Tributary: A Billionaire Romance (Oak Creek Book 2)

by Lainey Davis

  “Diana, wait.” I get out of bed and pull on my boxers, trying to stop her before she starts mashing the elevator buttons. “You can’t leave like this. You’re upset.”

  “Watch me,” she snaps, and dives into the elevator. I stick a leg out to prevent the door closing, but I’m too late and the door slides closed. I realize I have no way of contacting her here, no way of even making sure she reaches her hotel safely.

  I pull on my boxers and text Andrea to launch a full exploration of our contract with Jay Buford and his business. Then I sink into bed and try to figure out how I’m supposed to make headway dating a goddess who only wants me for sex.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Diana

  “TELL ME AGAIN why we hate him.” Indigo walks with me along Oak Creek, her arms pumping as she struggles to keep up with the pace I set. I’ve been coming out here alone to think ever since I got back from Pittsburgh. I slow down, feeling badly that I’m forcing my newly-pregnant friend to over-exert herself when she just wants to help.

  “Um, I don’t know, because he’s been spying on me? Because he finances my lousy ex who stole my fucking research and profited off of it?” Because he makes me think and feel things I don’t want to think or feel.

  Indigo bites her lip and squints. “Yeah, but Asa didn’t know Jay’s ideas were stolen. And don’t give me this ‘spying on you’ crap. We all looked up Asa long before you two were knocking boots.”

  “That was Abigail, and she looked him up because she wanted to help my brother woo him as an investor.” I can’t help myself and I start walking fast again, kicking at rocks and sticks as Indigo puffs along behind me.

  “Speaking of!” Indigo jumps over a log and grabs my arm. “Hang on,” she huffs. “We have to stop so I can puke.” She turns to the side and vomits neatly into a bush. She takes a swig of water from the bottle I offer her and then wipes her mouth. “Anyway! Abigail wanted me to tell you she’s inviting Asa to Hunter’s welcome back party.”

  I roll my eyes. “Of course she’s inviting him. Just my luck.” I kick another rock into the creek. “This is why I have rules. I should never have fucked someone my family is doing business with.”

  “But he was so good at sex, you said.”

  I sigh. “He’s really good.” The best sex I can remember, I think, but I don’t tell this to my friend.

  “Come on.” Indigo loops an arm around my shoulders. “Buy me some ginger tea at the co-op.”

  “I’ve got some peppermint that might settle your stomach,” I tell her, gesturing back toward my shop.

  “Is that one of the safe ones? The midwife gave us a list, but I can’t remember past ginger…”

  I shrug. “I can check for you later.”

  We walk into the co-op, where Mary Pat is holding court at the register. Matthew and Aneke look up from their order of sprouted bread and, seeing me, grin. I roll my eyes.

  Indigo pulls her travel mug from her bag and orders her tea. I bite my lip, trying to decide if anything looks good. I see a pimpled teenager racing against Ed Hastings for the last jar of my witch hazel astringent, and I make a mental note to steep some more. I wince, remembering how good Asa looked inhaling the scent of the witch hazel that day I was grafting the plants.

  I try to push back the feelings of nausea that emerge whenever I think about him. I don’t know how to try again with someone, don’t want to have to guess his intentions, only to be wrong about it later. It’s easier to just stay away from men romantically. Why can’t he just want me for quick sex and move on?

  “You ready?” Indigo nudges me and sips from her tea.

  “What? Oh. Sorry.” I pull out some money and head over to Mary Pat. “I’m buying a cup of tea for Merry Sunshine,” I tell her.

  She nods. “I hear your brother’s coming back soon.”

  “That’s the word,” I say, not feeling very amenable to small town small talk today. Mary Pat is undeterred.

  “I told Abigail, I bet he pops the question at the welcome home party.” She raises her eyebrows, clearly hoping I have inside information on this topic. I don’t.

  “That’s not really my brother’s style,” I say, trying to back out of the store. I hear Indigo giggling as she notes my discomfort. “He doesn’t like big, public stuff like that…”

  “Didn’t he land a helicopter on the lacrosse field when he tried to apologize to her that one time? Whole town was watching then, as I recall.”

  I had forgotten that my brother did that, pulled out all the stops to make things right with Abigail when he finally realized he was an unreliable, self-centered jerk. I had warned Abigail not to trust him, that he would never change, and the nerdy squirt proved me wrong. This town seems set on making me earn my grouchy opinions today.

  I shrug at Mary Pat and tell her to keep the change for the legal fund. Mary Pat wants to organize a fund and hire Sara to repeal the statutes keeping the town dry. “Make Oak Creek Wet Again,” reads the sign on the quart jar stuffed with bills.

  Indigo wants to walk over and say hi to Sara, and I walk with her since my brother’s office is in the same building. I have a meeting with Archer about the permitting fees I’ll need if I’m going to be able to keep selling my crops to medical researchers. Abigail is in his office when we arrive and she rushes over to give me a hug.

  “I’m just so excited,” she says. “Hunter touches down next month and then flies back here from Kazakstan a few days after that!”

  We chat for a bit about his journey home and she squeezes my arm. “You’ll be able to make enough beer for the party?”

  I nod. “I’ve got 12 cases of Hoppy Hunter IPA aging just for the event,” I say. I never really imagined myself making beer for any of my brothers, but then I never thought Hunter would fall in love with someone who fits right into our family. And here we are.

  I try to catch Archer’s eye to make a face, but he’s smiling and showing Abigail all the permits he got to close down the streets for the party. We’re evidently going to have a shade tent over the amphitheater, and the Oak Creek Steppers are even putting together a special ballet performance. “All the kids are making plant costumes,” Abigail says, “And Matthew and Aneke’s daughter is going to be dressed like a meteor. She told me she’s going to jump from the stage and crowd surf.” Abigail laughs. “I even got some of Hunter’s former students from the college to make some giant Hunter heads on sticks for the party.”

  My brother is going to hate all of this, and I think Abigail knows that, which makes me feel better. It’ll be a nice spring festival, regardless of my brother.

  “Hey, Arch, you ready to meet?”

  He nods and Abigail says, “I’ll get out of your hair. Byeeee!” I shake my head as she bounces out of the office.

  Archer leans back in his chair and asks, “You want to talk about how you’re boning Asa Wexler, or you want to just jump right into finances?”

  “Fuck you. Give me the numbers.” I cross my arms and lean close as he pulls up a spreadsheet on his monitor. “How did you even find out?” He laughs, pecking around on the keyboard, highlighting things. I groan when he shows me the final total. “Are you kidding me?”

  I knew I’d have to scrape together a quarter million dollars for permits and applications to grow medical marijuana. Archer pats my leg. “Two million in capital, sis. That’s what you need in order to get approved.”

  This is outrageous. I sunk all the money I had into lab equipment, and even with the payout from Dr. Khalsa’s final order, I can barely cover the permit fees. “Who the hell has two million dollars lying around?”

  He raises his brows at me. “I can think of at least one person…”

  “Arch. I am not borrowing money from Asa Wexler.”

  Archer just laughs. “Oh, he doesn’t lend it, sis. He invests it, for a share of your future profits.”

  I kick my brother in the shin and storm out of his office as he spits back some comment about deep investment. I go back to my apar
tment and change my clothes, and take off for a long run.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Asa

  “ASA, DARLING, YOU never visit anymore.” My mother glides past reception on her way into my office. I heard her coming all the way from the elevator.

  I sigh. “Well, mom, I’ve been busy maintaining the family business.”

  She clucks her tongue. “Sour grapes spoil the wine, Asa.” She finishes a lap around my office and frowns out the window. “I need to know who your date will be for the Purim Gala.”

  “You were serious about me going to that?”

  “Well of course I was serious. I would never joke about Purim, Asa!” She would probably look shocked if she had any flexibility left in the skin of her face. I find myself wondering what Diana will look like when she’s in her 60s. I’m sure she will be more like her mother than mine—owning her gray hair and fine lines with pride.

  I sigh and pull up my calendar. The gala is next Saturday night, which means I’ll be flying back from a west coast meeting and driving straight to mid-town. “Why don’t you just tell me who you’d like me to take, Mom.”

  “Darling, you’re not getting any younger, you know,” my mother pouts. “All the other women in the club are arguing over whether they’ll be called Bubby or Mimi and my son can’t even get a date for a Purim gala?”

  I want to tell her that all the other women from the club can go to hell, but I know that’s just me still in a rotten mood from my trip to Pittsburgh. I tune her out as she starts listing off the daughters of socialites we know. I interrupt my mother and tell her again to just pick someone for me. I catch a glimmer of hope in her eye. I should probably tell my mother about Diana. That’s something people tell their parents, normally—if they’re pursuing a woman who scorns them. But Jordana Wexler isn’t most parents and I’ll get her out of my office faster if I let her think she’s making headway on the grandchildren dream.

  Funny how my entire life was dedicated toward becoming a business tycoon and I’m supposed to now magically change gears and land a perfect family as soon as my dad hands over the reins.

  “Well, mom, I should probably get back to it…”

  “Oh, can’t we at least look at some pictures on social media, sweetheart? How can I know it’s a match that will stick if you don’t actually see her before Purim? No? Oh all right. Don’t be late for Shabbat dinner on Friday. Your uncle brought candles back from Israel.”

  I text Andrea to cancel my late afternoon meetings on Friday so I can make it in time for early sunset, and then I shout for Andrea to come in.

  “Hey,” I say when she pokes her head in my office. I might not be able to ask her for advice about Diana, but I can still push to find out more about Buford. “Question for you. Do you know a lot about neurology research funding?”

  “Hm, not particularly. But I did pull up some case studies for another prospect. What’s up?”

  “I’ve just got this nagging itch about our association with Buford. I need to figure out what his deal is.”

  She looks over her shoulder and closes the door, sitting in the chair across from me. “Everything I’ve got on him is from our hacker friend…so it can’t be really used anywhere, you know…”

  “Let me figure out that part, Andrea. I just need to know.”

  She nods and stands back up. “Sending you everything I’ve got right now, boss.”

  I spend the rest of the day studying the information Andrea dug up on Jay Buford. He was always someone I didn’t think highly of. His proposal only made it to my desk because it was the day I let interns sift through the slush pile. Thinking back on it, I bet the weasel bribed the intern. He came to us insisting he could cure epilepsy with a perfect strain of medical cannabis. Spouted a bunch of tech talk I still don’t understand…but now that I look over the notes, this has Diana Crawford’s touch all over it.

  I frown, looking over the personal information from Andrea’s hacker. Jay lived with Diana Crawford, didn’t just study with her and co-author papers with her. I throw the file across the desk in disgust, realizing that she was romantically involved with that scum and he evidently duped her out of the profits. No wonder he was willing to sign over 40% of his business. “Why in the hell wouldn’t Diana sue the dick off him,” I mutter. Ignoring this kind of betrayal is definitely not her style—not for a woman who brews her own beer and shovels out her elderly neighbors during a flash blizzard.

  I vow to get someone from Oak Creek to talk to me about what happened when I head to town for Hunter’s welcome home party. One of those old biddies will surely get drunk enough to spill the beans if I turn up the charm.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Diana

  I’VE BEEN USING my parents’ shed to age the beer for Hunter’s party. I realized there’s no good reason for me not to do it back in my lab—there’s nothing I can grow back there legally at the moment. But I started hauling cases of bottles over as I finished brewing and it seemed better to just keep them all in the cool dark along with Dad’s trowels and tomato cages. I’ve been making excuses and skipping dinner invites the past few weeks. I figure my mom is probably going bonkers nervous about Hunter anyway, but Dad can always tell when something’s bothering me and I’m just not up for one of his pep talks.

  But I do need to make sure none of the bottles exploded or something.

  I walk over to their house along the creek, cutting through their back fence and letting myself into the shed to check the bottle caps. I run my fingers absent-mindedly along the bottles, wondering what I’m going to do about work. About my inability to stop thinking about Asa. My dad startles me when he creeps up behind me. “That’s a heavy sigh you’ve got there, daughter.”

  I try to change the subject. “Still no word from Fletcher about making it home?”

  Dad slips an arm around my shoulders. “He’s wrapping up filming some documentary in…Madagascar, I think. But Hunter said he understands.”

  “Hngh.” I hope, weakly, that my noncommittal grunt sounds like the conclusion to our conversation, but Dad nudges me with a squeeze.

  “Heard you’ve been meeting with Archer in a professional capacity.”

  “He’s not supposed to be sharing details about that.”

  “Come on and sit with me, Diana.” Dad walks out to the bench beneath the dogwood tree that’s just starting to bloom. The forsythia are speckled with yellow, too. “The yard will be a rainbow by the time Hunter rolls in,” he says, smiling. He pats my leg. “You used to come to me for advice when things went wrong.”

  That was years ago, before the weight of shame settled permanently on my shoulders for trusting the wrong man, for so utterly misinterpreting my relationship until my live-in boyfriend managed to slowly siphon away all my research while playing me like a violin.

  My parents never approved of Jay. I saw them greet him during visits with pinched-lipped smiles. How do I start explaining to them that they were right, that I messed up so badly I threatened my livelihood? That I fell for some guy pretending I was beautiful? That him telling me that made me open up my heart, my legs, and my laptop password?

  Dad sits patiently, waiting for me to say something, and I can tell we aren’t going anywhere until I give him at least a kernel of information. I consider his situation. He gave up his career to support my mom in hers. Once Hunter was born, he never worked again, not even when the four of us were grown and independent. “I just don’t get how you let yourself depend on Ma so fully,” I spit out.

  He seems perplexed and nods slowly, thinking. “Tell me more about that,” he says, finally.

  “Oh my god, you and Ma and your psychology degrees. Tell me more,” I mock. But, again, he stares. “You’d be totally fucked if she left you,” I say. “How can you put yourself in that position?”

  He raises an eyebrow and squeezes my leg. “I wonder why you’re not asking your mother the same thing…how many times does she come home and ask me where she’d be without me.” He
looks over my shoulder at Oak Creek bubbling past behind the property line. “We made this life together, Diana. You see me as fully dependent on her, but I see us as interdependent. And I know we aren’t just talking about finances here, even though I know you’re struggling with those right now.”

  Slowly, painstakingly, he rehashes to me his process with my mother, deciding once Hunter was born that one of them would need to be available to meet the needs of the mysterious baby who refused to adapt to the schedule of two rising academic stars. Ma was appointed president of the college by the time I came around, and Dad founded the Saplings cooperative play group.

  “I know all that, Dad.” I stare out at the water.

  “Well it seems like you’re thinking about how you fit into our story, Diana. And you know you are going to make your own mold, set your own parameters when the time comes. But you’re right about one thing,” he says, “even though you didn’t say it out loud. It’s written plain on your face. It’s a big risk to trust someone the way Rose and I had to trust each other.”

  “Well,” I stutter. “How did you know she was worthy of your trust?”

  He smiles and tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. “She brought me a pineapple,” he says. When I make a face, he explains how they’d had a long talk about the food choices in the dining commons on campus while they were in graduate school at Penn. Neither of them had had anything fresh with vitamin C for weeks, when Rose had visited the market in town to buy a ripe pineapple. “She told me she didn’t want me to get scurvy,” he says, laughing. He shrugs. “That’s when I knew she was it for me.”

  I try to remember whether Jay had ever bought me anything to demonstrate he really knew me, and I come up short. When I got to Princeton, I was the rough, nerdy scientist who’d grown up with 3 brothers and attended school where her mother was president. I didn’t make friends easily, and my classmates all thought I was a know-it-all. I see now that Jay knew I knew it all, and decided he’d find a way to profit from it. What made me trust him to begin with? “I’m such an idiot,” I mumble.