ReWined Vol I ~ Kim Karr

by Karr, Kim

  The stroke he’d had while attempting to break into Vince Gable’s house wasn’t severe. The doctor warned, though that it could have been the first of what they called a series of mini strokes.

  In other words, my father’s remaining time on this earth was limited. How long though, they couldn’t answer. A week. A year. Five for all they knew.

  Those old eyes opened and I smiled at him. “Hi, Daddy. How are you feeling today?”

  His eyes were sharp when he looked at me, so his words stung even more when he spoke them. In fact, they felt like a jagged knife was being plunged through my heart. “London, sweetheart, what are you still doing here? You’re going to be late for work.”

  Work.

  Yes. London’s summer job at the old tasting room. He’d told me how hard she’d worked. That she’d gotten there by seven every morning.

  He always told me how much better she was than me.

  I never even bothered to come home for the summer during college, so I never could disappoint him. In that way, anyway. I’d done it in a million other ways, though.

  Be a doctor like your sister wanted to, he’d told me. I put a fat X on that one.

  It was always, like my sister.

  Everything.

  And now he thought I was her.

  Chaos brewed like a violent storm inside me. I wanted to run and never look back. This was my biggest nightmare. But he was ill, and I couldn’t run. I couldn’t leave him alone. I was all he had.

  He pointed out the window. “Hurry now or the staff will be waiting for you.”

  I glanced out the window.

  Sun setting. Sun rising. I guess they looked the same from his vantage point.

  Picking up a large vase of wildflowers, I sniffed the scent of lavender that was woven through it and then set the magnificent bouquet beside him on the bedside table. “I have plenty of time, Daddy.”

  The truth danced unreachably in the air.

  London was dead.

  I was Paris, her replacement.

  The doctors had already explained to me that trying to correct him would only agitate him.

  “Why are you wearing those ridiculous clothes?” he said.

  I looked down at my silver cropped top and wide-legged black pants. Then at the patent 1960’s pumps I’d found for a steal online. “I’m going out to dinner after work. Remember, I told you.”

  It slipped out easily enough.

  “With who?” he demanded.

  “Just some friends.”

  “Well, you better not be hanging around with that Holiday boy, you hear me? He’s trouble and your mother and I want you to stay away from him.”

  I blinked.

  Holiday boy?

  His realities must have been intertwining. London’s and my childhoods becoming one.

  I took a seat in the hard plastic chair beside him. “I understand, Daddy,” I agreed. “Now, you should get some rest.”

  He grumbled a few words and stared at the hoist around his body like it was the first time he’d seen it. Then surprisingly, he closed his eyes.

  I did the same, pushing back the tears I refused to cry.

  The hospital door swung open and a man in blue scrubs with a stethoscope around his neck came striding in. “Hi,” he said. “I’m Dr. White,” he looked down at the chart he was holding. “You must be Paris.”

  Surprised he knew my name, I figured it must have been noted somewhere in the medical file.

  Worried at the contradiction, my eyes shot to my father, who was now fast asleep. I got to my feet and smoothed my slacks. “Yes, I’m Malcolm’s daughter. I’m sorry, but I don’t think we’ve met.”

  “That’s right,” he said. “I’m covering for Dr. Crane, your father’s orthopedic physician. I stopped in earlier to see him. He told me about you.”

  I just nodded. There was no need to correct him, either.

  “Well, nice to meet you.” I grinned.

  “Nice to meet you, too. Your father seemed very proud of all the work you’ve been doing with the winery.”

  Oh, yes, London and the old tasting room.

  I just smiled.

  “He said you’d quit your job to come back here and that your dedication was going to make you a brilliant CEO.”

  My mouth fell open.

  That was not London he was speaking of. It was me.

  Dispensing with the formalities, the doctor started flipping through the chart. “Do you know if your father has a living will?”

  Still in shock, I shook my head.

  I didn’t even know if he had a will, period. And if he did, who he was handing his legacy down to.

  It very well could be the coffee shop owner in town that he’d always been sweet on for all I knew.

  “He’s doing much better now that we’ve got the pain under control,” the doctor said. “In fact, he can be transferred to Senior Living as early as tomorrow.”

  Finding myself staring at the beautiful flower arrangement, I jerked my gaze toward him. I only wished that to be true. The nursing director had told me Senior Living was the premier rehabilitation center in the county and that it also specialized in late-staged Alzheimer’s.

  It was the first place I’d called when I was told my father couldn’t remain in the hospital for much longer. However, the cost was astronomical and they didn’t accept insurance. Private pay only. Besides, even if the price was within my reach, they had a twelve-month waiting list.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” I said. “But he won’t be going there. I’ve arranged for him to be moved to the Center for Rehabilitation attached to the hospital until I can find a more suitable place for him.”

  The doctor flipped even faster through the chart. “Are you certain?”

  I straightened my spine. “Yes, I am.”

  He glanced up. “There must be some mistake then because I have the signed admission paperwork right here.”

  My brows twisted in confusion. “That doesn’t make sense. I did call them, but I didn’t give them any information.”

  Just then the door swung open again and the nursing director came in with several pieces of paper in her hand. “Dr. White, Paris,” she greeted. “I don’t want to disturb you, doctor, but I just wanted to attach the Senior Living admissions paperwork to Mr. Fairchild’s chart.”

  Dr. White raised the chart. “It’s already here. But there seems to be some confusion. Mr. Fairchild’s daughter was under the impression her father would be transferred to the Rehabilitation Center here at the hospital.”

  The nursing director shook her head as if amused, and then placed her hand over her mouth. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said, “I think your husband wanted to surprise you with the news.”

  White hot fury bubbled inside me. “My husband?” I managed to ask without clenching my teeth.

  “Oh yes, Mr. Holiday is such a wonderful man. You’re one lucky woman to have a husband like that to help you in situations like these. And those flowers, they’re so gorgeous.”

  “Yes, I certainly am,” I spewed through a fake smile. “Do you think I could take those copies?” I asked, pointing to the duplicate paperwork the nurse held in her hand.

  “Yes, of course.” She held them out. It took all of my strength not to rip them from her hand and shred them into pieces.

  After taking them cordially, I managed to keep my voice even and my words coherent despite the fact that my mind was whirling. “Thank you both for everything and I hate to run but I have to meet that wonderful husband of mine for dinner.”

  Tossing my faux fur around my shoulders, my legs moved quickly, much like they had when I was escaping from my father’s lectures about behaving more like my sister had, being more like my sister was.

  Yet, the adrenaline that was buzzing through my veins was hotter, wilder, filled with fury, and maybe something more.

  Click. Click. Click.

  Clack. Clack. Clack.

  I went down the sterile corridor and then burst through t
he double doors. The cool air hit me as I strode toward his Range Rover with determination.

  I hadn’t decided if I was going to meet Tyler for dinner or not, but I certainly had now.

  And my ‘husband’ was going to be looking at divorce papers very soon.

  Tyler

  I DESPISED TARDINESS.

  Checking my watch, I sipped the glass of whiskey I held in my hand as I sat at the table in the private room I’d reserved days ago.

  As I waited, I considered ordering the entire bottle, but my clean-up was well underway. And besides, I hadn’t even thought about partying since returning to Calistoga.

  Or since seeing her.

  Paris Elizabeth Hollis Fairchild was my first, and I sat here pondering the idea of her being my last.

  It didn’t taste so bad.

  And fuck, how I wanted to taste her again. This time though, I wanted to sip her like a fine wine.

  Then again, she wasn’t here for me to do that. Was she? Perhaps she wasn’t coming. And this was so not a good pat on my ego.

  Had I not baited her enough?

  Whether through temptation—the dropping of the hint that I had information I knew she’d find interesting or through fury—using a good portion of my trust fund to pay for her father’s care, I would have bet any amount of money she’d show.

  The boxes of information hadn’t shown me anything, but I had all the documents scanned, anyway. There was something, somewhere, I just had to find it.

  Sound rustled from just outside the door before it flew open. After it did, nothing but silence echoed through the air.

  For a beat, I froze.

  There she was.

  All flowing red hair and pouty full lips and scrunched freckled nose. Body as mouthwatering as the whiskey I was sipping.

  I had to stop myself from panting like a dog.

  I wanted her tight little body from the moment I first saw her again in the club. But after the other day, having buried my cock deep inside her, that want turned to something more.

  Determination.

  She.

  Would.

  Be.

  Mine.

  Standing there, she stared at me with those big green eyes and the most pissed off look I’d ever seen.

  A violent storm.

  Like one of those chaotic ones that swept through the valley and left destruction in its wake.

  A good guess—she knew about her father.

  This was going to be fun.

  I got to my feet. “Love,” I greeted as I casually strode toward her. “So glad you could make it.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest and scowled at me. “Don’t you Love, me.”

  Okay, so that was how it was going to go.

  This girl was begging to be disciplined. “You’re late,” I hissed as I stepped around her and removed whatever the hell it was she was wearing from around her shoulders.

  I tossed it on the sideboard next to the crystal water pitcher and glared at her.

  “What. The. Hell!” Her voice was all dancing flames and raging inferno. It shouldn’t have turned me on, but it did. The thought of taming her was making my dick instantly hard.

  I grabbed her hand. “Quiet,” I chastised as if telling a child having a tantrum to behave. “Or we’ll have to take this outside.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  Hey, I was up for a dirty fuck out back if she was.

  Huffing in frustration, she muttered, “You might think you’re funny, Tyler, but newsflash, you aren’t.”

  At the table, I pulled her chair out. When she dropped her purse on the surface and then begrudgingly sat, I whispered in her ear, “Newsflash, Paris, you don’t have to think I’m funny but you will keep your voice down or I’ll spank your ass right here.”

  Her lips twitched and her eyes flashed. I think that turned her on. “You really are crude.”

  I sat in the chair beside her. “And you enjoyed every minute of it the other day.”

  She was about to counter, but I stopped her with a finger to her lips and a shake of my head.

  “Be nice,” I taunted. “Or you won’t like the consequences.”

  Her mouth opened and she bit me. She fucking bit me.

  “Fuck,” I muttered, waving my hand in the air.

  The maître d’ chose that exact moment to waltz in the room. “Mr. Holiday, I see your guest has arrived.”

  I smiled through gritted teeth. “Yes, she has.”

  The devil from hell with her pitchfork in hand had most definitely arrived.

  He grabbed the bottle of California Jane’s finest Cabernet Sauvignon I’d had delivered earlier from my grandfather’s reserve and poured some into my glass.

  I brought the wine to my nose and sniffed it. The aroma of the smoky oak coupled with dark fruit flavors and savory spices was delicious. I took a sip, the taste sensual and inviting.

  Her eyes were on me. Watching me. Her lips forming a perfect ‘O’ that I was certain she wasn’t even aware of.

  Setting my glass down, I nodded and the maître d’ poured two full glasses. “Should I let your waiter know you’re ready, sir?”

  I shook my head. “Give us five minutes.”

  When he was gone, I lifted my glass. “To new beginnings.”

  She clanked hers a little too roughly against mine. “Or old endings.”

  After taking a sip, I leaned forward. “Now, Love, before we get started, let’s talk about what’s on your mind.”

  Openly gapping at me, she pulled some papers out of her purse and tossed them onto my bread plate. “You had no right to do this.”

  I glared at her, my expression fierce. “I was doing something nice, so how about you show a little appreciation, like a thank you. I don’t see Frenchy saving the day.”

  Clearly unimpressed by the selfless act, she lifted a taunting brow. “That’s because I don’t need a knight in shining armor riding in and saving me. I’m not a helpless maiden.”

  Grabbing the papers, I tore them in half and tossed them over my back like confetti. “Fine, I’ll call Senior Living in the morning and ask for a refund.”

  Her shoulder lifted in a careless shrug. “Good. Great. That works for me. I have no idea how you got him a room, there’s a wait list. Did you arrange for him to sleep in a closet or something? And where’d you get that kind of money, anyway? I thought you were as broke as me? Still gambling?”

  With one harsh shake of my head, I tried not to show what a giant ball of pissed off I was. I hadn’t gambled since high school. Besides, my father was the gambler not me. “A,” I said, “I got him in because I have connections. Julian is on the board there. And B, I’m a fucking attorney with a job. And C, I used some of the trust fund money I received Monday.”

  That tiny regretful frown she made was big enough to shatter my insides. “Why would you do that for me?”

  A painful ache pierced my chest and I wasn’t sure what the hell it was. “Because you need something . . . and so do I. That’s the way this works, Paris.”

  Okay, I should have cut it off after the first four words, but I felt way too vulnerable stopping there.

  She crossed one long leg over the other, a hint of her bare skin peeking out from her top when she did.

  My mouth went paper-dry and every muscle in my body went taut with the need to fuck her.

  “Let me guess,” she mused, glancing around. “We’re in the private room, so I can show you how much I appreciate what you did, by, I don’t know, maybe by getting under the table and blowing you?”

  I wasn’t sure where the next words came from, but I was certain I couldn’t stop them from pouring out even if I tried. “That would be a really nice start to this relationship.”

  Okay, so that wasn’t exactly the right thing to say.

  Sitting back in her chair, she huffed.

  I reached for her hand, threading my fingers through hers. “Take the money. Think of it as a peace offering or a gift or whatever the
fuck you want or don’t want.”

  Everything about her softened. “I don’t even know why I care.”

  “Because he’s your father.”

  Tears filled her eyes. “He thinks I’m London, Tyler. My entire childhood is being thrown in my face and I still want to help him. Why?”

  Squeezing her hand, I felt the heaviness she carried in her heart. “Because you are who you are. That girl who collected stray cats and cried whenever someone killed a spider. And no matter how you feel about your father, you want the best for him. Just as you would for anyone, present company excluded, of course.”

  It was the sincerest thing I’d said to anyone in a long time.

  Pulling her hand away from mine, she seemed to be considering what I’d said. But then she shifted, uncomfortable with the truth, perhaps, and said, “If I accept your money, it has to be as a loan. No strings.”

  “That’s a deal.” I waggled my brows and rubbed my palms together. “Now, should we discuss the fringe benefits?”

  Sipping her wine, she almost smiled. Almost. Hey, I’d take it. “There will be no fringe benefits. No more sex, Tyler, I mean it. I need to focus on Highway 128.”

  I leaned even closer, my voice going low. “I’ll draw up a promissory note for you to sign in the morning for the amount I wrote the check to Senior Living for, but as far as the sex part, I refuse to make any promises I know I won’t keep.”

  Her venom green gaze narrowed.

  I smirked and extended my palm. “Deal or no deal?”

  It took a moment or two, but she took what was offered. “Deal.”

  Once we’d shaken, I brought her hand to my mouth and kissed it. “See how easy it is to compromise?”

  Her hand was trembling when I let it go. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Satisfaction lit me up and a slow smile worked its way over my mouth.

  One win down. One to go.

  The merger was so on the horizon and so were we.

  Paris

  I STARED DOWN at my plate.

  “Everything okay?” he asked, truly concerned.

  The steak smelled delicious and was so tender I could cut it with my fork. That wasn’t the issue, though. “You ordered for me.” It wasn’t a question.