Celebrity Playboy: All American Boy Series

by Readnour, Kimberly

  “Loni, you’re here already.” Aunt Lynette puts her slice of bread down and stands to meet me. Uncle Denny joins in. “We didn’t expect you for another couple of hours.”

  “I wasn’t too far away. I was serious when I said I was on my way home.” The timing was what I lied about.

  “Sit down, honey, and join us. Would you like something to eat?”

  “The oatmeal bake looks delicious. It’s been a while since I’ve had some.”

  My aunt scoops me out a sizable helping as she’s done ever since taking over my care. She has it in her head since I don’t eat meat, she needs to supplement the void by giving me generous helpings. When I was younger, our dog, Mayhem, got a lot of leftover scraps.

  “Why were you coming home, dear?”

  “I got fired.”

  The spoon in my aunt’s hand drops as their gaze whips toward me. Maybe the ripping off the band-aid approach wasn’t the best choice? Tate didn’t fire me per se, but they don’t need to know that. Working together isn’t possible. If the rumors are true, she’s not even the first woman he cheated on me with.

  “What happened?”

  “I made the colossal mistake of walking in Tate’s office one afternoon. Let’s just say I caught him in a not so flattering position with his new receptionist. I didn’t have much choice but to clear out my stuff.” I take a bite of oatmeal and wonder how I can even eat after that admission, but I’m surprisingly okay. Each day that passes, I realize I’m more upset over losing my job than leaving Tate. That’s sad, especially since I didn’t exactly enjoy working at Hot Gossip. When I studied journalism, I never pictured working for a tabloid.

  “I never liked that bastard. Never trust a guy with shifty eyes. They’re no good.” My uncle shakes his finger at me, as if to drive his point home. I think about Westlyn’s crystal blue eyes. They’re mesmerizing—the complete opposite of Tate’s dark brown, shifty ones.

  “Got it.” I let out a sigh.

  “I’m sorry, dear. Here, have some bread, too. Carbs always make you feel better when you’re brokenhearted. I know you really liked him.”

  I won’t correct her as to the him I’m missing. There’s no point. Besides, I don’t want to continue talking about me. I want to find out what happened. I break a piece of bread off and ask, “So, what news do you have to tell me?”

  My aunt flashes a look of concern at my uncle. “First, tell me where you were staying.”

  “Amanda’s cabin,” I answer slowly, trying to figure out why she’s dodging my question when they were adamant I come home. “I needed to get my head straight before coming here. I figured I’d stay with you guys until I find a new job.”

  She shoots another look at my uncle, and I can’t hold back.

  “What’s going on?” I ask.

  “We love having you, and you can stay here for as long as possible.”

  As long as possible?

  My aunt shifts in her seat. “I’m afraid we have some bad news. We decided to sell the winery.”

  “What?” I look between them as the shock from her words refuses to settle. Sell? They can’t sell it. This is my home. My legacy. I look at Uncle Denny. His lips thin, giving nothing away as my aunt drones on.

  “It’s time, dear. Your uncle isn’t getting any younger, and I’ve always wanted to travel.”

  “You can’t sell it. Couldn’t Ricky take over?” Ricky being the right-hand man. He’s second in charge under Uncle Denny.

  “We don’t have much choice.” The flatness of my uncle’s tone grabs my attention, but I refuse to believe this is real. They can’t possibly want to sell.

  “What do you mean you don’t have a choice?”

  He runs a hand over the worry lines etched across his forehead as the luster in his eyes dulls. They’re not fooling me. The reason behind selling far exceeds my aunt’s desire for a vacation.

  “If we don’t sell, we run the risk of losing it all and filing bankruptcy.”

  My stomach rolls. “How? Don’t the wines sell well? They’re award-winning wines. I don’t understand.”

  “It’s my fault.” Uncle Denny’s head drops, and my aunt places her hand on top of his.

  “You can’t take full responsibility.”

  “Yeah, I can.” He turns to look at me. “Your dad was the business guy. I was better at marketing. After he died, I had to learn how to operate everything quickly. Our bookkeeper made decisions that I should’ve been more diligent in overseeing. Remember the fungus problem we had with the pinot noir batch?”

  “Yeah.”

  “The insurance company declared human error caused the fungus growth and didn’t cover the expense.”

  “But that was back in two-thousand-thirteen.”

  “Yeah, but unbeknownst to me, the bookkeeper let the earthquake insurance lapse to cut cost.”

  I close my eyes as realization sets in. “And, of course, the earthquake hit the following year.”

  “As you know, our buildings suffered quite a bit of structural damage. We’ve been repairing them bit by bit, but our loans are coming due.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

  “I didn’t want to concern you and thought things would improve by now. I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to be the one to ruin your legacy.”

  “Aunt Lynette’s right. It’s not your fault. Just shitty circumstances.” And a terrible chemist he hired to save money.

  “I still feel horrible.”

  “Can I take a look at the books?”

  “Yeah, of course.” He cocks his head and gives me a sly smile. “That was supposed to be your job, remember?”

  The smile crossing my lips is sad but present. Before wanting to live in the city and chase the glamor, I wanted to be the winery’s bookkeeper. That dream died the night my parents perished. There’s still a part of me clinging to the idea like a child refusing to part with their security blanket. My master’s degree might be in journalism, but I minored in finance. I couldn’t quite close that door, even though it hurt too much to think about moving back. If we sell, that door will be permanently shut regardless of how I feel.

  “I guess I waited too long,” I say sadly.

  “The reason we needed you home now is that we have a potential buyer,” my aunt says.

  “We do? Already?”

  “Yeah.” She looks at my uncle, and that sickening feeling comes roaring back. “The Bollingers.”

  Kill. Me. Know.

  “Great.” I stand, not even faking enthusiasm. My aunt knows how much I detest the Bollingers. They may as well have told me they’re burning the vineyards down. I’d be just as scarred. “I’m going to get the rest of my luggage.”

  “It’s not a done deal. We haven’t even negotiated terms. That’s why we’re asking for your input.”

  I raise my hand to wave my aunt off, needing time to absorb this information. The Bollingers’ daughter, Becky, was my nemesis all through school. I do not want my parents’ vineyard going to her vile family.

  I feel like I’m losing everything.

  My career.

  My backup plan.

  My legacy.

  Am I going to lose my trust fund too? Popping the trunk of my car, I realize I’ll lose my car next. I look up to the bright blue sky and stare at the clouds. When will my life get easier?

  I yank my last suitcase from the trunk. I’m about to head inside when a car’s engine draws my attention to the driveway. I squint at the black blur, driving toward me. As the car nears and the make and model come into view, I drop my bag to the ground. It’s a Porsche.

  Holy shit. He came.

  I tamp down the butterflies taking flight when Westlyn parks his Porsche behind my car. I want to appear indifferent, but the moment he steps out of his car, a vision of him riding into the winery to save me dances in my head. Except, now, the black horse is in the form of a Porsche, and I’m a lot older than fourteen.

  “What brings you to town?” I ask, a huge smile
plastering across my face. So much for being coy.

  Westlyn steps toward me, shaking his dark hair out of those gorgeous eyes. He greets me with an all-white grin, making my heart go pitter-patter. It seems he isn’t trying to be coy either. “I was wondering if your offer to stay with you is still available?”

  “Of course.”

  “Good, I got kicked out of the house.”

  “What?” I ask, half laughing.

  He grabs his luggage from the trunk, which is in the front of the car, and then grabs mine. “Not long after you left, a cleaning crew came in. Admittedly, they weren’t nearly as sexy as the last unexpected guest.”

  Ignoring his comment, I smirk. “I do hope you were wearing more than just underwear this time.”

  “Do I detect a hint of jealousy?”

  Maybe.

  “Hardly.” I brush off his comment as if the thought is ludicrous. “Why were they there?”

  “Apparently, there’s a wedding coming up, and they needed to get the house ready for the Longleys’ guests that are staying there.”

  “Oh, yeah. Amanda mentioned a cousin getting married. She must not have known about the extended family staying there. Damn, who knew the cabin would turn into a local hotspot?”

  “Certainly not me.” He chuckles.

  “So, you came here? Any particular reason?”

  He tilts his head and eyes me. “Yeah, you.”

  I return a “yeah, right” look, but he said it so seriously and with a straight face I almost believe him. Almost. Because get real. Mr. Hollywood can have any girl he wants. All he has to do is flash those baby blues along with those dimples, and the girls’ panties melt off. I should know. Mine disintegrated the moment he stepped out of his car.

  “Honestly, when they told me I had to vacate, your offer was the first thing I thought of. I hope I’m not being presumptuous by coming here.”

  “No. Not at all. The invite was open-ended. I’m glad you came.”

  “Me too.” Our gaze holds until he breaks away and glances up at our house. “Nice crib.”

  My smile falters as I take in the tan brick, Chateau style home. The recessing and protruding planes give the house a French vibe. I love it, but it makes me miss my parents. Even more, now that I know it may be sold.

  “Yeah, it’s been in our family for years. It’s a great home. It’s the only home I’ve ever known.” How am I going to say goodbye? “Come on. I’ll show you around.”

  We step into the foyer, and he knocks over one of my carry-on pieces.

  “Oh, sorry. You haven’t been home for too long, have you?”

  “No, but we can drop off your luggage in the guest room first. It’s on the downstairs level, past the library to the left.”

  “Oh no, I want to see your room first.” He sets his luggage down and grabs the rest of mine. “Lead the way.”

  “Okay, then.” I take off toward the room with Westlyn on my tail. My inner fourteen-year-old self is giddy.

  “So, this is your bedroom?” He sets my suitcases on the floor and takes in the space I haven’t called home for years. He walks over to the shelves that hold various trophies and tiaras. He picks one up and reads, “Miss Sonoma County Fair Queen first runner up.” He holds the first runner up trophy in his hand as his gaze scans the rest of the trophies—all runner ups.

  “Yeah, sadly, I was never crowned queen. That title always went to Becky Bollinger. I’m not sure you should be associating with a simpleton like me.”

  His gaze slides over me like a knife cutting warm butter. “Obviously the judges were blind.”

  “Maybe. But to be fair, the winner is prettier.” She certainly is more outgoing and charismatic, which is what the judges look for in a candidate. Or maybe her family paid off the judges. That would explain the congratulatory party they held less than an hour after each pageant.

  “I don’t see how that’s possible.” Our gaze holds for a long moment. Then, he seems to break the spell and places the trophy back on the shelf. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

  “What do you mean?” Although, I’m relatively sure I know why he’s asking. I’m certainly not acting like myself.

  “You’ve been off ever since I got here. I know it’s not my presence.”

  “It’s definitely not you.”

  His face turns serious. “I take it the news your aunt and uncle shared wasn’t good?”

  “No.” I meander to the bed and flop on my back, wondering how he can read me so well after only spending a few days together. The mattress dips beside me as Westlyn joins me. I try not to think about River Danes lying next to me in my bed, but damn, it’s hard not to be starstruck when I’ve fantasied about this exact scenario. Refocus, girl. “They’re going to sell the winery.”

  His body stills beside me. “Really? Is that something they can do? I imagine your part owner, right?”

  “Yeah, I’d have to approve, but it looks like I may not have a choice. I need to go over the books, but I think the winery is having financial problems. They got hit particularly hard over the years by a few things, and the loans they took out are coming due. From what they tell me, they need to sell now.” I let out a long sigh. “And they’re ready to retire.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s probably not what you wanted to hear.”

  “I wasn’t planning on staying anyway, but…”

  His pinky finger finds mine, and we lie on top of my bed, staring at the ceiling. His movement is simple and doesn’t mean anything more than a kind gesture, but it stirs an array of emotions inside. His head turns to face me, drawing me to do the same. Those eyes, usually filled with energy, are warm and sugary as he stares at me. My chest fills with warmth.

  “You know, it’s okay to want more than one thing. Even if they conflict with each other. The key is deciding what you want more.”

  “What if I don’t know what I want?”

  “It will reveal itself in time.”

  I stare back up at the ceiling and ponder his words. I honestly don’t know what I want right now besides to attack him. I sit up before acting on that impulse.

  “We better go. I need to introduce you to my aunt and uncle before they head back to work. They’re out on the patio.” I give him an exaggerated once over. “Explaining you to them will prove interesting. I never mentioned you were with me.”

  “That hurts. I feel it right here.” He sits up and pounds his chest where his heart resides, giving me a fake pout. If it weren’t for the glint in his eyes, I’d believe him. He really is a good actor.

  “Stop, there wasn’t a need to explain running into you.” I swat his chest playfully. The movement was swift but enough for my fingertips to relish the hardness of his muscles. And he feels fine. I try not to live my life in regret, but maybe I shouldn’t have been so stubborn back at the cabin. One night of sex with him wouldn’t have been so devastating. I pull myself together, my tone sobering. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

  “I’m glad I came.”

  I lick my lips, which draws his gaze. The stuttering breath I take doesn’t go unnoticed either. I stand quickly. “Come on, Hollywood.”

  He pushes to his feet and brushes his lips by my ear. “I was serious. Soon, I will know how those lips taste.” Then, he struts out of the room as if he knows exactly where to go.

  Be still my heart. I’m in trouble.

  These figures are worse than I thought.

  I stare at the crunched numbers and fight back the tears. The Bollingers’ offer only covers the liabilities, leaving us with mere pennies. How did we get this far in debt? I scrub a hand over my face and look around the office where I once sought solitude. The stone walls add to the quaintness, but the memories haunt me. If I had pushed away my fears and come back to work the books, would we be in this bad of a mess? The question burns in the back of my mind. Did my constant need to have my feelings coddled add to our demise?

  Letting out a frustrated sigh, I shift my f
ocus to the computer and check my emails. I don’t expect to find anything uplifting, but there should be a form letter or two telling me thanks, but no thanks. I’ve applied everywhere Los Angeles has to offer. That sinking feeling burrows deeper when all I find is a reminder to get my oil changed.

  Thanks, Twin City Motors, but it’s not going to happen anytime soon.

  I may not have a car to worry about.

  Before my mind races to the conclusion I don’t want to draw, my phone rings.

  “What’s up?” I ask my best friend.

  “Are you sitting down?” The sharp tick to Amanda’s tone serves as a stark warning.

  “Yeah.”

  “I heard some gossip.”

  “By the sound of your voice, I don’t think I’m going to like it.”

  “Let me start by saying, your ex-boyfriend is a douche.”

  I close my eyes as my stomach drops. I knew Tate wouldn’t take me leaving well. Not that he cares about me. It’s more of a pride thing with him, and I busted it wide open. “That I already know. What did you hear?”

  “My boss was talking to Fresh magazine’s senior editor.”

  My ears perk up. Fresh is one of the multiple places I’ve applied to. They’re one of the firms I’d love to work for. Instead of gossip pieces, they focus on upcoming fashion trends and style. Fresh trends if you will. But if she’s calling me about her boss’s conversation, the information can’t bode well for me. “Do I even want to know?”

  “Not really. Tate’s name was mentioned, which prompted me to eavesdrop. Evidently, my boss had lunch with Tate and was warned not to hire you.”

  “What?” I screech, although I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s not as if Tate didn’t warn this would happen. I just didn’t want to believe he’d stoop so low.

  “Yeah, Tate warned you were a huge risk. I couldn’t hear what the other guy said, but my boss alluded to the fact you only got your position because of your affair.”

  Oh my God. Fresh’s CEO is a family man true to form. He hosts fundraisers for children’s family services and helps foster kids. He’s a goddamn saint.