Chapter 9
Cillian
My manager Derek talked me into being the centerpiece of the charity auction tonight, his pitch being that it's for a good cause and I'll love it. The first part is true but the second is a massive fucking stretch.
I'm already nursing a healthy dose of regret as the Solstice Estates gala swirls around me. Old stone walls, candles on every fancy table, French doors thrown open to the terrace, all while a few hundred guests mingle in formal black tie.
I've survived enough of these events to know the script by heart. Smile for the cameras, work the room, be charming on cue. Easy enough on most nights. Less easy tonight, because the woman I have been thinking about non-stop is somewhere in this building, and I haven’t seen her since she vanished out of the arena last night before I could so much as wave.
I finally manage to extract myself from a cluster of admirers, my eyes already moving over the crowd in search of the one face I actually want to find tonight, when Derek appears at my side.
"Hey, looking sharp." He's grinning.
"You too." I clap him on the shoulder. "Just get here?"
"A bit ago." He nods toward the stage being set up at the far end of the room. "Lot of buzz around the auction tonight, by the way. And the date on Saturday with your mystery winner. You excited?"
"I guess. I mean, it's locked in to be Margot, right?” I'm doing my best to sound indifferent. “Unless someone manages to outbid the plan. Should be straightforward enough."
"Yeah, we'll see. Though maybe it'll spark a bidding war. You could end up taking some wealthy donor out for a candlelit dinner, mate."
I'd rather throw myself off the terrace, personally, but I nod like he's making any sense at all.
And then I spot her.
She's over by the bar surrounded by a small crowd, and fucking hell.
That dress. Dark red lace, fitted to her like it was painted on, with a neckline that has my full and undivided attention and a slit up her thigh that's going to haunt me for the foreseeable future.
Her hair is pinned up, leaving a stretch of bare neck exposed that I would very much like to put my mouth on.
My grip goes tight around my wine glass, and it doesn't help that I'm not the only one noticing. Three men in her orbit are borderline drooling, and one in particular has his hand on her arm while he leans in to say something. It's doing absolutely fuck all for my blood pressure.
I've never considered myself the jealous type, especially given I've no actual claim on the woman, and yet here I am, getting more murderous by the minute.
Derek looks up from his phone beside me. "Check this out. The wine campaign was already steady, but these gala photos are blowing up too. Especially the ones of you getting ready that went up an hour ago."
"Mm," I grunt, my eyes still on the blond bloke who's still leaned in to murmur something in her ear, earning a laugh I'd very much rather be the one providing.
"Cillian, are you even in this conversation?" Derek asks, his voice cutting through my irritation.
I drag my focus back to him. "Yeah. Just mentally preparing for the auction. Big night for the foundation and all that."
Derek nods, seemingly satisfied. "Well, we've got about thirty minutes before the live bidding begins, so make sure you keep the donors engaged."
"Right," I say, already shifting my weight. "I'm going to make the rounds and do the ambassador thing."
He waves me off. "Good man. I’ll catch up with you near the stage."
I nod and beeline straight for Margot’s cluster.
I know I should keep my distance to avoid agitating her, but the pull is too strong to resist. Maybe Jonesy is right; maybe I should just grow a pair and ask her out.
If she shoots me down, at least the uncertainty will be buried and I can finally move on from this constant pining. The not knowing is fucking killing me.
She catches my eye as I approach the group, which includes several generic-looking suits, Diane, and an older woman I don’t recognize.
"Oh. Hello, Cillian," she says, looking strangely flustered.
"Margot." I nod and slide into the empty space beside her, much to the visible annoyance of the blond bloke who was previously occupying her full attention.
Margot handles the introductions, while the blond shoots me daggers, which I meet with a smug smirk as though I'm doing any better than he is in winning her affection. He’s apparently a surgeon of some sort, and the other two suits are involved in San Francisco tech.
Diane, the lead winemaker, gives me a familiar nod since we’ve crossed paths a few times.
Margot gestures warmly toward the small woman beside her, who looks to be in her late seventies, with bright eyes and pearl earrings.
"And this is Miriam," Margot says, her voice warming with obvious affection. "She retired a few years ago, but she kept this whole place running for the better part of three decades. She’s like the honorary grandmother to all the Solstice staff."
Miriam smiles up at me. I extend my hand and she takes it in both of hers, looking me over with delight.
"Oh, my goodness." Her grin spreads wide. "Aren't you just a beautiful man!"
A laugh bursts out of me. "Now that is the warmest welcome I've had all evening, Miriam." I lean in a little. "And I love those earrings, by the way. I'm a sucker for pearls on a woman."
Miriam reaches up to touch one, a mischievous glint in her gaze. "A flatterer and a gentleman. No wonder Margot's been keeping you under wraps."
Margot makes a small, strangled sound beside me.
"You know," Miriam continues, undeterred by the interruption. "Margot mentioned she was working with you, and I have to say, dear, you’re every bit as handsome and charming as she said!"
A massive grin takes over my face, while Margot instantly brings a hand to her mouth, appearing caught between total mortification and a laugh. Beside us, the doctor’s expression turns sour enough to curdle milk, a sight that lifts my spirits significantly.
"Miriam," Margot says weakly.
"Well, you were the one who said it, love." Miriam reaches out to give my arm a playful pat.
I can't help looking toward Margot. "So, I'm handsome and charming, then?"
She narrows her eyes at me. "I believe my specific phrasing referred to your marketing persona. You know, good for the brand."
I chuckle and turn my focus back to Miriam. "Well, she’s been incredibly patient with my total lack of wine knowledge. Honestly, she’s been far kinder than I probably deserve."
I tilt my glass toward Margot, and she gives me a small smile in return. One that almost feels like it might be genuine.
"Miriam and I still catch up for tea in town every week," Margot says, clearing her throat. "I keep her current on all the vineyard gossip.”
"And lord knows there's no shortage of material," Diane snorts into her glass. "Between the estate politics and the drama in town, this valley has more subplots than a daytime soap opera."
"Is that right?" I ask. “I’ve driven through it on the way to the Estate, but I haven’t explored it at all.”
"Oh it's true." Diane chuckles. "The smaller the town, the bigger the headaches, I say. Everyone's knee-deep in everyone else's business. Why, just last week José, he's our lead gardener at Solstice, was the talk of the entire main street over a parking infraction.”
Miriam shakes her head. "Diane only complains about José because she's harboring a crush on the man."
"I am not!" Diane bristles, though the flush on her cheeks says otherwise.
"He's stubborn and impossible to work with.
But you, Cillian, really should visit the town.
Though fair warning, if you spot a woman in an enormous purple hat, that's Mrs. Higgins, and she'll have your entire life story out of you before you've cleared the bakery. "
"I'll consider myself warned," I laugh. "Purple hat. Evasive maneuvers."
"I just have to say Cillian," Miriam looks up at me with a twinkle in her eye. "You seem like a lovely young man, much like my own grandson. I bet you have to beat the girls off with a stick. Those poor things must spend half their nights dreaming about you."
Margot suddenly has a violent coughing fit into her wine. I blink, momentarily confused, and reach out to steady her, but she waves me off frantically, her face turning a deep shade of crimson.
"I'm fine," she manages, her voice sounding a touch strangled. "Just went down the wrong way."
I nod, still a touch concerned, but turn back to Miriam with my best smile. "That’s very kind of you to say, Miriam. My mam's always fond of saying that it takes a lovely person to see the good in everyone else.”
"I wouldn't go as far as saying I’m lovely, I'm plenty of trouble when I want to be," she says. "I like to tell people I may be eighty-one on the outside, but in my head I'm still twenty and looking for trouble!"
"Miriam dealt blackjack in Reno for two summers in the sixties," Diane says, looking amused. "She counts cards. She's banned from the seniors' bingo in two counties."
"Allegedly counts cards," Miriam corrects, patting her pearls. "Nothing was ever proven, dear."
The whole group dissolves into laughter, it’s impossible not to since Miriam's laugh is so contagious. At least until the doctor decides the group is dying for a detailed account of his latest surgical rotations.
It's clear the man can't stand not being the center of attention, even for a sweet older woman. The story is a bore, and I tune it out immediately, mostly because being this close to Margot makes it impossible to focus on anything else.
Up close, that red lace dress is even more devastatingly sexy. And standing this near, I catch the scent of her perfume, something darkly vanilla that has me very nearly on my knees, ready to do absolutely anything she asks of me.