by Karr, Kim
I slapped my palm to my forehead. “Oh, hell, when you put it like that Wilhelmina, it makes perfect sense for us to get married.”
The sarcasm I used had those false eyelashes of hers fluttering up and down.
“I mean, I get it,” I went on. “Paris and I are obviously a match made in heaven.” Or hell, I thought before adding, “I have no idea why I thought marriage should involve things like love and respect when clearly partying is all you need to make it work.”
Wilhelmina balled her hand into a fist and pounded it on the table. The sound was so loud, I jerked back. “This isn’t a joke, Tyler. If you don’t want to lose everything your grandfather worked so hard for, you’ll do what I’m telling you to do and make amends with her. It’s the only way.”
My heart pounded too fast and my mouth went dry.
No way.
NO WAY.
There was no fucking way I was going to ‘make amends’ with Paris Fairchild. I drew in a deep breath and slowly blew it out. I had to keep my cool. Seemingly nonchalant-like, I shrugged. “Then you go talk to her. See if she’s willing to entertain the idea of making amends with me and merging the two companies, and we’ll go from there.”
I already knew Paris would never agree to such a thing. I might have hated her—but she hated me so much more. And I was certain she’d rather fail than see my face ever again.
Wilhelmina’s perfectly sprayed hair moved, that’s how hard she shook her head. “No, even if she is willing, the merger couldn’t possibly work under those circumstances. It would be too risky.”
This was getting more amusing by the second. “And why is that?”
“I don’t trust her or her father.”
I snickered low under my breath. “And yet, you want me to marry her?”
Her shoulders squared. “Yes, I do. If you marry Paris, you’ll create a tie that can’t be broken or cheated.”
My chin took on a defiant tilt. “You should know.”
She bit off bitter laughter but ignored responding to my jab. “Marriage presents a mutual benefit for each of you—you get her grapes, she gets your equipment. I’ve spoken to Mr. Dane, and he agrees with me. Marriage is the only way to assure that no one will get screwed.”
Screwed.
She had that right.
Done with this bullshit, I pushed away from the table and grabbed the bottle of whiskey. “Yeah, well, it’s not going to happen, Wilhelmina. Not in a million fucking years.”
I’d rather donate a kidney.
Tyler
THE HEADLIGHTS CUT through the fog of the blackness and the car sped down the highway.
I glanced at my watch. It wasn’t even seven o’clock, and it was darker than any black hole.
I think the short days were what I hated the most about the holiday season. That and my birthday—the eve of the new year and the anniversary of the very same day my father took his last breath.
Maybe I was feeling nostalgic, or maybe I’d lost my fucking mind, because somehow Wilhelmina had convinced me to ride home with her so we could go out to dinner and talk CJ.
I still wasn’t sure if I said yes to shut her up or because I was drunk or because I genuinely believed her—that my legacy was in jeopardy and in need of my help.
Sure, I knew I wasn’t a savior, but I had to try. Before I could attempt to fix anything, though, I had to understand what I was up against.
Feeling much soberer, I scanned the set of profit and loss statements she’d emailed me before leaving my place. Nervous, I roughed my hands over my scruffy jaw and tried to calculate how much money was needed to see us through the first quarter.
It was a lot.
Too much.
I tapped the numbers on my screen again.
Nothing changed.
Things were bad.
Really bad.
So bad, I didn’t see a way out; I only saw the end.
Turning the dome light off, I sent Christian a quick text that my place was empty in case he wanted to use it, and then I set my phone on the seat beside me and closed my eyes. I was tired as shit, and my brain felt fried.
Sleep.
I needed some sleep.
It might help me see things a bit clearer. Might help me come up with a realistic plan on how to turn this dire situation around. One that didn’t involve selling off California Jane in pieces to cover next quarter’s operating expenses, and definitely one that didn’t include me selling my soul to the she-devil.
Dreams came to me in the form of nightmares. That night so long ago. The hospital. Everything else. Unable to stand reliving that time, I wrenched my eyes open.
The car was exiting Highway-29 onto Adams Street and heading straight into St. Helena. I jerked my head in the older her’s direction. “Where the hell do you think we’re going?” I seethed into the darkness.
So dinner wasn’t what Wilhelmina had in mind.
St. Helena, California might have only been four square miles in size and located in the center of the world-famous wine-growing Napa Valley, but to me, it was the very depths of hell.
Wilhelmina was leaning back and her eyes were closed, but I knew she wasn’t fully asleep. Demons like her never truly slept. Irritated, I reached across the seat and shook her arm. “Wilhelmina, wake the fuck up. I thought we were going to dinner in Calistoga? This isn’t funny.”
Before I could rouse her from her pretend sleep, the car was ascending up the dirt hilltop to the younger her’s house with its never-ending view of the surrounding vineyards on the most coveted west side of Napa Valley.
So vast.
So large.
So fucking pretentious.
This land was south of Vince Gable’s vineyard. Vince was a seventy-something-year-old who owned more acreage in Napa Valley than any one person. This particular property was also the apex separating the Fairchild’s land from the Holiday’s (mine, ours, hers, whoever’s) and hadn’t been impacted by the fire’s one bit.
Being here was insane. There was no way I was going to pop in on Paris Fairchild to see if we could have a chat about getting hitched.
I mean, come on.
Tie the knot.
Get married.
The idea itself made me hot around the collar.
It was preposterous.
Ridiculous.
Insane.
Dust whirled around in the air outside as the car wound around the mountain.
Getting closer and closer still.
I felt my pulse start to race, and I quickly pushed the call button. When I received no response, I knocked on the privacy glass. “Turn this car around,” I ordered, even though I knew Phillip couldn’t hear me, and let’s be honest, I knew even if he could, he only took orders from Queen Wilhelmina. Still, I kept pounding, hoping that my grown-up age or my much larger size might change the situation I’d found myself in one too many times in the past.
It didn’t matter.
It was like I was still that teen in trouble and he was whisking me away to cover up the ill deed.
All of a sudden, the dead rose. Reaching for me, Wilhelmina grabbed my hand. “Stop that, Tyler. It won’t do any good.”
My chest tightened, anger grating my every nerve as I glared at her. “You’re right, it won’t.”
She knew what I meant. Still, she gave me that look I hated. The one that said she knew better.
She didn’t.
Not anymore.
“Besides, I doubt she still lives with Daddy.”
Her hand remained on my sleeve. “She hasn’t been back that long, Tyler, so with money tight and her father alone, more than likely she does.”
“Doesn’t matter,” I muttered.
“My plan can work, Tyler, but you have to give it a chance. Talk to Paris. Feel her out. Highway 129 is very vulnerable and her response might very well surprise you.”
I shook her grip away. “You can’t be serious? You want me to do this right now?” I asked. “It’s New Year’s
Eve and my birthday, in case you’ve forgotten, and even if by some miracle she’s home, I don’t plan to waste my night with her.”
Hmmm . . . waste seemed like the wrong word no matter how much I wanted it to be the right one.
The car came to a halt, and as soon as it did, Wilhelmina reached right past me and flung open my door. “Get out.”
I never saw her move so fast. “What the fuck? Didn’t you hear me?” I seethed. “I’m not talking to her, and especially not tonight of all nights.”
“I heard you and I don’t care what day of the year it is. It could be Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter all rolled up into one spectacular party day, and that wouldn’t change a thing. Regardless of the occasion, you are going to stop acting like the selfish prick you are and at least attempt to talk to Paris.”
Anger stirred in the air. Her. Me. She’d never spoken to me like that. “That’s where you’re wrong,” I barked. “I’m not.”
“Yes. You. Are.”
What happened next, I never saw coming. Never would have imagined. Could have imagined. Wilhelmina shoved me right out of the car, slamming the door shut before I could even process what she’d done. And then, as if her getaway was orchestrated, Phillip floored the old Mercedes. Just like that, they went speeding away, taillights fading as they descended down the mountain and the dust left kicking up in the air the only proof they were ever here.
No fucking way did that just happen.
“My phone,” I shouted to no one at all.
On my ass, I sighed in disbelief. Great. I was here, stranded, with no means of communication and no car. Just fucking great.
It wasn’t like I could have stopped her. What could I have done? I wasn’t going to push the old bat or manhandle her. I wasn’t that vile. I’d never lay a hand on a woman. I wasn’t my old man.
From my place on the ground, I stared up. The house looked dilapidated. The once audacious pillars were peeling and the guesthouse windows were boarded up.
All of a sudden, the place started lighting up like a Christmas tree. Every bulb that wasn’t burned out flicking on as if in a synchronized fashion.
For a moment, I forgot ten years had passed since I’d last set foot on this land. I’d been here more times than I cared to remember, but I’d never really liked the place. It’s owed to Southern France style might have once been regal but it lost its grandeur long ago.
Fuck, old man Malcom wasn’t even French.
Not that it mattered.
Stone walls and arches and a chilling cold were all I remembered about the place. There was never an ounce of warmth, anywhere.
Then again, not that I wasn’t hot when I inside the place because I was usually inside her. I’d spent my time in her room with its twin-sized bed, or in the den on the pull-out sofa, and sometimes in that creepy old guest house that smelled like an old attic.
The common denominator being beds, beds, beds. Yeah, Paris and I had fucked like bunnies for more than three solid months.
I tried to erase the memory of those crazy nights when we were learning the meaning of sex, but before I could rid them from my mind, the large arched oak door started to creak open.
Hoping it was the help or hell, even old man Malcom himself, I felt the blood pump through my veins like wildfire when that old wooden door opened wide and I could see it was neither of those people.
That same fiery red hair blew in the wind, and those unchanged pouty lips scowled at the same time her tiny freckled nose scrunched.
Shit.
Shit.
Shit.
And that body, it was still hotter than fuck.
I lowered my gaze, but then all I could see were those perfect tits and those long, long legs.
Darting my eyes to my dusty shoes, I swallowed more than once to keep from panting like a schoolboy over her.
She hadn’t changed. Her body was still more mouthwatering than any supermodel, and I still wanted to get inside her like I always had.
Deep.
Hard.
And fast.
But I wouldn’t.
Couldn’t.
Not even if she begged.
She wasn’t trustworthy.
Never would be, either.
Burn me once, your fault. Burn me twice, my fault. Or the saying goes something like that. Even knowing this, I couldn’t stop my eyes from lifting. From staring at her. From seeing her.
This was trouble.
No, I wasn’t trouble anymore, I was in trouble.
Wearing nothing more than a silky robe, she stood on the porch under the glowing light staring at me with those big green eyes that had to be as wide as mine. As soon as our stares met, shock froze her mouth into a perfect ‘O’. “Tyler?” she asked.
Like a dumbass, I nodded.
As if being there wasn’t something so completely out of the ordinary.
“What the hell are you doing lurking out here in the dark?” Her voice was cold, hard, and even after all these years still so full of anger.
Tension bound the air and that unwanted attraction which had haunted me for ten years felt like it was suffocating me.
For a minute, all I could see were those long, long legs and all I could do was recall the memory of them wrapped around me. Of me fucking her, touching her, kissing her.
It just wouldn’t fade. Until I remembered the end of us that is, and only then was I able to force down the unwanted lustful feelings.
California Jane was in trouble.
She was our way out.
I could do this.
What took place between us was ten years ago. Teenage drama. We were adults now. I could get over what had happened if she could and maybe we could merge our companies, after all.
Our companies.
Not our bodies
California Jane was in trouble, I told myself again.
She was the way out, I reminded myself.
Most certainly I wasn’t actually attracted to her anymore, anyway, especially after what had gone down between us. I was just tired, hungover, and still horny from earlier. That’s all.
This could be a business deal between two grown adults—it didn’t have to be preposterous.
“Tyler?” she questioned a second time, shielding her eyes to see past the vibrant shadows the lights were casting. “What are you doing here?” she asked again.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood and the air felt charged with an electricity I hadn’t felt in years.
Who was I kidding?
I couldn’t do this.
Wouldn’t do this.
The bitter end was still too vivid. Too present. Too much.
She was a black widow, and I’d be damned if I’d get caught in her web.
My step-grandmother had gone above and beyond in order to keep control of California Jane, but I wouldn’t be like her. Couldn’t. Not like this. Not with her.
Despite the hate Wilhelmina felt for my father, she married him at his deathbed.
She married my father.
A much younger man than she.
An alcoholic with little ambition and even less work ethic. A man filled with rage and hate. A man who Wilhelmina despised for reasons I wasn’t privy too, and never really cared to know.
All I knew was that after my grandfather’s death, Corky went to great lengths to declare Wilhelmina incompetent of running the company, and somehow he managed to take control from her.
Control my grandfather had left to her.
The marriage to him was to put her back in charge and to keep California Jane out of the hands of the board of directors, who were all too eager to pluck the company out from under the control of the Holiday family due to its poor performance.
I get it. In order to stop the vultures, Wilhelmina had to marry my father, and by doing so, she became his widow and got control back only hours before his death. In the end she was able to keep California Jane in the family.
So yeah, I guess you could call it a sel
fless act.
That wasn’t me, though.
Wasn’t who I was.
There would be no raising of the white flag on my side. Not with Paris Fairchild.
Burdened and scathed, I got to my feet knowing I would never be like the woman who raised me. I wiped the dust from my slacks and shoved my hands in my pockets. The whole let bygones be bygones thing wasn’t for me.
I had to get out of there, so I did what anyone in my humiliating situation would do. I tore off my tie and gave Paris an icy stare before barking, “Leaving,” and then I gave her my back.
In truth—I really was way too selfish to even try.
Tyler
I COULD PRACTICALLY taste the dirt on my tongue.
As I approached the town, I wanted to spit for more than one reason. The sign read:
WELCOME TO ST. HELENA, CALIFORNIA
Nothing had changed.
The population was still less than six thousand. The brick and awning storefronts were still lamp lit. And the streets were still filled with tourists.
I knew I’d reached the place everyone called Napa Valley’s Main Street, when I spotted all the people stopping to admire the rows of old wine barrels filled with poinsettias.
Thank fuck it wasn’t wine-tasting season was my only thought as I marched down the broken brick sidewalk.
The walk hadn’t taken that long, but still.
Fucking Wilhelmina.
I should have never gotten in that car with her. I should have waited to sober up and then drove myself.
First thing I would be doing tomorrow was heading back to San Francisco to get my own wheels. Oh, and getting my cell was priority.
I looked around the compact picture-perfect downtown. This place was like a Ferris wheel of wealth and entertainment. Boutiques, art galleries, cafés set in historic buildings, and of course, restaurants and wine, lots of wine. St. Helena had it all. There were even edible chocolate unicorns for fuck’s sake.
Happy.
Happy.
Happy.
Sure people threw around the word, “Charming.” Not me. I just knew it as the pits of hell. And besides, in Calistoga we had mud baths and hot springs and absolutely no Paris Fairchild.