Crushing

by Kelly Kay

  I steer way clear of Asher. That’s another reason why I need to get out of his house. It’s strange and awkward. After I went to New York to pack up a bunch of clothes for this extended residency, I never really unpacked at his house. I have a few items in the bathroom and a couple things of jewelry in a drawer. That’s it. I don’t want him to think I want to play house with him. I had a conversation with him about we’re better as friends and associates. That I’m so busy with this project that a relationship is not something I’d like to pursue right now. He keeps leaving me little notes on my pillow. I have not been subtle, but the dude is not listening.

  He doesn’t understand why I don’t want to be with him. He brings home giant bouquets of tacky-ass spider mums for me all the time and still calls me angel. I need out.

  I’m presenting the updated but very similar logo to Will and Sarah. Evan wanted to clean it up a bit. It’s not going on labels, but in printed pieces and any new merchandise they might need to order. The old one will remain as long as they need it. We’re not rebranding, just modernizing the logo on the remaining pieces. They’re selling, so no need to update.

  “I like the use of color and the picture of Emma Farm on this piece. So beautiful. It’s fun to see it through someone else’s eyes.”

  “That’s a direct marketing piece for high-end wine shops who might want one of you or Alena to come and do an event at their place. Evan needs an excellent set of pictures for the rest of our strategy. He has an extensive shot list, and I’ve lined up a photographer you will love.” I pull up her portfolio on my laptop for them to approve.

  “Wow. These are gorgeous. Alena said that the Chronicle called her for an interview on winemakers that dabble in heritage vines.” Sarah seems impressed.

  “Yes. And she’ll be getting more like that. I’m glad you like the photographer. I’ll start nailing down dates. And we need the entire staff’s cooperation for what Evan has in mind with the photos and the personalized spots.”

  They agree to everything, which makes my job delightful. Our meeting is over, and there are scones. I love Sarah’s scones. Will closes the folder in front of him and smiles.

  He says, “Well, it’s noon, you should probably start your schlep home. With traffic, you should get there by around eight, eight-thirty.”

  I smirk back at him. “That’s helpful, Will. Real helpful. I do get some of my best work done in that car.” I’d leased a Mercedes convertible. Why not have a gorgeous red car for a minute? I don’t drive in New York.

  “Stay here. At least for a little while.” Sarah offers up.

  Will begins to clarify what she just asked me. “We have a ton of room. You can have the left side of the house. We’ll take the right. Put a big tape line down the middle ala Brady Bunch style.”

  I look at him quizzically. “You know that’s a super old reference. And I don’t get it.”

  Will explains, “Well, I am super old. And the brothers were fighting over sides of the room and divided it with a tape line. And now you have to binge Brady Bunch. I command it as your employer. I’m going to put it in as a rider to the contract.”

  I roll my eyes at him. “You couldn’t just say we’ll divide the house?”

  “Look, Josh isn’t here. You can take his room or the smaller one. Both have bathrooms and little sitting areas off the bedrooms. We can put a desk in there if you don’t want to work in the Cooperage.”

  “Hold up! Are you asking me to move in with you, Will? It’s all so sudden. What ever will people think of me?” I bat my eyelashes at him, and Sarah laughs.

  He gets down on one knee. “Noelle, Elle, Parker, virtual stranger, I know this is all moving so fast, but will you share our home with us please?”

  “I’d be honored. And I need to get the hell out of Asher’s.”

  Sarah agrees with me. “Yes, you do. He’s fine in doses, but I can’t imagine him longer than a dinner.”

  Will says, “Glad that’s settled. Phew.” He hugs me. “Elle, you seem a bit of a lost soul. Sarah and I can’t help but take in a stray. For god’s sake, how many freaking cats are around here?”

  I answer, “And the dogs.”

  Will quickly answers, “And Mrs. Dotson.”

  I giggle at Will and then keep smiling. Wow, even though the lost soul statement cuts a bit deep, doesn’t mean it’s not true. I’m never without a plan or a blueprint to how it should all shake out. And here I am, moving in with strangers three thousand miles away from everyone I know and my own home.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Joshua

  “What the hell’s wrong?” I’m on the phone, and this idiot who has a fat chunk of freaking cash doesn’t want to give it to me. “You wanted in on tech that’s going to matter. This is it. This is the opportunity for you to make more money than you thought fucking possible. Don’t ask your planner. He won’t know. And if it all goes to hell, I’ll fucking pay you back personally.”

  “Joshua, you know I trust you. We’ve done some good deals, but tech is so volatile. It’s just not me.”

  I ask, “Are you in town?”

  “We’re in New York for the week.”

  He’s lying, and I’m going to catch him. I’m relentless, and I don’t lose. “I’ll be there tomorrow. We can sit down.”

  “Way to call my bluff.” I smile knowing full well he has small kids and doesn’t like to be gone on weekends. He occasionally travels to Seattle or LA for the day. But currently, this cocksucker is calling me from the golf course. Don’t fuck with me.

  I bark out an order to him, “Be at the fucking Finch and Fork at 7 p.m.”

  “Joshua, you are going to end me.”

  “At least you’ll get a good cocktail out of it if nothing else, right?”

  “See you later.”

  I own him. I need to secure fifteen million, and then this piece is totally financed, and I can hand it off to legal. This the third tech deal I’ve worked for this gaming company, and it’s going to be a nice little paycheck for me. My dad keeps texting. I really don’t have time to clean up his mess with that girl. She freaking haunts my dreams. I need to leave her as jerk-off material in my mind. I can’t know anything she’s doing up there that will piss me off. And I certainly don’t want to know anything more about her and Asher.

  I scream to my assistant. “John! Finch and Fork for two at 7 p.m.”

  He sings his answer to me. “It shall be done, my master.” He’s uber-efficient, doesn’t ever chitchat, and is loyal as hell, so I put up with his theatrics. Best assistant ever.

  I stand and stretch. Time to look at my phone. It’s been buzzing all morning.

  DAD: I need a favor, boy.

  DAD: Seriously, you’re that important you can’t text back?

  DAD: What if we were trapped under something heavy?

  DAD: I see you don’t care that there could be a wild animal terrorizing your mother and me from inside our home. Your home, Josh. There’s a wild boar in your ancestral home. Do you care?

  I laugh at my dad and respond.

  JOSH: Then that girl you hired to sell your winery would gain the strength of ten Grinches and lift the thing off you. Then she can fight off the wild boar with her sharp Manolo Blahniks and a butter knife. She’s resourceful, right?

  DAD: LOL. Can you come up here this weekend? A favor for your mother and only for your mother.

  JOSH: I’m going to hate this, aren’t I?

  DAD: Most assuredly, yes. But your Mom is so pretty, isn’t she? And sweet and kind. And birthed your dumb ass.

  JOSH: I have a thing tonight but can be there by tomorrow afternoon. But leaving Sunday. Plan what you need with my limited availability. This is for MOM only. Is that girl there?

  DAD: Your mother? Of course. She lives here, silly.

  The last thing I want to do is jump on a plane and go up to Sonoma today. I secured all the tech deal money last night. I celebrated with lots of gin and the company of a mediocre woman, who did the job but di
dn’t excel at it. Sadly, I can still taste that damn devil woman, even when eating out other women. Everything about her, except for her bitchy side, still plays through my brain a couple of times a day.

  It’s been almost a month, and I can't shake her. I saw a picture of her on Instagram in New York posted on her firm’s website. I may have gone to look for it, but I'm happy she’s safely in New York.

  I know she’ll fade in time. I still don’t know what the favor is, but after my engagement debacle of last year, I promised my parents I wouldn’t completely shut them out anymore. I hitched a ride with my boss on his private plane up to Napa. I keep a beat-up Jeep at his hanger.

  The drive from Napa to Sonoma takes you through the Carneros Valley, and it’s this strip of land that’s so beautiful. It’s a small but mighty wine area. You get to pass by the regal-looking Chateau of Domaine Carneros Sparkling house and the hidden and amazing architectural Artesa Vineyards & Winery. If I had time, I’d stop in to see the Truchards and their charming and delicious vineyard. I haven’t seen them in years. But I don’t have time. I never have time.

  We’re well past bud break, and the leaves are green and lush. The smell of the air has me a bit nostalgic for the good things about the area.

  I pull into Emma Farm. It was named for my great-great-great-great-grandmother who founded the joint. We usually refer to her as the 4G. Her husband always referred to it as Emma Farm, and we all still do. She was the original LaChappelle and a descendant of a storied wine family from the Rhone region of France. She married a DuPont but refused to take his last name. Eventually, he took hers when they came to America. She was focused on getting to California; it took them four months to get here. She was determined to make her way in the world, and her father wouldn’t let her be a vintner. She was a ballbuster if there ever was one.

  I exit the car, and there’s a choice red Mercedes parked at the Farmhouse with the trunk open. Did my dad finally buy himself a decent car? He’s usually a Prius fellow.

  I round past the trunk and am confronted with an ass I was banking on being in Manhattan. It’s displayed for me in white denim. These may be the most perfect jeans ever made. Her fuchsia print blouse is sliding up her back, and her mint green thong string is peeking out to say hello. I really want to snap it. I stand there staring at it as she clearly searches for something on the floor of the car.

  It’s taking every ounce of self-control not to smack her ripe peach bottom and see where the afternoon takes us. Maybe I can fuck her out of my system. How can the world’s most perfect ass be attached to this harpy? I can’t stand this fake woman’s act. And then there’s the Asher factor, which means I don’t trust her. He’s not to be trusted so how can I trust her? And then her flawless flowery scent wafts up, and my hatred wanes for a split second.

  I watch for a good couple of minutes until I think my dick might never come down. I adjust my hard-on to hide it, and I speak to startle her. “As much as I love this view, what the fuck are you doing here?” She falls flat into the car and then screams.

  “You scared me.”

  I say to her. “Good.”

  She scrambles to right herself and then stands up, pulling down her blouse.

  “Why are you here?”

  “Really, Josh? Were you at the same meeting I was at? I work here. You look good.”

  I crook an eyebrow. Is she hitting on me? She’s staring at me up and down. Seems a bit forward considering we hate each other now.

  “This will work well. It’s good. You don’t have to change. Go throw your stuff down and meet me up on that hill by the tasting room,” she says.

  “Lucien’s hill?”

  “Didn’t know it had a name. But, sure.”

  I say very forcefully. “No.”

  “What do you mean, no?”

  “I mean, no. I’m not meeting you anywhere, Elle.”

  She shoots back at me. “This is the reason you’re here.” She stamps her foot, and it’s kind of adorable.

  I’m confused. “Can we clarify a few things?”

  She shifts her weight and sighs. Her left hip popping out just slightly as if to entice me. Won’t work, woman. I don’t like you right now.

  “What do you need, clarified?” She shakes her head at me.

  I cross my arms and ask, “Where are my parents? What the fuck are you still doing here? And why am I here? Please tell me you didn’t summon me.”

  “I’m doing my job. Your parents wanted me to be boots on the ground for them through the sale. I’m running my business remotely and taking care of my west coast clients. And yes, you’re here for me. Yes. I summoned you for the photo shoot today. Go join your parents on Lucien’s hill.”

  So much is wrong with everything she just said. I had no idea she’d be staying in California for longer than a sporadic day or two. I turn without saying anything and head into the Farmhouse, so I don’t strangle this woman. No one summons me.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Elle

  That certainly didn’t go well. I wanted to be cool and confident the next time I saw Josh. How fortunate that as he walked up my ass was sticking out my car. Dammit. So stupid. I want to be in charge and intimidating, and my ass is in the air for him to see. I still can’t find my stupid phone that fell under the seat. Could not be more vulnerable. He better get down there for pictures in the clothes he had on. A simple pressed white button-down with the sleeves rolled up and jeans. It was perfect. His forearms looking tan and his eyes sparkling off the white of the shirt.

  Dammit, I wish my pussy and my head could get on the same page. Intellectually, I hate everything he is and has done to his family. The way he treated me after the night we had. Research shows he’s a leaver. His history tells the story of the man beyond our night together. He’s walked away from the winery, his family, a fiancée, his gang of Sonoma friends, business ventures, meetings that don’t go his way, clients, and even famous friendships. But my freaking body wants him so badly, or more to the point, wants what he can do to my body.

  I scurry down to the tasting room where I have a glam squad set up to make the staff and the Whittiers look the best versions of themselves. I walk around the tasting room and courtyard, moving things around to make everything perfect. I pop down to the block of Pinot Noir that they’re currently shooting, and it looks like it’s going well.

  Will and Sarah look beautiful and in love. That’s their story, love. It’s powerful to observe and fantastic to be around. I wrap it around me like a blanket. I like watching them interact. It’s a masterclass in relationships.

  I hike back up to the courtyard to make sure the next shot is all set. The photographer’s assistant approaches me. “Um. They won’t do it.”

  “What are you talking about? I’ll get them. Just make sure the bottles are set inside, please. Thanks.”

  Randy, the tasting room manager, is standing off to the side with some of the senior staff, and they’re not looking very friendly. He keeps looking at his phone, laughing, then looking pointedly at me. I thought we were good, but clearly, something’s changed.

  “Hi, Randy,” I say. “Your turn. We’re going to start with the four of you pouring in the tasting room, and then Randy, I’d like you to do the cave set up as well. This is all for the website and new boutique brochures.”

  Randy crosses his arms and says, “No.”

  I take on my kind-but-authoritative tone. “I’m sorry, what?” Now, I’m baffled. The photographer is on her way up here, and this setup was his idea. I don’t have time for whatever this is.

  I do not know why the staff is scattering. I spent a fortune to get this particular photographer, and we only have her for a limited amount of time today. We’re losing the light, and now there’s an insurrection.

  I try to get everyone back. “Hold up. Before you go, can we chat? Have I done something wrong?” Randy turns and heads into the tasting room. I follow him and the others back inside. “Randy? Talk to me. Don’t walk awa
y like you’re having a temper tantrum.”

  He says over his shoulder in a bitchy voice, “You don’t belong here. This all feels wrong.” He’s texting and ignoring me.

  Now I’m getting pissed. I measure my voice so that I don’t come off as furious, which I fucking am. “You were all on board with my plan. This is just a photo shoot. This is what Will and Sarah want.”

  He gets another text and looks down, then says in a cruel tone, “Don’t speak for Sarah and Will.” This seems a little too Cyrano de Bergerac, like someone is feeding Randy lines to say.

  I try to salvage the moment. “I feel as if we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot.”

  “You don’t have a good foot, lady. Just overpriced shoes." He texts and I hear a ding close by. Out of the corner of my eye in the tank room, there’s a flash of a white dress shirt reading his phone. Then all my anger funnels with pinpoint precision on the childish fucking jackass. I’ll no longer give him the satisfaction of watching me be rattled. Try harder, asshole, to make me look the fool.

  My photographer says, “Hey, Noelle, we’re all done out there, but I need the son. And then I’m not sure we have enough time to get the rest of this. I thought you and the assistants were setting up the next shots. We’re losing the light, and you said no lighting package.”

  I don’t hesitate with my answer. “The son didn’t make it in time. He’s kind of a flake. Irresponsible, arrogant, and to be honest, kind of a failure. Also, it’s probably for the best he’s not in the pictures, he had a disfiguring accident in his youth and never learned humility. Poor guy.” I hear a colossal growl from the other room as I make fun of him.

  Randy defends Josh. “He’s not a failure, and he’s beautiful.”

  I can give as good as I get Randy. I say with a dripping tone, “I know you two are close. It’s hard to see reality sometimes, but I think he uses you. He’s not in a good place. You’re dismissed for the day… Sandy, is it?”