Simon scans over the paper he’s just read. “Uh, no actually, according to this, he’s actually left it directly to you.”
My jaw hits the table. Okay, fine. That’s an exaggeration, but still the fact that Vincent has left me, Elle Blackwell, only child to a broken family who was never expected to amount to anything half of the most prestigious winery in the state, is pretty amazing.
A harsh realization slaps me in face. What a hypocrite! I can’t believe I got all high and mighty on Owen when, in reality, I’m the same exact thing, a nobody from nowhere.
“I’ll just need you both to sign right here,” Simon’s voice breaks through the stilted silence. Owen grabs the pen from him. He scratches his name across the paper, nearly ripping it in half as he signs his name. Rather than handing it to me, Owen tosses the pen on the table and I’m surprised that he doesn’t shatter the glass with the force of his toss.
With careful precision, I grace the paper with my name, admiring the hard lines of Owen’s signature above the feminine lines of my own.
When I click the fancy pen that probably cost more than my entire outfit closed, Owen stands from his seat. Hovering over the table, his presence is impossible to ignore. “I guess I’ll be in touch,” he mutters angrily. Even though I deserve it, his tone still stings. I had nothing to do with the fact that Vincent was a shitty father, an absentee father, actually. That wasn’t my responsibility. In fact, my only job has been to make sure that the winery makes money and it’s been a job at which I’ve been rather successful, one from which I will not let Owen Carmichael, hottest God-like man I’ve ever laid eyes on, lead me astray.
Standing from my own chair, I hope to gain some leverage on him, but all I manage to do is exacerbate the difference in our statures. I extend my hand. “I guess we’ll be in touch, Owen.” Though I consider using the more formal Mr. Carmichael, I won’t give him the satisfaction of having him think he’s above me.
Hmmm…Owen…above me.
Slapping myself out of my own erotic daydream - yeah, it’s been far too long - I slide him a business card and tell him to call me Monday so we can meet and go over any remaining details.
All but grunting at me, Owen nods to Simon as he struts out of the room. His jean-clad and glorious ass does not go unnoticed, at least on my part.
“That went well,” Simon jokes as he shuffles his precious papers once more.
A soft chuckle passes my lips. “Sure did,” I respond, thinking any situation where I get to see Owen Carmichael again is obviously successful.
Given my current pissy mood, I need a drink, so I call my friend Nick on the way home from the will reading. With a few taps on the screen, his line is ringing through the Bluetooth in my ear. “What are you doing tonight?”
His voice is thick and groggy with sleep, despite the fact that it’s three in the afternoon. “Uh, nothing. Dude, what time is it?” I don’t think Nick has ever rolled out of bed before dinner on a day off. Though he owns his own construction company, the man loves his sleep and uses every minute of his days off to do just that.
Pulling up to a stoplight, I shake my head and laugh at his ridiculousness. At least his sleep-induced stupor helps lighten my mood. “Time for you to wake up, shower, and get the fuck out of your shit-hole apartment.”
“Hey,” he defends, rather weakly through a yawn. “I like my shit-hole apartment.”
“Whatever,” I laugh as I pull away from the light into the slow moving side-road traffic. “Drinks?” I ask, knowing full well that he’ll be up for it.
“Yeah. The usual?”
I swear, if I could, I would just nod and we’d be done with it. “Eight?” I ask and he agrees. We end the call as I pull up to the dirt driveway of my childhood home. So many thoughts run through my head as I let the engine idle in the dusty driveway.
When Simon told me that my father’s vineyard was worth a million and a half dollars a year, I couldn’t help but do the math. Imagining how much easier my life could have been had he been a part of it was impossible. But I didn’t know him enough, at all really, to wonder what it would be like to have him in my world. All I could wonder about was why he’d been so adamant to keep me out of his life until his death that is.
The knowledge that I am currently the half-owner of Belle Luna Vineyards is not something that sits easily with me. I’d known about Bella Luna’s wines all my life. Hell, it was right around the block from me. Come to think of it though, it’s not like I’d really know how big of a deal the vineyard actually was until I’d started studying business. I’d just never known the man who was my father owned it.
As I kill the ignition, a plan, an ugly, evil, and beautifully manipulative little plan unfurls in my head.
Lying to Elle and the vineyard staff would be easy enough; they mean nothing to me. Lying to my mother, on the other hand, would be impossible; I owe her everything.
As I walk in the front door, the low hum of the evening news plays out from the living room. Biting back my anger, I try to reassure myself that there is no way Mom could have known he was so close, at least geographically, all my life. She couldn’t possibly have known he had all that money without making him give us our fair share.
Thoughts of what she kept hidden from me vanish when I see her holding her head in her hands, tears leaking down her cheeks. “Everything okay?” Trepidation weighs heavily on my words as I sit next to her on the horridly ugly floral couch. We’re always in this perpetual state of waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the doctor to call and tell us the cancer is back.
She cranes her head up and the sadness and defeat I expect to see in her eyes isn’t there. Instead, what I see is elated happiness. “The doctor,” she whispers, tipping her head to the phone on the side table next to her.
“What happened? What did he say?” Even I can hear the nervousness in my own words, but when her face splits into a crooked, yet happy smile, I feel the weight of all the “what ifs” wash away.
“I’m in remission,” she croaks through her happy tears. My arms band around her so tightly, I’m afraid I might snap her in half. When she pulls away, she goes over all the details from her conversation with the doctor, but I just hang on to those three precious words we’ve both been waiting to hear.
After taking a deep, cleansing breath, her shiny eyes meet mine, looking right through the happiness of her news. “What’s wrong, hun?”
Thoughts of lying to her or of avoiding the conversation completely fly around the room like lightning bugs on a hot summer night. Mom scans my outfit, before asking, “Didn’t you work today?”
The second those words are out of her mouth, I decide I just have to lay it all out. She looks at me curiously when I say, “I met with a lawyer today.”
“What for?”
Pulling her hands into mine, I try to be as careful as I can saying what I have to say. “Did you know where he was all these years?”
A flicker of recognition registers on her face before she hides it quickly with feigned innocence. “Who?” She tilts her head to the side for added impact, but I can tell she knows what I’m talking about.
“My father.” I’m not going to tiptoe around this any longer. “Did you know he owned Bella Luna’s Vineyard Estate and he rakes in a million and a half dollars a year? Did you know he was less than an hour away from us all these years?” The anger I try so desperately to conceal works its way into my voice as it rises in volume.
Wordlessly, Mom nods her head and all I can manage is a weak, “Why?”
“Oh, honey. There were so many times I wanted to tell you. Honestly, I’m shocked you hadn’t asked about him before now.” She pauses, looking as if she’s thinking over something. “Wait, why now? What happened?”
An exasperating breath huffs past my lips as I scrub my hand over my face. “The lawyer,” I start to explain, but can’t find the words. “He’s gone, Mom. I was asked to go to his will reading today.”
Like a pending storm, I wai
t on the edge of my seat for something to erupt, for the bubble of her held-back emotions to burst, but nothing comes except the sad smile that graces her face. She looks as if she’s lost in a moment of some blissfully happy memory so I’m reluctant to say anything.
“Tell me about him, please. Because I’m really struggling to make sense of it all.” It’s the pleading quality of my voice that breaks her from her far-away stare. We’d never really spoken about him over the years. Not wanting to make her feel like she wasn’t doing a good job as a single mom, I kept my mouth shut. Sure, had I wanted to know who he was and why he didn’t want to a part of my life, but my desire not to hurt Mom out-weighed that. In a way, I think since he was never a part of our lives, we kept all talk of him to a minimum.
“We were so young, right out of college. We’d just started dating and it became clear that we were heading down vastly different paths.” She twists in her seat and drops her hand to my knee. “He had plans, massive hopes and dreams, ones that he obviously accomplished. There were so many times when you were growing up that I heard the echo of his aspirations in your words.” Deep smile lines crease the corners of her mouth. “He wanted me to get rid of you and I couldn’t bear the thought. I know this might be difficult to hear, but we weren’t in love, so I left and never looked back. He never once contacted me about you, so I just did the best I could.”
That’s a lot to take in; it’s all so vastly different from the wild tales I’d spun in my own head over the years. One way or the other, it all boils down to one thing: she wanted me and he didn’t.
“You did amazing, Mom.” Leaning in, I pop a quick kiss on her cheek. “But why didn’t you ever tell me who he was?”
“I…well…” she stammers, searching for the right words. Sheepishly, she admits, “I didn’t want to lose you.” The weight of her words slams into my chest.
“Listen, nothing could have ever made me pick anyone over you.” And the instant the last word is out of my mouth, I realize my own hypocrisy. After all, that’s what I have to tell her now. She smiles at me, as if to let me know that she’ll be okay with what I have to say, as she asks, “So what about the lawyer?”
“He left me half the estate.”
“And you’re taking it.” Oddly, that her words come out as a statement rather than a question helps to calm me down. A simple nod is all that answer I can give her. “I think you’ll be spectacular, Owen. Just don’t forget where you came from.”
“I’ll only be an hour away.” I try to soften the blow of leaving.
She pats my knee one more time, pushing up from the couch as she does so. “Oh, I know, honey and it’ll be good for you to get away from me and spread your wings.” The guilt I know she feels over me having to come home because of her cancer colors her words. It silences me because I know if I say anything else, about how I’d give it all up again just to take care of her since she’s the only one who’s ever taken care of me, I’ll break down like a little girl.
It’s an awkward end to an awkward conversation, but she drops a hand to my shoulder as she turns to walk out of the room. Placing my hand over hers, I smile up at her as a knot of anxiety unfurls in my gut.
If she had any idea that my true intentions are simply to push Elle out of the company, she’d be anything but proud of me.
“Dude, what are you gonna do?” Nick chokes on his beer.
“She thinks I’m just some dumb farmhand, so my plan is to prove her wrong.” Popping a pretzel in my mouth, a villainous smile curls at my lips. “And, you know, maybe take the company away from her in the process.”
“Yeah, but you can’t try to push her out. The place is half hers as well.” Nick eyes me from across the table. He’s known me too long to think I’d ever do anything but the right thing, but this is my breaking point. Knowing that every struggle my mom and I have ever faced could have been avoided if he’d ever once stepped up to do the right thing burns like a bonfire in my gut. He could have done the right thing, but he didn’t, and now it’s my turn to take what’s mine.
“Since when did you grow a conscience?” Leaning back in my seat, I cross my arms over my chest, shooting Nick a cynical looking. He simply rolls his shoulders as some chick in a too-short skirt walks past us.
“She hot?” His question is difficult to hear because he’s still tracking the ass of the woman walking by. Facing me is obviously not a priority.
Replaying the proceedings from this afternoon in my head, I can’t say she wasn’t hot. Uptight maybe, but she did have that whole hot-librarian look going for her. Her attitude, however, made her completely unattractive. Calling me “some bastard farm hand” is not something I’ll easily forgive and forget, no matter how much I fantasized about the lacy tops of her stockings. I can’t say whether she was even wearing any, but my fingertips actually itched at the thought of grazing under her slate-grey pencil skirt just to find out.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Nick’s voice totally ruins my little erotic fantasy.
“She’s not totally unfortunate, why?”
“Seduce her,” he mutters around the lip of his beer. “Make her putty in your hands and she’ll do whatever you want. Simplest plan ever and,” his eyes light up and the tone of his voice becomes more playful, “as an added bonus, you might get laid, too.”
My dick twitches behind my zipper as thoughts of Elle’s black, patent leather, five-inch heels around my neck play out in my sex-deprived brain.
Taking a final sip of my beer, I mumble, “You might not have a bad idea there.”
It’s definitely one I’m willing to experiment with later tonight in the shower.
Each tick of the clock reverberates through the room, through my skin and bones, settling in my consciousness like the heaviest of blankets on the coldest of winter nights. Knowing I would see Owen today, I opted for something classy and sophisticated. A black tulip skirt skims the top of my knees. The playful, frilly ruffle makes me feel feminine without risking any of my business-like assertiveness. A plunging neckline on the deep merlot-colored top is artfully hidden by the suit jacket securely wrapped around my chest.
He’s supposed to be here at nine. Five minutes. I find myself fidgeting, even though I know I shouldn’t care. There’s something about him that throws me off guard. Maybe it was just the small confines of the room from the other day, but who the hells knows. There was something passionate and searing, hard and angry in his deep blue eyes that burned through me.
Rather than sitting here watching the minutes go by, I busy myself with my email. Same as usual, business meetings and bank statements peppered with a few random condolences for Vincent’s sudden passing. Just at reading his name, my head turns instinctually to the picture of him and me on the day of my college graduation.
“I’m real proud of you, Elle.” His face shone with the brightest of smiles. I’d never been able to understand why he took me under his wing, let me intern with his company, showed me every trick of the trade at the young age of twenty-two, but in that moment, I didn’t care. The words that had so effortlessly fallen from his lips were words of parental praise – not those of a business associate. They were words I had been dying to hear my entire life.
My drunk of a mother snapped pictures from behind a busted-up old camera and I was immediately ashamed of her. I hated that I wanted more than she ever gave me, than she would ever be capable of giving me. So when Vincent had offered me a full-time, walk-on position in operations at his winery, I took it without even thinking about it. Considering Mom’s alcoholic past, maybe I should have given it a touch more consideration, but it was time for me to think about my own future. Her well-being was no longer my concern.
God, that made me a shitty daughter, but isn’t that what I’d been all these years? Anyway. , I was if I believed everything she’d ever told me.
With promises of a brighter tomorrow, and a huge opportunity knocking at my doorstep in the form of a full-time job at Bella Luna’s Winery and Estat
e, I no longer had to listen to those voices of uncertainty.
“Ms. Blackwell,” Rosie, Vincent’s secretary, who I now assume is mine, announces as she enters the office space I used to share with Vincent. She looks around the space and crosses her arms over her chest. “The room seems bigger, emptier somehow now that he’s gone.” Her voice isn’t much louder than a whisper and I can see the pain of his loss in her eyes. She was his secretary for fifteen years. His death may have hit her the hardest.
“He had a way of making everything feel cozier and warmer. It was that personality of his.” Sitting in the chair next to her, I wrap an arm around her shoulders and we share a quick hug. Though my own parents may have been anything but stellar, Vincent and Rosie were the perfect surrogate parents.
“Do you remember that time at the company picnic?” Rosie’s question is nostalgic and wistful.
My brows crinkle together for a moment as I place the memory. “Oh, my goodness, do you mean the one with the dunk tank?” A soft peal of laughter rolls from my chest. “He must have taken a hit from every kid there that year.”
Rosie’s face lights up thinking about that day. “He had just as much fun as they did. Oh, the older he got, the more he loved children. To be honest, I think he threw that yearly picnic just so he could see everyone’s kids.”
On her last word, a gruff voice calls out, “Hello,” from behind us. It sends tingles down my spine and puts my other sense on high alert. As Owen walks into the room, we stand to greet him. The combination of his soap, clean and crisp, and his cologne, masculine and woodsy, makes me feels as if I’m drunk. So much so that my knees actually wobble a little as I walk toward him.
“Owen, this is Rosie.” She extends her hand and I swear her cheeks turn pink. “Rosie, meet Mr. Carmichael.”
Tangled Vines Page 2