by Lili Valente
I’m too busy dealing with one awful human, in particular.
Jordan is a tricky bastard, who’s good a smelling a rat. This isn’t going to be easy, and it almost certainly won’t be quick.
“What if I run out of recording space before he gives up the goods?” I ask, trying not to fidget as Rafe fastens my cicada broach—now with an itty-bitty camera glued in between its antennae—in place on my dress. “I could wait to start recording until he’s had a few, but with my luck, that means he’ll give a super villain monologue confession five minutes into the date, and I’ll miss it.”
Rafe’s lips curve. “I hope he does. The sooner that fucker spills his guts, the sooner you can ditch him and come drink beer and pet dogs with me.”
“So you think I should start recording as soon as we meet up at the first winery?”
“Definitely. Turn the camera on a few minutes before you pull up so I can text you if I’m having trouble picking up the feed. But there shouldn’t be any problems. You’re coming in clear now, and I bypassed the default settings so we’re recording straight to my hard drive and I’ve got plenty of RAM.”
“You do, huh?” I bite my bottom lip as his fingers brush the curve of my breast while getting the placement of the pin just right. “You have all the RAM I need?”
“All the RAM you need and more, baby.” His fingers tease beneath the neckline of my borrowed dress, making my nipples pull tight before he steps away. “But no time for ramming now. You’re ready, and you need to get your fine ass on the road.”
My breath rushes out. “But there will be time later, right? When we’re celebrating victory? Because this isn’t a terrible plan that’s going to blow up in my face?”
Rafe sobers. “No, it’s not a terrible plan, and it’s not going to blow up in your face. But if it does, I’ll be there to help with the fallout. I’ll have eyes on you the entire time.”
I press my lips together and nod. “Thanks.”
“My pleasure.” He leans in, kissing my forehead. “Now go show this jerk what a mistake it was to fuck with a woman who’s out of his league.”
With a last bracing breath, I head down the stairs and out into the sunny late afternoon, feeling reasonably confident.
But by the time I get to the Gloria winery—an old-fashioned adobe building perched on the edge of a sweeping vineyard not far from the shelter—I’m no longer sure I’m out of Jordan’s league. I’ve got truth on my side, yes. But he’s managed to lie his way onto the moral high ground, damage my career, and call my credibility into question with people I respect, all with nothing more than a few racy pictures and a strategic plan for chipping away at my livelihood, piece by piece.
“But you have a hidden camera,” I whisper to my reflection as I apply a fresh coat of lipstick. “And he will not suspect the hidden camera because you’re going to put on the performance of your life for this tool, Caroline. This is not the time for doubting the plan.”
I snap the lid back onto my lipstick, cheeks flushing as pink as my lips when I remember someone is listening to me talk to myself.
But before I can assure Rafe I’m fine and only borderline crazy, a long, dark smudge in the rearview mirror catches my eye. Even before I focus in on his face, I know it’s Jordan—who else would wear black jeans and a vintage smoking jacket in ninety-degree heat?
Ignoring the contempt that flashes through my chest, I force a serene expression onto my face. With one last plea to the gods for luck, I step out of the driver’s seat and slam the door behind me, turning to face the slimeball oozing across the pebbled drive.
“Hey.” Jordan lifts his lightly fuzzed chin, his eyes unreadable behind his dark, reflective glasses. “You look nice.”
I cross my arms slowly, fighting the caustic words clawing their way up my throat. Words won’t hurt this man. I need cold hard facts and evidence, which I’m only going to get if I can convince him to let down his guard.
So I nod and say, “Thank you, you look…warm.”
His lips curve into a self-deprecating smile I used to think was sincere. “You know me. Can’t resist a chance to get dressed up in the smoking jacket. I’m looking forward to meeting your new friends.”
I know, right? Because they’re totally going to LOVE the guy who leaked nude pictures of me to the press and is doing his damnedest to ruin my life!
But once again, I bravely resist calling him on his bullshit—according to him, he has “no idea” how those pictures ended up on TMZ—and tip my head toward the winery’s entrance. “Me, too. But first, drinks. You up for some Zin? They have great big reds here.”
“Totally,” Jordan says, but when I start toward the building, he stops me with an arm propped on the Mini Monster’s roof. He reaches up, tugging off his glasses, pinning me with an earnest gaze. “I’m glad you called, Carrie. Seriously. I know we can make this right, put the ugliness of the past few weeks behind us, and get back to being good friends.”
I nod, jaw loose, though I’m practically biting my tongue in half behind my teeth. “I agree. There’s no reason we can’t settle this like grown-ups.”
He smiles, seeming to buy my “let’s make a deal” act hook, line, and sinker. But I learned the hard way that Jordan isn’t always what he seems. If I have a scheme, he probably has a bigger, meaner scheme already lurking in the shadows, ready to drag my scheme behind the gym, beat it up, and steal its lunch money.
I’ll have to tread lightly and choose my moment, and my next move, carefully.
“But first, we drink.” Clutching my tiny purse in one hand, I lightly punch his bicep with the other. “I want to see if you can tell the difference between a warm weather and a cold weather Zin without using the cheat sheet.”
“I’m up for that challenge.” The hint of innuendo in his voice makes my stomach turn. Surely not even he can be sufficiently deluded to think we’ll ever be more than friends again.
Though, who knows? He clearly thinks a lot of himself, and a ton of women go back to the men who hurt them for one reason or another.
But that was never me, and it’s even less me these days, now that I’m learning what it feels like to be with a man who has my back. Who makes me feel safe, even when he’s pinning me to a rock at the edge of the world and fucking my brains out, and who is making me think that maybe happy endings aren’t just for the stories I write.
That maybe, just maybe…
As I slip into the winery, I glance over my shoulder, gaze skimming the parking lot and the vineyards beyond. I can’t see where Rafe is hiding, but I don’t doubt that he’s out there somewhere. Just like he promised. He’s a man who keeps his promises, and I’m a woman who’s ready to put her past behind her.
Courage cranked up to the max, I join Jordan at the bar, smiling at him as I tell the host behind the counter, “We’ll have the ultimate side by side tasting, please. All ten wines and the port.”
Chapter 24
Rafe
I’m in hell.
It’s hell, sitting here in the parking lot, watching my girl from afar, seeing Carrie flirt with the human shit stain who set off a bomb in the middle of her life. When he rests a hand lightly on her waist—clearly emboldened by the wine he’s slugged back so far—I grit my teeth so hard it sends pain flashing through my jaw.
But I don’t doubt that the plan is going to work.
The douchebag is already loosening up, saying things he shouldn’t while putting his hands in places they no longer belong. And Carrie is playing it perfectly, offering enough encouragement to keep him talking while making it clear she won’t be an easy sell this time around. She’s gorgeous, clever, and aloof, and Jordan is clearly relishing the chase.
Or the hunt, I suppose, in his case.
He’s a predator, this one, a fact I hope Carrie’s keeping in mind as she leads him onto a secluded observation deck high above a valley peppered with gnarled old grapevines. Yes, there are people inside the tasting room, and I could be out of the Jeep
I borrowed from Tristan and across the parking lot in two minutes, but two minutes would be a minute and fifty-five seconds too late to prevent Jordan from tossing Carrie over the edge of the railing to her death.
Logically, I know this guy isn’t that type of monster—he’s slimy and deceptive, not a brute with rage issues—but logic isn’t my strongest suit right now.
There’s something happening inside of me, a seismic shift.
Just a few weeks ago, this rock spinning through time and space was my oyster. Every obstacle, every disappointment, trial, and setback, was nothing but a blip on my irritation radar. I was above it all, coasting along without a care, wearing my freedom like a badge of honor.
And then she happened.
She slunk in like a cat burglar and cracked my code, disabling my defenses as she reached in to steal my heart.
Except she didn’t steal it.
She woke it up. Woke me up.
She made me realize how good it can feel to let go and let yourself get close to another person. She makes me simultaneously happier and more terrified, than I’ve been in a decade, but I wouldn’t go back to being asleep for anything in the world. My freedom wasn’t freedom; it was numbness. It was a coward’s choice, a cop out. A solution hatched by a kid too young to know what to do with the pieces of his broken heart.
But I’m not a kid anymore. I’m a grown man ready to do whatever it takes to keep the woman I’m falling for safe, even if it means sitting here and stewing in my own stress instead of getting out and punching Jordan repeatedly in the face.
He’s not going to hurt her. At least, not physically. She swore he’s never given any indication that he would raise a hand to her, let alone push her off a deck.
My fear is irrational, and so I force my ass to stay glued to the hot leather seat, wishing I could turn on the air conditioning, but knowing an idling vehicle will attract more attention. And the air might keep me from hearing every word, every breath, every soft sigh as Carrie leans against the porch railing and says, “Seriously, it’s so beautiful here. I might never go back to the city.”
Jordan laughs as his palm makes circles at the small of her back. “You? Out here full time? I mean, I know you love wine, but this place is rural as fuck.”
“But it’s charming.” She lifts a bare shoulder and lets it fall. “And I feel safe here. Most of these people are too busy making wine or drinking wine to have any time for idle gossip…or watching TMZ.”
Jordan visibly tenses and my jaw locks tight in response. It’s the first time Carrie’s mentioned the leaked pictures or anything scandal-related. She’s been keeping things light and friendly, but obviously they can’t stay that way.
I just hope she’s made the right call.
I narrow my eyes, cursing myself for not bringing binoculars so I could get a better look at Jordan’s stupid face.
“Yeah…about that…” He pauses for a long beat, making my heart pump faster. “I truly have no idea how those pictures made it to the media. I hope you know I would never do that to you.”
“I don’t, sadly.” Carrie sounds more bummed than angry. “You hacked into my computer and peppered my presentation with nude pictures. And you knew I was giving a talk to middle school kids. Why shouldn’t I believe you’re capable of leaking those same images to the press?”
Jordan shakes his head. “I’m telling you, Carrie, I never—”
“I had to sign a bunch of little boys’ arms, Jordan,” she cuts in. “All these twelve-year-old kids with manic lights in their eyes wanted me to sign their arms because they hadn’t brought money for books but wanted a memento of the first time they saw boobs.”
He snorts. “No way. They didn’t say that.”
“They didn’t have to say it,” she says, laughing with him, though I know she didn’t find the situation amusing in the slightest. “I knew what they were thinking. I know twelve-year-olds, dude. I write for them. In some way I am them. I’m basically a twelve-year-old trapped in a grown-up’s body.”
“But that’s one of the things I like about you,” Jordan says as he takes another sip of Chardonnay. “You still know how to play like a kid. To create like one. It’s magical.”
She shakes her head. “So, if you like me so much, why did you do it? Why embarrass me like that? I want to understand, I really do, but you need to help me.”
He sighs. “You don’t want to understand. You want me to go away.”
“If that’s true, why invite you up here to talk?”
“To seduce me into doing things the way you want them done.” He lifts a hand, skimming his finger across her shoulder and down her arm. “And it’ll probably work. Because I’m crazy about you…” He cocks his head, adding in a voice that’s softer and sharper at the same time, “That’s why, Carrie. You can’t break a man’s heart and expect him to walk away without looking back.”
“Without getting revenge, you mean?”
He shakes his head. “I wasn’t trying to get revenge. I just…”
Biting down on my lip, I cross my fingers and silently will the man to confess already, to open his pretentious, entitled mouth and let the truth come out.
“Just…?” Carrie prods, a wistfulness in her tone that makes it seem like she understands where he’s coming from. Or that she wants to understand, if only he’ll open up and let her in.
“You’re doing great,” I murmur, wishing she could hear me.
She’s got him on the hook, now all she has to do is reel him in…
Slow and steady. Don’t spook him, but don’t let the line go slack, either.
“I just…” He exhales, and I lean forward in my seat. “I wanted you to feel the way I felt when you had my contract cancelled.”
I pump a fist in the air. “That’s right,” I say, a smile spreading across my face. “Sing, motherfucker. Get it all off your chest.”
“I wanted you to feel exposed and ashamed,” he continues, head hanging in a weak imitation of penitence. “I was so angry, I wasn’t thinking straight, or I wouldn’t have done it that day. I forgot the group was so young. I thought it was another high school talk.”
“And that would have been okay?” Carrie asks, incredulous. “You violated my trust in the worst way, Jordan. And I’d done nothing to deserve it.”
“You violated the trust I had in you, too, Carrie,” he says, clearly determined to paint himself as a victim. “That book was my baby, and you took it away from me. You ripped it out of my hands and said it wasn’t mine, that it had never been mine to begin with. Can you imagine what that feels like?”
“Books are not babies. Only babies are babies,” she says, voice rising. “And if that book were a baby, and you’d been the only one taking care of it, it would have died from neglect. I refuse to apologize for taking credit for my own work or for insisting on my rights as a contributor. You asked for my help, I gave it, and I ended up giving more than you did. Honestly, I was being generous to offer to let you have your name on it at all.”
Jordan sets his wine down on the porch railing hard enough for Carrie’s mic to pick up the clink. “You had no right to that story! The world and the characters were mine.”
“That’s like saying you should get credit for making the shepherd’s pie because you brought over carrots and potatoes.” She sets her wine down beside his with a matching clink. “You didn’t make the pie; you gathered a few raw ingredients. That story would never have become something edible, let alone delicious, without me. Surely, you know that. Deep down, in whatever part of you isn’t completely deluded by your own narcissism.”
Jordan’s hands tighten into fists, sending a rush of unease through my chest.
“And let’s talk about the other claims you’re making.” Carrie turns her back on him as she paces back toward the entrance to the winery, a decision that has me reaching for the door handle and wrapping my fingers around it.
You don’t turn your back on someone with his hands balled into fists.<
br />
You keep that fucker in sight so you know when to duck.
“If you hit her, I swear to fucking god…” I grit out with a shake of my head. My gut is screaming for me to get over there and put myself between Carrie and the man glaring daggers into her back, but she’s close to exposing all his bullshit, recording every word for the world to see.
I curse beneath my breath as I remember the location of the camera. It’s pinned to the front of her dress. If she doesn’t turn around, she’s not going to get Jordan’s reaction on tape. She’ll get audio, but not visual.
“Turn around, Carrie,” I mutter. “Turn around.”
“You say you deserve a share of the royalties for my latest book,” she continues, “the one I’m finishing right now, far away from you, and the latest in a series I’ve been writing for years. That’s completely ridiculous, and anyone with a brain knows it. I was hitting the bestseller list long before you latched onto me like a blood-sucking leech, and I will continue to do so when you’re out of my life for good.”
“Fuck you,” he growls, all pretense of nostalgia for their failed love gone from his voice. “You’re a fucking bitch.”
“Maybe so,” Carrie agrees, still not turning to face him. “If a bitch is a woman who refuses to be bullied or blackmailed, then I suppose I am. But the fact remains that you, Jordan Jakes, are a fraud, a liar, and a criminal. Revenge porn is against the law in California. You realize that, right?”
“You’re the criminal.” He takes a menacing step closer to Carrie that she can’t see. “You stole from me and made me look like a fucking fool in front of our entire community.”
“Turn around, Trouble,” I say, fighting the urge to shout it.
Carrie laughs, the light, easy sound making Jordan’s face flush redder. “You didn’t need help making yourself look pathetic, buddy. You did that all by yourself.” She reaches out, caressing a daisy sprouting from a pot on the empty picnic bench beside her. “And you’re going to look like even more of a fool when you lose this lawsuit. Considering you haven’t been able to get a single project published on your own—or finished, for that matter—I seriously doubt a judge is going to rule in your favor.”