Taking Her

by Banks, R. R.

  Petty? Yeah. Childish? Sure. Worth it? Definitely.

  Rubbing the fact that I've slept with Zoe in his face probably isn't my best idea, but I don't care at this point. I know there's nothing he can do about it. If he confronts her with it, he would be admitting to calling me in the first place – not a good idea for a man in his position.

  “You are a disgusting piece of shit, Grigson.”

  I shrug. “I've been called far worse by far better,” I reply. “You are right about one thing though.”

  “What's that?”

  “That Zoe deserves better than me,” I say. “But, by the same token, she deserves a hell of a lot better than you, mate.”

  “You better watch your back, Grigson,” he hisses. “I warned you. Zoe is mine, so you best stay away from her.”

  I kick at a small stone on the deck, sending it sailing off into the grass beyond.

  “Why are you hiding behind vague threats, Bryant?” I ask. “Why not meet me somewhere so we can settle this like men? Oh, wait – my bad. You obviously wouldn't be able to fulfill that last requirement, would you? That could be one reason Zoe doesn't want to be with you, mate. Just sayin'.”

  Rub it in his face that I'm banging the woman he wants to be with? Check. Insult his manhood? Check. If I were to write a book about how to pick a fight with someone

  , this would be the easiest way to do it. I would rather have it all out in the open than put up with all this backroom, cloak and dagger bullshit. If you want a piece of me, come at me.

  But then again, I don't expect a cowardly piece of shit like Bryant Brooks to ever have the balls to come at me head on.

  “I'm going to ruin you, Grigson,” he says. “If it's the last thing I do, I'm going to destroy you.”

  “Uh-huh,” I say. “You will, of course, excuse me if I don't start quaking in fear.”

  “You fucked with the wrong person this time,” he warns.

  I chuckle. “Actually, I think it's you who picked the wrong person to fuck with,” I say. “I'm not afraid of you. Not in any sense of the word.”

  “Then you're a fool.”

  “Yeah, maybe I am,” I say. “But, it's going to be a cold day in hell before you get one over on me. So, if you're going to take a shot at me, you'd best not miss.”

  “Last warning,” he says, his voice low and tight with rage. “Stay away from Zoe. She's mine. The deal has been made, and I own her, you prick.”

  “Deal? What, with her father?” I ask. “What the hell kind of a deal did you make?”

  “That doesn't concern you,” he says. “Just stay the fuck away from her, or you'll regret it.”

  “Yeah, I've never been good with ultimatums,” I say. “So, you'll forgive me if I choose to ignore you.”

  “Your funeral, fucker.”

  He hangs up before I can respond. I have to fight the urge to smash my phone – or anything I can get my hands on, really. I refuse to give in. I won’t give him the satisfaction.

  I'm not going to lie though. Having my past thrown back in my face really fucks with me. It bothers me a lot. I like to think that since I got clean and got my life together, I've had a more positive impact. I try to live for others and regularly donate money and artwork to good causes.

  Now I’m focused on putting good things out into the world now and minimizing the bad.

  Despite all that, some people will never let me forget my past. They'll never stop seeing me as anything but a junkie, no matter how much I try to change. For them, that's how I’ll forever be defined. For some – like Bryant – it's easier to label me a junkie and move on. I know it shouldn't bother me. But it does.

  And what in the hell was he talking about? Bryant said a deal had been made. What in the fuck did he mean by that? That Ryan sold Zoe to him? Jesus Christ. You can't sell another human being. Was that what he was going on about?

  As I try to figure out what he meant, I decide I need a drink. It’s probably not wise given my current headspace, but I turn, walk back into the house, and head for the kitchen.

  And then I need to make a couple of phone calls.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Zoe

  Jenna rings the doorbell, and as we wait, I suddenly feel nervous. Very nervous. Coming back to Connor’s house probably wasn’t the best idea, but I wasn't going to let Bryant boss me around like that. Although standing here now, I really wish I'd found a better way to assert myself.

  I can't get involved with Connor. He seems like a decent guy, but I'm so messed up from all the stuff with my dad, I'm sure I'll do nothing but drag him down. He doesn't deserve that. Connor doesn't need a partner as complicated or troubled as me.

  It’s been difficult ignoring his calls the last few days. I want to talk to him. Want him to make me laugh. He is the first guy who has ever been able to make me laugh like that. I really enjoy being around him. He's intelligent. Funny. Insightful. Passionate.

  Connor seems to possess uncommon wisdom for this day and age. He has a rare sense of emotional intelligence you don't often see in people. He's perceptive and giving – both as a lover and a human being.

  And speaking of the sex – absolutely mind-blowing. It's entirely possible that he's ruined me for all other men.

  Connor Grigson has so many of the things I desire in a man. And yet, instead of embracing him, I pushed him away. He doesn't deserve to have someone like me inflicted upon him. I’m just a spineless, scared girl with debilitating daddy issues. I'm not in a good place to start a relationship right now.

  He deserves better. So much better.

  “Are you okay, Ms. Nichols?” Jenna asks. “You look like you might be sick.”

  I turn and give Jenna a small smile. I woke up feeling a little under the weather, and it hasn't abated yet. I can hear my stomach gurgling and bubbling as bile rises in the back of my throat. Sexy.

  “I'm fine,” I say. “Something I ate last night probably didn't agree with me.”

  The door opens as we’re greeted by the same housekeeper from our last visit. Jenna and I follow her into the open floor of the house, and she has us take a seat on the couches where we waited on him before.

  While waiting for Connor to make his appearance, I look around the room. And when my eyes fall on the painting leaning against the wall beneath the television, I feel my heart stop in my chest. I swear, I almost throw up right there on his coffee table.

  “That's funny,” Jenna says, pointing at the painting. “That totally looks like you.”

  It looks like me because I'm pretty sure it is me. The subject of the painting has black hair and cool, pale skin like mine. She’s lying on her side with one arm draped over her head. She looks thoughtful. Sad. It's hard to explain. It's not necessarily just the physical features of the subject that are familiar to me. It's something about the presence of the piece. Something about the aura. As crazy and ridiculous as it may seem, I am confident that's me in his painting.

  Glancing at the date in the corner below his signature, I see that Connor painted it the day we first met. In the hotel. By mistake. He painted it with such care and emotion that it seems clear to me something had resonated with him that first night.

  The housekeeper sets down a tray with coffee and pastries down on the table in front of us. She gives the painting a look before giving me a very knowing smile. I feel my stomach lurch and my cheeks flare with embarrassment. She knows. Damn. She totally knows.

  “Mr. Grigson will be with you ladies shortly,” she says.

  I make my coffee and take a sip, unable to keep my eyes from drifting over to the painting. I can’t help but be struck by how much emotion I feel in the painting, from the colors he used to the brush strokes. I've always loved art and how it can capture and preserve feelings. Knowing that I’m the subject of this piece, however, sends bolts of electricity up and down my back.

  “I call it Little Girl Lost,” Connor says as he enters the room, dropping down on the couch opposite us.

  “Li
ttle Girl Lost?” I ask, remembering those were the words he'd used to describe me in the restaurant before our little session in his car.

  “Actually, I don't call it anything yet, but that sounded suitably dramatic,” he explains with a laugh. “I noticed you two looking at it, so I thought I better have something profound to say about it. But hey, if either of you has an idea what I could name it, I'm open to suggestions.”

  “It's amazing,” Jenna says. “You're a very talented artist, Mr. Grigson. I'm Jenna, Ms. Nichols' assistant.”

  “Lovely to meet you. It's just Connor though,” he says. “And thank you, Jenna. I appreciate that.”

  “It looks a lot like Ms. Nichols,” Jenna says and giggles.

  Connor looks at it as like he's only just noticing the resemblance. “Yeah, you're right,” he says. “I suppose it does. Funny, isn't it?”

  He gives me a very pointed look, a smug grin tugging at one corner of his mouth. I swallow hard and look away. Subtle, Connor, really subtle. Thankfully, Jenna seems oblivious.

  “Yeah,” I reply, my voice cracking. “Bizarre.”

  “Boy, I'll say,” he replies.

  Tall, fit, tanned, dressed in jeans – does this man live in jeans? – and a black polo shirt emblazoned with the logo of his winery, Connor looks like a typical California businessman on casual Friday. But, with his shoulder-length hair he also embodies the stereotypical California artist type.

  He's something of a walking contradiction. A man who's lived an incredibly interesting and dangerous life, and now walking a different path than most. I respect him for it.

  Connor takes a drink of his coffee and balances the mug on his knee. “So,” he says. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

  I sigh and open the folder I'm carrying. I really don't want to do this. I don't want to be any part of this. But, I don’t have much of a choice, knowing that my father has me tied up in all of it, ensuring that if they go down, I do too. Not only is the specter of prison hanging over my head, but even worse, the potential loss of my license.

  I honestly don't know what I'd do if I lost my ability to practice law. I might as well not even exist. It's all I've ever wanted to do. Not the kind of law my father practices though. I don't want to practice exploitative law. I want to do something that makes a difference. That helps people. My ideal would be to become a family lawyer and help the children who need it. Pro-bono.

  But for now, I'm stuck and must play my role or the consequences could be severe – I might never get to do what I really want. What I feel like I'm meant to do.

  “Are you feeling okay, Ms. Nichols?” Connor asks. “You're looking a little green around the gills this morning.”

  “I'm fine,” I say. “I think something I ate is not agreeing with me.”

  He nods, a concerned look on his face. “I can fetch you some seltzer or Pepto or something –”

  “No, I'm fine. Thank you. We're actually here on business, Mr. Grigson,” I say. “The matter of Jay Hill's lawsuit is still pending, and my father would like a firm commitment on where you stand regarding the settlement.”

  “Ahh yes. That,” he says.

  “Yes. That,” I reply.

  I've been careful to avoid his eyes, unsure if I can contain myself if I look at him. I know I need to keep myself in check – especially with Jenna right next to me. It's hard though. I still don't exactly know what it is I'm feeling, but I know I want to talk about it with Connor. We need to talk about that painting.

  But, on the other hand, I know I shouldn't. I know that's a door I shouldn't open. I can't. Not because I don't want to, but because it wouldn't be fair to him. I know how messed up and damaged I am. He doesn't deserve that. I can't do that to him.

  “So, how about some lunch?” Connor asks brightly.

  Jenna glances at her watch and gives me a curious look. It's apparently my call to make.

  “Actually,” I say, “I think it best –”

  “Oh, come now,” he says, getting to his feet. “Let me give you a little tour of Six String. I've taken the liberty of having a nice lunch prepared for us over in the tasting rooms.”

  Jenna is smiling, obviously into the idea. Not that I can blame her. She usually has to eat some form of greasy take-out in the office while pouring over hundreds and hundreds of case files. She doesn't get out much, so the idea of a free lunch in such a fancy winery must have tremendous appeal for her.

  “Come on,” Connor chides me. “Jenna is chomping at the bit for a little lunch. You wouldn't deny your assistant a bite to eat now, would you?”

  Jenna is smiling at Connor, her cheeks flushing. I doubt there's really any trouble I can get into. After all, we'll be in a public place with people around us. Surely, we can control ourselves, right? I glance at my watch and give Connor a tight smile.

  “That sounds great,” I say. “Thank you, Mr. Grigson.”

  “Excellent,” he says. “If you ladies would do me the honor of coming with me, then.”

  He leads us back to the driveway, where there is a dark SUV already idling and waiting for us. It's like he knew he would win that battle. I look at him with narrowed eyes but can't keep a small smile from touching my lips. He winks at me as the driver holds the door open for us.

  Connor climbs in after Jenna, and the driver pulls out of the driveway and heads off.

  ~ooo000ooo~

  Six String Winery is a beautiful place. The buildings were all designed to look like old farmhouses. There are gardens, a waterfall, several gazebos where people can picnic, and a small restaurant as well.

  I know that wine tasting tours have become a big business in the region, with people traveling from all over to tour the various wineries here. And Six String looks like it's doing a very healthy business in that trade.

  Some of the other local wineries are a bit hokey, and a little too touristy and commercial for my taste. Connor's winery, however, is rustic and charming. Classy. I have to say, I'm incredibly impressed.

  “This is gorgeous,” Jenna says as she looks around, wide-eyed.

  “We just built on the bones of the place,” he says. “There was an older winery that once stood here, but it didn't make it. I bought it and started to remodel and redesign it from the ground up. I wanted to improve it in every way. Make it into something better than before.”

  “Sounds like a personal metaphor if I've ever heard one,” I say softly, so only he can hear.

  He shrugs. “Perhaps,” he says. “But, I've been lucky to have had good people like Henri help along the way. Without those people, without that kind of love, I never would have made it this far. And yet, there's still so much farther I have to go.”

  I look up and find his eyes locked onto mine. I swallow hard, not failing to notice his use of the word, “love,” coupled with a very penetrating, pointed gaze. A million thoughts fire through my brain in rapid succession – was it unintentional? If so, what did he mean by that? Was that for my benefit? Was he saying he loved me?

  There’s no way. We barely know each other. Having sex a couple of times doesn't equate to love. It just doesn't. I'm surely misreading what he said and putting more meaning into his words than there should be. I’m probably reading too much into what he's saying. He can't possibly be saying that. I'm jumping to conclusions.

  But, with the way he's looking at me – and that painting – I have to wonder.

  “Anyway,” he says as the SUV drives off toward the parking lot. “Follow me inside. Please.”

  He holds the door open for us as we enter the main room of the building. There are couches and tables set throughout, a small wine bar in the corner, and plenty of merchandise for sale. It smells rich and heavenly inside, the aroma of the wines blending with exotic spices and desserts. Although my stomach is still a little dicey, I can't stop myself from feeling hungry.

  “And here is the mastermind behind Six String,” Connor says as he pulls a small, white-haired man into a tight embrace.


  With his arm still around the man's shoulders, Connor turns him around to face us, and we all exchange courteous nods and smiles. It's hard to miss the affection Connor has for the man.

  “Ladies, this is Henri,” Connor announces. “Master winemaker, genius, and a very good man. He's made this winery what it is today. Henri, this is Jenna and Zoe.”

  The older, very soft-spoken man shrugs. “I play a small part.”

  Henri shakes hands with the both of us. Afterward, I see him exchange a knowing glance with Connor. And much to my surprise, I see Connor Grigson actually blush. He grins like a fool and looks away. It's as unexpected as it is adorable.

  “It's very nice to meet you, Ms. Nichols,” Henri says. “And you as well, Jenna.”

  I cock my head and look at him. How did he know my last name? I didn't use it, and neither did Connor. Has Connor been talking about me to Henri? Confiding in him about us? The thought of it makes me immediately begin to wonder what they've discussed. And even more importantly, what Connor thinks about me.

  I wish I could get Henri alone for a few minutes and cross-examine him. But, after a brief silence descends on our small group, Connor steps in and fills the void by clapping his hands and smiling.

  “You two are in for a very special treat,” he says. “You get to taste one of Henri's newest wines that is not available to the public just yet. It is amazing and is going to sweep the awards next year.”

  Henri shrugs and grins. “It was mostly Connor's idea,” he says, trying to deflect the attention. “I only refined the process a bit.”

  “Bollocks. This is your baby, and I'm going to make sure the world knows it,” Connor says and turns to us. “Now, if you ladies will please follow us to the tasting room.”

  We follow the two men, and I look around in wonder at the place. The interior of it matches the exterior – the distressed, vintage farmhouse look. We pass tasting rooms and rooms filled with giant casks. A pleasant smell of oak and wine saturates the air around us.

  You'd think with how much wine I drink, that I'd have at least done one tour, but I haven’t. I'm going to have to correct that mistake though. I know Izzy would love doing something like this.