by Jan Moran
"By destroying mine." I gnawed on my bottom lip. "How much?"
"Nothing. I ..." He lowered his head. "I didn't feel right about taking anything since I'm the reason this mess happened in the first place."
I studied my brother’s face. I saw the pain and anguish in his eyes, but something else was there as well—hope. He had carried around the stress of the world along with my dad for years. His confession was the last bit he held onto. He actually looked lighter. I felt like I had been pummeled and then buried under two tons of rocks.
"Here." I handed him back the check. "Give it to Mom and Dad."
"Chai."
"I can't forgive you. Not now. Maybe later, but not now. If you think what you did was right for our parents, then I'll believe you." I stepped inside, but he grabbed my arm.
"Thank you." He gave me an awkward hug. I didn't pull away. "Listen, you don't have to leave the business. I know how much you love it. Any number of vineyards around here and in Napa would hire you in a second."
"Maybe." I walked back inside, and he followed. "What are you going to do?"
"I'm selling my place. Maybe get a little place on the beach near San Fran or San Diego. I'm going to do nothing for a while." He ran his hands over his face and grunted. "I'm tired of being responsible for others. I just want to worry about myself for a minute."
"Well, good luck with that." I walked toward the door. I wanted him to leave but didn't want to actually kick him out.
"Have you talked to Donovan?" he asked.
"No, why?" I didn't want to talk about that either.
"I don't know." He opened the front door. "If you do talk to him, tell him thanks for the offer."
"What offer?" I narrowed my eyes.
"He offered to pay off the debt. He didn't tell you?"
I shook my head.
"It would have given us a chance to at least wait for a better buyer and give us all a chance to benefit from the sell. It was just a few days too late."
My heart pounded in my chest. I reached out for the frame to steady myself.
"How did he know about it?" I asked.
"I'm sure his people found out when they looked into the company." CJ looked over at me. "Obviously, he didn't tell you."
"Why wouldn't he tell me?" I looked up at him.
"I don't know. Maybe he was trying to protect you."
"Protect me by making me hate him."
"He didn't want you to hate me."
All of sudden, I couldn't breathe.
"He is a good guy. Just … if you talk to him, tell him I said that."
I nodded.
CJ leaned in, kissed me on the cheek, and then left.
I shut the door and crawled into bed. This time, I didn't sleep. I wept.
Chapter 15
Chai
I was happy I gave the money back. I needed a fresh break and motivation not to be a lazy bum for too long. Sitting in my townhouse feeling sorry for myself got old quick. I ventured down to Mathew's for lunch, figuring everyone could see at one time that I was all right. Those who didn't see would hear once the gossip made its way around town.
I bypassed the hostess and took a seat at the bar.
"Hey, Chai, long time," Max, the bartender, said.
"Hey, Max. How are you?" I asked.
"I'm good." He tilted his head. "How are you? You okay?"
"I'm good. Can I get the flank steak sandwich?"
He nodded and smiled.
"To go."
"Sure thing. You want a glass while you wait?"
"Oh, God no." I made a face. "I'm sick of wine."
He chuckled.
"Give me a beer instead."
He put in my order and grabbed my beer out of the cooler.
"I sure hope you're kidding?" a deep voice spoke behind me.
I turned my bar stool around.
"Mr. Hennings." I jumped off the stool and hugged him.
"Hello, Ms. Darielle."
"When did you get back in town? How long are you here for?" I asked.
"Just a few days. Closing on a purchase." David Hennings and his family ran the vineyard near our property. One of only a few family owned vineyards left in the valley. His competed with the big boys and had offices and land all over the world growing grapes and making wine. I grew up with his sons and had even dated his middle son.
"You're buying our land?" I asked.
"I am. I'm sorry." He faked a frown. I appreciated the effort.
"No. I'm glad. I was scared someone would turn it into a bunch of houses or something."
"Not on my watch. That land will grow grapes as long as there is a Hennings alive."
Mr. Hennings had three sons and three grandsons. His name was going to live on for quite a while.
"I'm glad I ran into you." Mr. Hennings stood and peered down at me. "I have a job for you if you want it."
I narrowed my eyes, crossed my arms, and stared up at him. "I'm fine, Mr. Hennings. You don't need to create something for me."
"Believe me, I'm not. I'm a businessman; I don't throw my money into stuff that's not going to make me money." He set his jaw and waited for me to challenge him. I didn't have the energy.
I exhaled.
"Okay. What job?"
"Well, I remember we had a conversation at Danny's wedding about how you wanted to create a destination for events and overnight stays at Darielle."
"Yes."
"Well, created it at Hennings." He scowled like I was stupid for not thinking of it before. "I have new partners, and he wanted to focus on that part of the business. When I heard his plan, I thought of you."
"I don't know." I bit my lip.
"Well, at least come out and meet with us." He rolled his eyes.
Max returned with my to-go order. I grabbed my wallet, but Mr. Henning had already dropped two twenties on the bar. Now, I felt obligated.
"Okay," I heard myself say, but I wasn't ready.
I wasn't ready to dive into something this big. I wasn't ready to be disappointed again. I was still getting over my last couple of disappointments.
"Two o'clock at Hennings number three," Mr. Hennings said as we walked out of the restaurant. He jumped into his convertible Porsche and waved. "Bring your ideas."
I waved and watched him drive off.
"Ideas?" I had ideas running through my brain as I crossed the street and ran up the stairs to my house.
I spent the rest of the week condensing my ideas. Turning what I figured would always be a dream into some semblance of a profitable business model. I’d done most of the work in my head years ago. It was what I wanted to bring to my family’s business. It was how I wanted to contribute, but it would take money. Money my family’s business never had. We were too small and too fragile.
My parents were currently in Tuscany for harvest. My mom sent me pictures of my dad making wine. Seeing how much joy he had now made me realize how unhappy he was here in Sonoma. He never looked like he was enjoying it as much when he actual owned the business. Mom said he rediscovered his passion for life now that he didn't have to worry about paying for it. He could immerse himself back in his family’s history, the real legacy of our family. Even though we didn't own a vineyard anymore, it was still a part of us.
Seeing my parents happy helped me forgive my brother. I called him to tell him about Mr. Hennings’ offer.
"You got this, Chai. You know this stuff. Just go in there and present it to him like you love it," CJ said.
"He doesn't care if I love it. He cares if it's going to make him money," I said while flipping through my notes for the millionth time.
"Hennings’ Winery is worth over forty million; he can afford your wildest ideas."
CJ laughed, and it was good to hear. His guilt over what happened weighed on him, but he was working through it. I didn't need to add to it.
"How are you doing?" I asked.
"I'm great," he answered.
"And the year of no responsibility?"
"Going according to plan." He laughed, and it made me smile. "I'm happy, Chai. You need to get happy, too."
"Working on it." I made another note.
We both were silent of for a moment, not sure if anything needed to be said.
"Well, I’d better get back to work."
"You're going to be great," he said.
"Thanks, CJ." It felt nice that were on the same side again. After all, we were family.
God, I hope he's right.
I arrived at Hennings number three early. I wanted to walk around the grounds a bit, get my bearings, and see if after what happened, I could still be around it. I took a walk over to the closest track of grapes and ducked under the fence. The grape buds were a month away, but the plants were waking up for the season. I leaned over and smelled the vine, imagining what it would turn into as I breathed in the aroma.
"I'm supposed to smell the vines, too?" His sexy voice hit me in the gut and then the heart.
I spun on my heels and reached out for the nearest vine to steady myself.
Donovan stood with his arms crossed resting on top of the fence a few feet away. His blue t-shirt and jeans were simple, but they looked stylish on his frame. His hair had grown out a bit, and he wore it shaved close to his scalp, at little longer on the top.
"What are you doing here?" I asked.
"Oh, you know. Learning about wine. I got a taste for it a couple of months ago, and now, I'm hooked."
I narrowed my eyes.
"Okay, so full disclosure ..." he continued.
"It's about time ..." I said.
He narrowed his eyes, and I smirked. We stood facing each other, but even with a few feet separating us, I felt him. We stared, challenging each other in an unspoken game to see who would blink first. It was childish and stupid, but the hurt feelings had not gone away, and I missed him, which pissed me off even more.
I held on to the vine too tight, and the wood broke and poked me in the hand.
"Shit."
Donovan laughed.
I brought my hand up to my lips. When I looked back at Donovan, he licked his lips.
"You okay?"
I didn't understand the question. What was I supposed to be okay about? I changed the subject. "Full disclosure?"
"I'm the one you're meeting with. I'm David's partner in a new little destination vineyard he's starting."
I was not expecting that. I narrowed my eyes and stood with my hand on my hip.
"Did you ask him to give me a job?"
"No." He slowly shook his head.
"I don't believe you," I said.
"I don't care if you don't believe me." He sighed and looked away. "That's not true. I do care."
"Why didn't you tell me about my brother?" I dropped my arms. "Why did you lie?"
"I didn't lie per se ... I just didn't want to have to tell you about your brother being shady without really knowing the truth."
I jutted my chin out, ready to defend my brother even though he was right. I wasn't ready to give him that.
"He wasn't being shady; he just got in over his head."
"I know that. That's why I offered to bail him out."
"Oh, yeah." I lowered my arms. The tension killed me.
"You did that for me?"
"Hell, yeah, I did it for you. I don't go around throwing my money away for no reason."
"You can't buy me, Donovan." I lowered my head.
"Argh," he groaned. "If you aren't the most stubborn, annoying woman I have ever met."
He groaned again and rubbed the back of his neck. I liked it that I still got to him.
"Full disclosure ..."
He smirked.
"What you did, even if it was for the right reasons, hurt me," I said.
He nodded, and the regret in his eyes hurt my heart.
"But I didn't mean what I said back in New Orleans." I stepped closer to him. "What we had was real?"
"Had?" he asked.
"Had." I placed my hands on top of the fence. "Have, but I can't work for you."
"Well, good because you wouldn't be working for me." He rubbed his head. "I'm an investor, remember. Not even a very big one when you break it down. So no problem there."
"Maybe."
He smirked and shook his head.
I rubbed my shoulder. "I do know something you can help me with."
"What's that?" He leaned in; his lips close to mine.
"You remember that chip on my shoulder?"
He grinned.
"It grew back. You think you can help me with that?" I peered up into his beautiful green eyes.
"I don't know," he whispered and licked his lips. "Last time I took care of it, it didn't last very long."
"I guess you'll have to keep doing it until it's gone for good." His lips grazed mine. "That is if you're up for it."
"Try and stop me," he said.
Before I could finish rolling my eyes, he kissed me, and I knew he wouldn't stop trying.
The End
About the Author
Sydney Aaliyah Michelle is a Contemporary Romance writer, a voracious reader and movie fanatic who hails from Texas.
After surviving 5 1/2 years living in China, she had the courage to finally pursue her passion and become a writer.
Sydney's novels tackle the dramatic world that is college and professional football She writes about heroines who love their men and the sports world they play in.
She identifies the sci-fi action flick "The Matrix" as the best representation of her life in the past. She is now blessed to be awake and doing what she loves.
She can recite the entire script from the 80's teen comedy/drama "The Breakfast Club" and loves any and everything associated with the Avengers Movie, especially Tony Stark.
When it come to books, Sydney reads different genres, but some of her favorite writers are Stephen King, Alex J. Cavanaugh, J.A Huss, M. Never & Emily Bronte. Under the Dome, The Great Gatsby & Wuthering Heights are her favorite books.
Connect with Sydney Aaliyah Michelle Online:
Website - http://sydneyamichelle.com
Twitter - http://twitter.com/sydneyamichelle
Other Books by Sydney Aaliyah Michelle
Stand Alone
Another New Life
A New Season
Your Biggest Fan (Novella)
Hope Series
Hope for Her - Book #1
Hope for Him - Book #2
Hope for Us - Book #3
Hope: A Sports Romance Boxed Set
Love Sick Series
Anxious Love - Book #1
Anthologies
Affairs of the Heart
Valentine Pets & Kisses
Lured
Life Shocks Romances
Jade Kerrion
Copyright © 2016 by:
Jade Kerrion
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
This book was built at IndieWrites.com. Visit us on Facebook.
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Chapter 1
Sidewalks.
She would have given almost anything for a sidewalk.
Dr. Shannon Larson gently squeezed the brakes on her bicycle and came to a rolling stop, before steering her bike off the muddy road and onto the narrow grass shoulder. A slash of lightning cracked the sky, illuminating the winding country road in flashes of pale white light.
If this were America, this road would be a six-lane highway with steel-frame dividers, a two-lane service road, and a sidewalk.
Of course, the flipside was that the scenery in America would consist of cookie-cutter suburban homes, big box stores, and chain restaurants, as opposed to—
Shannon swept her wet hair away from her face and looked around.
As opposed to miles of rolling hills—no, steep hills—in Tuscany.
Somewhere out there was her
intended destination, a farmhouse B&B where she had a reservation for the evening. With any luck it would be within several miles, preferably before her thigh muscles turned to jelly.
Her sigh was partly amused, partly exasperated as she looked at the sky. The wispy gray clouds had not seemed threatening when she left Pienza earlier that afternoon, but they had soon thickened into dark clouds that pelted rain. An hour into her journey, it was still pouring and the slick roads had turned slushy. Her denim jeans were mud-splattered, but at least her sweater beneath her hooded raincoat was dry.
Dry-ish, she amended. Her jacket kept out the wet, but the cold seeped through. She shuddered and told herself it was a physiological reaction to the weather instead of a psychological reaction to being out in the middle of nowhere, on a bicycle, on a rain-drenched evening, with night falling fast, and no B&B in sight.
Well, the B&B wasn’t going to magically show up if she didn’t get moving. She steered her bicycle back onto the road—path, really. “Road” was too glorious a name for the narrow dirt- and stone-paved trail that meandered through the Tuscan countryside.
Note to self: The next time I decide to bike through Italy, sign up with a tour group…the ones that escort bikers with air-conditioned vans loaded with water bottles and energy bars.
Shannon pushed off and continued down the dark road. The reflectors on her bike were dull—there was nothing to reflect except for a pitiful sliver of moonlight. Streetlights—she would have given anything for streetlights, too.
If her estimates were right, she was within five miles of the B&B. Tension seeped out of her shoulders as she smiled. She could almost imagine the warm baked bread, freshly churned butter, a steaming tomato-basil soup and—
She screamed as light flared across the road and the roar of a car engine punched through the steady patter of falling rain. Her bicycle wobbled; the handlebars wrenched to the side and she tumbled into the mud.