the wedding,” he shoots right back.
Fuck.
How does he know that? Nobody knows that. Nobody’s even seen us together. When in doubt, deny and change the subject. “I’m going to need a renter for the house downtown.” It’s my first offer. A silent signal that I’m willing to keep quiet if he is. “Interested?”
“You want me to rent from you?”
I shake my head. “Nah. Ju
st stay in it so it doesn’t get vandalized.”
He narrows his eyes. “What do you want in return?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?” He stares at me incredulously. He knows me well enough to know there are big strings attached. But I won’t start yanking them until I need to.
And now that I’ve made my offer, I must make my exit. I drain my glass and rise. “Just my good deed for the year. Think about it,” I call as I leave Austin staring after me.
Chapter Eighteen
The secret-keeping is beginning to eat at me. Every day, it gets harder and harder to keep that part of myself locked away, yet Emmaline seems no closer to showing her hand, either. We’ve slipped into an easy routine of dinner, sex, sleep and work. I still don’t know where she disappears to during the day, and she remains tightlipped about her Madame M work. It would drive me to distraction, except that she has no idea I’m about to become her new landlord.
Secrets.
I’m fucking sick of them, yet I don’t know how to stop the train we’re on. It’s nearly seven when I show up to the dress shop, and it’s still locked, the shop lights off. Irritation rises through me, followed quickly by worry. What if she got caught in the thunderstorm that swept through this afternoon and slid off the road? Or got caught in a flash flood? My mind immediately leaps to the worst possible outcome, a knot of sick dread roiling my stomach.