Crushing

by Kelly Kay

WILL: Don’t bother. I’ll just call Della Santina’s. Pick it up on the way home. Gnocchi?

  ELLE: Sure. Unless Josh wants to split the dorata.

  WILL: He’s gone.

  ELLE: Out with Sam?

  WILL: My son’s a shit. Contact him. I’m out of this.

  I tune back into the meeting long enough to answer some questions but quickly pull up his number. As I have a chill that’s overtaking me and that distrustful ball of knots in my stomach seizing up.

  ELLE: Where are you?

  JOSH: Home.

  ELLE: Where?

  I hold my breath and pretend to scribble notes in my notebook and check my phone for stats and nod back to the man boring the hell out of me. I can’t breathe.

  JOSH: Santa Barbara.

  ELLE: For how long?

  JOSH: A while. Maybe longer.

  ELLE: Are you serious?

  JOSH: Yes. I had to. Just leave it alone. Elle. I had to go back to work. I had to leave.

  I’m numb. I’m crushed. Was I used? Hell, no. There is no fucking way that was a one-night thing. Oh, my god. He left. He left me. And I freaking knew he would, but I fell for him anyway. Shit. The reality is creeping into my system like ice water in my veins.

  I’m so embarrassed that I thought this was something else. Josh Whittier will pay for making me feel like this. Asshole idiot for thinking he can make me trust him and then do something like this. And I find out from Will. Asshole. No way you get away with this. He’s a coward. Or he totally led me on. What was all that “you’re mine” shit? He knew he was going to get lucky. And he knew he was leaving. Why bother making me believe there was more?

  There’s no way he didn’t feel what I was feeling. I was so careful not to believe his bullshit for so long. He shattered any amount of trust he built. Stupid. Stupid Noelle. I gave up control. I’m an idiot. I’m an amazing idiot who went back on the only tenant I try to live my life by. Always know the outcome or know how to manipulate things to go my way.

  I control my life, heart, and business. And he fucking weaseled his way under my skin and into my blood. I made stupid decisions based on how my body reacted to him. He opened me up in so many ways that I knew were dangerous, but I couldn’t stop myself. Fuck. Oh, dear god, I wiped him all over my breasts. And he spanked me. Dammit. I wish I didn’t like that from him. I’m so embarrassed. I hate men. Especially Joshua Lucien LaChappelle Whittier. People are talking in front of me, and I can’t pay attention to any of them. I will recommit to this meeting. Concentrate on this and address the Josh issue later.

  A man with the yellow shirt just said something important about the Beverage Event Order and I have no idea what it is. When did he leave? Yesterday? This morning? Yes, salmon is great in a puff. That will be fine as an appetizer. Wait.

  “I’m concerned about serving fish in the heat during cocktail hour.”

  And now they blather on. I can’t do it. I can’t do this meeting. “I’ll be right back.” I bolt out to the street and pace up the block, trying to calm myself down. Doesn’t work.

  ELLE: Asshole.

  ELLE: Answer me.

  ELLE: Josh?

  There’s no answer. That’s something.

  ELLE: You’re shutting the door on this? I’m trying to understand. Maybe I’m not. Just answer me. Call me later. Call me now.

  I turn my phone off, walk back inside, and pretend I have an emergency. This is all nothing I want to be a part of. I want to smash something, mostly his face. I leave lots of money on the table and disappear into the winding roads that will take me back to the scene of the grime.

  I turn my phone back on at a red light on my way out of the city and fully expect a message explaining all of this. That’s it a misunderstanding. That I overreacted. That he’s kidding and he’s taking me out for that date he talked about tonight. But there’s nothing. My phone is eerily silent. I’m left with nothing.

  ELLE: Fuck off.

  ELLE: Fuck off.

  Sitting in the parking lot in front of the Farmhouse, I stare at my phone as if it’s going to magically take this pit of pain way. I send my last text. This will be my last contact with him.

  ELLE: There’s no fixing this. So, I say again: Fuck off, Joshua.

  He’s tainted it, made it all dirty. What was all that shit about me being his? How stupid am I? Jackass. How can I trust what he said if he doesn’t trust me enough to tell me he was leaving or why he left? Be open with me instead of demanding I believe in him. He didn’t believe in me. That’s apparent. I was fine. Fuck him for making me feel I wasn’t alone. Fuck him for making me feel more alone than I ever have before.

  He makes me care about him, sleeps with me, then leaves. And screw him because it was the best sex I’ve ever had. I will dream about and masturbate to that sex for years to come. For every Asher in my future, where I have to take care of myself, it will his stupid face I see as I come.

  Tears are stinging the back of my eyes, and I’m struggling to keep them hidden.

  I gave up control, and this is what happens. Not only did I let him see my vulnerabilities, but he rejected them. I need to get a hold of myself. I need to wrap up this project and get the hell out of the Whittiers’ life and work. I’ll get someone to handle the day to day. I need to leave.

  I’ll never forgive him for ruining this for me. For contaminating every part of this experience for me. Jackass. I can be gone in a month if all goes well. The sale will be set, and I can leave right before harvest. Although I would have liked to be a part of it, I have to remember that I’m Parker and Company, not a LaChappelle/Whittier. I’m not a vintner. I have no real place here. It’s time to go back to the life I carefully built and cultivated over the years. I have to retreat to my safe place, out of pain or confusion.

  Josh is no part of that. New York remains untainted. There’s no reason on earth for me to ever speak to him again. Not to be petty or angry, just a fact. Whatever place he carved out for himself in my world has closed up, or I’ll seal it off with a blowtorch. There will be nothing left and no room for him in my heart or life. See ya, Josh.

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  JOSH

  The pain and guilt I feel are crushing me. She’s safe. I can’t believe I have to do this to her. I read her texts and I can’t breathe. All I want is to be buried inside of her or have my arms wrapped around her. It’s killing me. I won’t let anything happen to her or my family. If I lose her, there won’t be a day that passes that I don’t make Salvatore Pietro pay. There won’t be a moment that I don’t make him suffer at my hands. Both physically and financially. I will find a way get out of this and back to her. I have to get back to her. You want to play dirty, you fucking Capo, let’s dance.

  I can’t lose her. I won’t. She’s mine.

  End of Book One

  What’s Ahead!

  Thank you for reading! I’m so excited you’re here. I can’t believe Josh and Elle are out in the world instead of just living in my head. I sometimes wish I didn’t know what was going to happen so I could enjoy their journey for the first time. But trust me, it’s sooo good.

  Josh and Elle will return in Rootstock, Book 2 of the LaChappelle/Whittier Vineyard trilogy. Available for pre-order on Amazon.

  Then their story concludes in Uncorked, Book 3 of the LaChappelle/Whittier Vineyard trilogy. Pre-order this one too on Amazon.

  You can find all kinds of information and silly extras at all the usual suspects: Book Bub: Kelly Kay, Instagram: @kelly_kay_books, Facebook: KellyKayBooks or sign up for my newsletter at KellyKayromance.com

  At least visit the website for the Crushing Spotify playlist!

  AND coming later in 2020 a new series spin off- Chi Duets. The first set of stories focuses on another sassy Sonoma resident and her path towards her own Happily Ever After.

  Shock Mount (Book One of A Lyrical Duet)

  Meg Hannah stores memories and feelings in her mind, in a sacred space she calls her Pantheon. She’s waited a long time to
move past her divorce and is now all packed up and ready to move from California to New York with her long-distance boyfriend, a hot documentary filmmaker. She has one more night to treasure Sonoma and make memories to store away in her Pantheon. Ian Reilly, pop star, interrupts her well-laid plans for the evening.

  He’s an internationally famous musician with a million fans but seems to only have eyes for the one girl he can’t have.

  The feel of his hands, the way he looks at her, the way he makes her laugh makes her question her move for a moment. But after that innocent night she tucks him away as a memory, she only hopes that he’ll stay there.

  Find out if Ian can stay out of Meg’s life in Book One of the A Lyrical Duet- Shock Mount. Out later this year.

  Acknowledgments

  I didn’t think I’d ever be in a place to write what I love. Romance, comedy, and a little bit of cheeky content. I’m so grateful for anyone who reads this. And I hold a special place in my heart and soul for all of those people who actively annoyed, pushed, and encouraged me to do it. I’m so freaking grateful.

  It doesn’t just take a village to raise a child; it takes one to create a novel or three in my case. There are some who have read all my words dating back a decade and pushed me to self-publish years ago, ahem Celia Fleischaker, and I didn’t trust them. I do now. Thank you for believing in me when I wasn’t ready to do so myself.

  I have so many plots and plans and books to come. And the people that I’m about to list are the only reason I’m able to do any of this.

  My beta readers and alpha women. I love you and appreciate every gasp, comment, and criticism from all of you. Special shout out to my sister, Allison, my hype woman, friend, my confidant, and my first critic and fan. Cindy, Liz , Wendy G, Emily & Sara I

  I am so fucking lucky to have a legion of amazing women and men at my back:

  The Divas- Nancy H & Boyd

  The Librarians- Corie , Sarah W, Mary & Christy

  The OG Mamas- Karen Y, Rene, Dori , Nancy A & Willow

  My sisters from 633 W Jefferson who helped give birth to Kelly Kay, all naming credit to Sally B. Stafford- Karen O, Kim, Leenie & Sal

  And Brooke, Mikki, Billy & Holly for always understanding who I am and celebrating it.

  Becki Shunick-Farm who makes me look and feel beautiful every 6 to 8 weeks. Who provided a laptop to format this book and a safe haven to work. I’ve written some of my favorite chapters sitting in her chair at B. A Salon on Armitage. Thank you.

  The Currys who selflessly chatted about ISBN numbers and technical things and shared self-publishing tales. New to my world but I knew instantly they were my tribe.

  The Bunker who never doubted that Lanie Abbott, Kelly Kay’s beta testing name, had a place in this world. I stand on the shoulders of Negronis (which I hate) and long evenings of substantial chatting and laughing (which I love.) Matt, Jill, Amy & Tim*- thank you. And thanks to the Bunker Jr. for occupying yourselves while we have dinner and one too many Jill created cocktails.

  Timothy Muthafucking Papi Hogan gets an asterisk. He designed my covers and gave Kelly Kay a look and feel. He branded her, and I’m eternally grateful for his artistry and encouragement. Or just pouring another glass of bourbon and chatting about the state of the world and music. Thank you my talented friend.

  Erin Young, you are an editing goddess. She saw my words and knew exactly what I meant when I got tongue-tied. I will forever be grateful that I found you. We have much work to do together.

  Holly Jennings is the one who knew if she just moved a word, a comma or a dash, my writing would sing brighter. She also reminded me that Irish skin would probably burn not tan. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

  Mom, Babs, thanks for always letting me scribble on the walls and outside the lines. And please, don’t read the dirty parts. My brother, Jess, who will always be the one who had my back first. You’re not allowed to read the dirty parts either. Nichole, SIL extraordinaire, you can read the dirty parts if you want. Thanks for believing in me.

  There’s no romance without my husband, Eric. I love you to the ETC. box office and back. And that kid of ours is pretty terrific. Thanks for him too. And for the space and breadth to find my way. (And the wine delivery to the couch.) You keep me awash.

  And Charlie, thank you for turning down Teen Titan’s Go or serenading me with piano while I was writing in our shared living room space. I love you.

  Thank you to Sonoma and all but two people in that beautiful city. It’s odd to thank a whole city, but that’s what I’m doing. You’ll always have my heart and thanks for providing the backdrop and inspiration for these books and the ones yet to come. I’ll miss you Landlass.

  About a year ago, my sister recommended I read some of the books she loved. She and Cindy Valdes bombarded me with titles and authors. (#teamedward4eva). I’ve read voraciously ever since. These writers, these women, became my teachers of the genre I wasn’t sure I could write. And now I’ve read their entire canons, become a fangirl, and have learned from the best. Thank you to Helena Hunting, Meghan March, T.K. Leigh, Lili Valente, Aleatha Romig, K.A. Linde, Willow Winters, Lisa Renee Jones, Staci Hart, Laurelin Paige, and Pippa Grant for your words, humor, your wild strong heroines and alphas to drool over.

  (Psst, hey readers. While you wait for my next book, which I’m writing as fast as I can, read theirs.)

  About Kelly Kay

  I used to create "dreams" with my best friend growing up. We'd each pick a boy we liked, then we'd write a meet-cute that always ended with a happily ever after.

  Now I get to dream every day, although it's a little steamier these days. And I've discovered I can and will write anywhere I can. I have photographic proof.

  I'm a writer, married to a writer, mom of a creative dynamo of a nine-year-old boy and currently a little sleepy. I'm a klutz and goofball and love lipstick as much as my Chuck Taylors.

  Random good things in the world: pepperoni pizza, Flair pens*, road trips, coffee, sidesplitting laughing fits, matinees on a weekday, the Chicago Cubs, a fresh new notebook full of possibilities, bourbon on a cold night, Fantasy Football, gaggles of friends, witty men, local zoo in the rain and that moment when a character clicks in and begins to write their own adventure. I'm just the pen.

  Oh, and wine. I like wine. (duh)

  *purple is my favorite Flair pen