by Jodi Watters
“Well, you’re not exactly qualified,” he’d said, his astute blue gaze assessing her, “but I like you. What do you know about wine?”
Bullshitting her way through an interview if it meant she could pay her father’s past-due funeral expenses and still have money left for rent was one thing. All-out lying was another.
“Only that I doubt there’s a difference between a five-hundred-dollar bottle and a ten-dollar box.”
Instead of kicking her out, he’d laughed. “It’ll be my pleasure to teach you the difference then. But I do have one last question. As I’ve mentioned, I expect loyalty from all my employees, but as my personal assistant, I must demand your full devotion to me, above all others. In this company and in this family. Can you do that?”
It seemed an oddly random trick question. “Of course.”
“That means your allegiance will be solely to me while employed at Coleson Creek.”
“Yes, absolutely.” This was a family owned and operated business, yet he was speaking as if a hostile takeover was imminent.
“Very well. How soon can you start?”
Climbing the ladder had been easy. Dedication and good faith went far with Marshall, and she’d settled into a management position within months, supplementing her on-the-job training with a degree in manufacturing. Her boss wasn’t a stickler for education—he was more about the school of hard knocks—but it was the fulfillment of a deathbed promise she’d made to her dad, and as such, Marshall accommodated her.
The workers spared a wave as she drove by, pulling to a stop under the portico of the main house. The soaring mahogany front doors opened as she climbed out of her car, Benny pausing on the stone-covered steps.
“Mrs. Coleson.” He greeted her with a nod. “Sorry to catch you on the run, but I’ve got bad news. The motor’s shot on the destemmer. Gave way when I fired it up this morning. I can replace it myself, but the parts are six weeks out. Add another week for shipping and we’re down seven weeks. It’s not a cheap fix, either.” Motioning toward the empty doorway behind him, he ran two fingers along the brim of his sweat-stained Dodgers cap. “Marshall said to speak to you about it.”
“Benny…” Her drawl took the sting out of the admonishment, but she grinned at the farm manager just in case. “How many times do I have to tell you? Call me Olivia.”
Polite to a fault, he’d been addressing her formally since the day she’d been hired. His manners had remained the same, even when her last name changed.
“Mr. Coleson might not like that.”
Still tender from her session with Marie, she looked around them, raising her arms to point out the obvious. “Well, Mr. Coleson isn’t standing here right now, is he?”
“No, ma’am, he’s not. You’re right about that.” Glancing back at the doorway, he opened his mouth to tack on another comment but quickly suppressed the words.
Employed by Coleson Creek since its inception, he was an integral part of the company, but smartly steered clear of the family dynamic.
She smiled past the awkward moment. “Don’t worry about the motor, Benny. I’ll take care of it.”
Luckily harvest was still months away, and the vital piece of machinery could remain idle until the grapes were crushed. If Olivia had it her way, they wouldn’t be using the aging equipment anyway. The grapes would be made into wine, but not with a Coleson Creek label on the bottle. Instead, they’d sell the fruit to another winery for capital. It wasn’t a bad business move. Vineyards often sold cash crops to subsidize operations when profit margins ran low. Getting Marshall on board would be her biggest battle. He allowed her only so much power, clipping her wings on paramount decisions.
Cool air and the perfume of fresh flowers assailed her as she walked through the two-story entry, twin staircases circling each side to meet a catwalk above. The rustic farm table in the foyer always showcased Rosa’s favored Casablanca lilies, but not today. Instead, sky blue hydrangea filled the vase, the clustered blooms a fusion of springtime color.
Olivia raised a brow and Rosa shrugged in response, a bottle of glass cleaner dangling from her gloved hands.
“I’m feeling nostalgic today and the market had them on sale.” Wiping down an already spotless table, the beloved housekeeper peeled off her yellow rubber gloves with a snap. “You were such a beautiful bride, mija.” My little girl. “So full of love. And your handsome husband, too,” she added, in heavily accented English. “It was a happy day. The happiest.”
Olivia didn’t need a vase of flowers to remind her. There were certain things a girl never forgot. The day she got her first period. The song on the radio when she lost her virginity. The name of the restaurant serving carrot cake pancakes with cream cheese drizzle for brunch.
The flowers in her wedding bouquet.
Heels clicking on the thick Saltillo tile, she passed by Marshall’s empty study, walking into her own office next door. He stood at the window, staring out at the rose garden beyond, waiting for her to report.
“Beautiful doesn’t come close,” he said, overhearing Rosa’s one-sided conversation. “As I recall, you were stunning. Simply ravishing. The happiest of days indeed, and one I hold very close to my heart.”
“Damn it, Marshall.” There was no heat in her voice, despite the chastising words. “I needed you today.”
Turning away from the colorful view out the window, he smiled, allowing her the change in subject. “I somehow doubt that, Olivia. Music to my ears though. How was Trey?”
Leaning in for a quick hug, she squeezed his arm. “The only one who gave me the credit I deserve. Those other stuffed suits were judging me the whole time. I wanted to include a resume and my college transcripts when I handed them our bottling reports. Chauvinistic bastards.” Slipping off her heels, she dropped down in her desk chair and twirled her index finger around the room. “I earned this position with hard work and determination, not by sleeping my way to the top. Or by dropping to my knees.”
“An inappropriate statement, but a true one at that, my dear.”
“I caught one of them staring at my ass as I walked into the meeting. Practically craned his neck to get the best angle. Never looked higher than my chest the whole time. I should report him to the police.” She opened the lid on her laptop. “Or his wife.”
Marshall laughed, the sound a dry, hollow wheeze followed by a hacking cough—cause for concern to everyone but him. “Give the dirty old man a break. It’s a fine ass, after all. We senior citizens have to get our jollies from someone. It’s hell getting old.”
“Now who’s being inappropriate? And don’t call me dear, Marshall. It undermines my authority within the company. I may not need the respect of a horny old pervert, but I do need it from our employees.”
“I shall call you whatever I want while in my home—our home,” he corrected, “which just so happens to be our place of business. And if those idiots at Gillis won’t take Coleson Creek’s distribution national in this competitive market, you might very well be on those knees, dear. Trey called me an hour ago.”
“What?” Her phone showed no missed calls from him. “Why did he call you and not me?”
His head tilted. “That, I don’t know. But he’s mostly on board, as is his father. His uncle, however, is hesitating.”
“His uncle is the pervert.”
“You said it yourself, he’s still a member of the good ol’ boys club—chauvinistic, sexist. All those words.” He paused. “Trey asked about your situation. About Ash.”
She blinked in stunned silence, the meaning behind his words sinking in.
“He has nothing to do with this!” Outraged, Olivia stood, tossing her phone on the vintage writing desk with a clatter. “My situation, whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean,” she sputtered, “has nothing to do with the vineyard’s distribution or my ability to live up to our end of the deal.”
“They know each other from way back. Trey respects him on a personal level, as well as a professional o
ne. He’s an upstanding guy. Doesn’t wanna make an enemy.”
Upstanding wasn’t the word Olivia would use. Sure, Trey was a nice guy. And she was banking on him being professional, considering she’d tactfully declined his invitation to engage in activities that were decidedly unprofessional.
But Marshall didn’t need to know that.
“I don’t care if they’re brothers from another mother, or if they participated in a circle jerk together when they were thirteen! Or… or some other stupid bullshit reason!”
Marshall laughed, fighting the cough that followed as Olivia sat back down.
“I know you’re determined to run this vineyard on your own, Olivia, and that’s admirable, but a phone call is in your near future. A personal visit would be even better. My boy’s as hardheaded as they come, but you know that more than any.”
Her stomach bottomed out at his inference.
First Marie, with her goodwill-toward-all-men attitude. Then Rosa and her sentimental flowers. Now Marshall, suggesting the unthinkable.
“No. No way.”
His shrewd eyes narrowed. “Are you saying you’re unable to put your personal feelings aside to fulfill your duties as an employee of this company?”
Softening her tone, she looked at the man who signed her paychecks. “Of course, I can, Marshall. I’ve proven my loyalty to this company and to you, specifically, multiple times. To the exclusion of all others, I might add. At great personal sacrifice,” she pressed. “I just don’t understand what difference you think he can make.”
“He’ll build confidence in the Coleson Creek brand. Having him back in the fold will provide a fresh perspective on our practices while creating some positive PR in the industry.”
“You can’t have somebody back who was technically never here to begin with. He’s made his choices.” Logging into her computer by rote, she clicked on the manufacturing calendar. “Wine wasn’t one of them.”
She wasn’t, either.
“It’s time, dear. This is his destiny. He won’t come easily, but he’ll come. Not for me, but for you.” He spread his arms, encompassing more than just her office. “And for the vineyard.”
“No, he won’t, especially not for me. But I can handle it, okay? I got this. I’ll call Trey right now and ease his concerns. This deal is as good as done.”
Again and again, she’d watched Ash’s taillights disappear. The final time, almost four years ago, had broken her. She still wasn’t put back together again.
“He’s my only son, Olivia. We both knew this would happen eventually. I’m getting older, and as it turns out, I’m not gonna live forever.” His mind was whip sharp, belying that fact. “I built this winery from the ground up for myself and my heirs. It’s meant to have a Coleson running it.”
“There is a Coleson running it,” she scoffed, irritated her efforts were overlooked. “Two, if we’re counting you.”
Pointing out the obvious did little good. He waved her off with a negligent shrug, and she held a palm up to stop him, knowing what was next. The pain twisted inside her before his words split the air.
“There needs to be another generation of Coleson’s raised in this house. Ash should be living here, operating this vineyard alongside me and raising his family. I need naughty grandchildren running around, picking my prized fruit with their grubby fingers.”
Without permission, Olivia’s mind went there. A small girl with a grape-stained mouth, her bright blue eyes and devilish grin an exact replica of her father’s.
As quickly as it came, the image turned watery and dissolved. Out of reach.
“I hate to break it to you, Marshall, but what this vineyard really needs is to be sitting on store shelves from Boise to Boston. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a million things to do, including pricing out a new motor for the destemmer.” Tapping across the keyboard, she shook off the melancholy, ignoring the ache. “Did Benny tell you it bit the dust?”
Much more of this and she’d be sprawled on Marie’s sofa every day.
“Go to him, Olivia. Talk him into coming back. My legacy could very well depend on it.” Marshall moved woodenly toward the door, stopping to issue one last demand, sending a clear message about who was in charge. “So could your job.”
The ding of the elevator doors closing behind her was only a whisper louder than the pounding of her pulse echoing in her ears. Taking measured breaths, Olivia tempered the beat and stared at the thick glass doors leading into suite sixteen-hundred, stopping short of entering his office. A herd of long-tailed cats in a roomful of rocking chairs were less nervous than she was right now.
She’d always known this day would come. Her own personal reckoning day had been on the horizon from the moment she’d issued her ultimatum. And since their stalemate was nearing a Guinness world record, one of them had to give. In her dreams, filled with dark revenge and sweet vindication, it had always been him.
Seeing him would test her feminine willpower. Her battle-weary heart, too. Luckily, she had her constant companion to fall back on if her defenses came crashing at the sight of those bottomless blue eyes.
Anger.
The first few months were the worst. Those painfully empty days when getting out of bed was impossible, much less the task of living. The dual betrayal had been a one-two punch that sent her into a downward spiral Rosa feared she’d never recover from.
Tending to her much the way she had the two Coleson children when they were young, Rosa’s motherly nature and female intuition had gotten Olivia through it. It was Rosa who’d held her, wiping tears, snot, and even blood when the oppressive grief took hold. It was Rosa who’d listened stoically as Olivia ranted, hurling insults at the absent man she’d raised from a baby in that same house, needing the pain to leave her body in any form that brought even a millimeter of relief. It was Rosa who’d dragged her out of bed and into the shower, washing her healing body and greasy hair, dressing her in something without an elastic waistband and making her walk to the kitchen to eat an apple.
There were entire blocks of time Olivia had no memory of, and the only reason she was still alive, that she’d not died of dehydration and starvation and utter heartbreak, was due entirely to Rosa.
Nanny to children now full grown, housekeeper to a home never dirty, and friend to those with precious few, Rosa was an angel on earth. She was a matching sweat suit and sneaker wearing devout Catholic who took her gin rummy game as seriously as her daily devotionals. Personal confidante to all the Coleson’s, she was a spitfire of indeterminate age, rolled into a wonderfully chubby package. The woman had to be sixty if she was a day, yet despite her strict allegiance to the ten commandments, would look you right in the face and swear she was only forty-nine.
And that boy she’d raised had grown into a decorated soldier who’d served his country as an elite member of the 1st Special Forces Operational Detachment-Delta, one of the United States’ secret counterterrorism and special missions groups. Her dad made her watch enough Chuck Norris movies as a kid to know that some called it Delta Force. Ash simply called it The Unit. He was cool that way, as were all the operators. They might not get the media glory the Navy SEALs did, but when you were as good as good got, you didn’t need the public ego stroke. The Unit had taken him all over the world, using his skill, his body, and his bravery for their selfish necessity. The Unit had taken him away from those that loved him, doing its level best to get him maimed, if not killed, on a daily basis. And the hell of it was, he’d loved it like nothing else in his life. Gone willingly. Downright eagerly most days, sparking an unreasonable jealousy in Olivia that burned to this day. Yeah, he’d already been an operator when she met him, but second best was first loser in her book.
When he’d walked away from The Unit less than a year after he’d walked away from her, it poured salt into a gaping wound. And inspired her love of the word hate.
Entering the offices of Scorpio Securities Inc. felt like stepping into enemy territory. This was his tur
f. This luxury suite on the sixteenth floor of a professional high-rise in downtown San Diego, the home base for a security firm he owned with another retired veteran. All unwanted information supplied by a know-it-all meddler named Rosa the day he’d opened for business.
The modern furniture and minimalist decor wasn’t reminiscent of the Ash she knew. There wasn’t a speck of dirt from his boots on the pristine carpet. There wasn’t a dozen half-empty water bottles in sight. No protein bar wrappers littering the counter. No adoring fans waiting for him to leap tall buildings in a single bound.
Olivia knew Ash, the son, the sole male heir to a celebrated family winery he wanted jack shit to do with. She knew Ash, the soldier, the seasoned warrior who ignored any and all personal obligation in favor of the mission. She knew Ash, the h—
“Oh, thank God, you’re a woman!” The brunette behind the receptionist’s desk stood, swinging a baby from one hip to the other, holding out her right hand.
Her red lipstick and porcelain skin said pin-up model. Her tattooed arm and cat-eye glasses screamed roller derby girl.
“Welcome. I’m Caroline Mendoza. My sitter is sick with a stomach bug today,” she said, gesturing over her shoulder at the wide hall lined with closed doors, “so this place has one more man than usual and the testosterone is choking. It’s thick, if you know what I mean.”
Olivia smiled when the little boy giggled, showing off tiny white teeth. “I know what you mean.”
“This one’s a sweetheart, but he’s only been on the planet eighteen months. It’s a matter of time before he turns on me.” Kissing his forehead, she swept what little hair he had into short spikes. “God, you would’ve made such a pretty little girl.”
That was one road Olivia wasn’t traveling. “I’d like to see Asher Coleson, please.”
“Who?” Caroline did a double take. “You wanna talk to Ash?”
“I do.” There was no doubt he was here. Her weak knees told her so, as did the black Jeep parked in the VIP section near the main entrance.