Chapter 17
Don’t Let Him See
WINONA
“Cheers!”
I clinked my wine glass against four others. A week after John’s bombshell news, Cassandra, Cher, Sarah, and I were having a much-needed and well overdue wine night at Cassandra’s house.
“To Heartbreaker Trades,” Cher said.
I choked, a little wine dribbling out of my mouth. “Cher!”
“What?” Cher asked innocently. “Too soon for the name reveal?”
“We were talking about vacations!” I said, still coughing a little.
Sharing the next big venture in my life was not the plan.
But being here tonight wasn’t planned, either.
Cassandra had called us out of the blue yesterday, saying it was finally time to get together like we all kept talking about.
I’d been thrilled—anything to keep my mind off…
everything. So far, we’d been talking about normal things, like Tasha dumping a whole cup of apple juice in David's lap the other day, and Cassandra and Blake’s plans to head to Mexico in January.
He’d only crept into my brain a dozen times instead of two dozen.
But Cher also knew my business name had gotten registration approval yesterday, a milestone I should have been happy to cheer from the rooftops.
“Yeah, well, I thought we’d cut to the chase,” Cher said, grinning.
I kicked her under the table, but not too hard.
“Heartbreaker Trades?” Cassandra asked, confused. “Is Heartbreaker Plumbing expanding?”
“Not quite,” I said. “And it’s not anything yet.”
“Come on, Winona,” Sarah said, an encouraging smile on her face. “You’re so close now. I think the cat needs to be let out of the bag.”
My stomach leapt with nerves. Cassandra was a critical puzzle piece in this plan. As the CEO of the Rolling Hills hotel, her endorsement—and hopefully participation on the board—would mean everything in this community.
“Well,” I said, forging ahead anyway, because Cassandra looked eager to hear more.
“I planned on telling you in a more formal capacity after the reno was done.” I glowered at Cher briefly.
“But I’ve had this plan for a while to start a collective for women in trades.
My goals are to both give existing tradeswomen connection and support, but also to encourage more women to get into trades, in a way that’s safe and welcoming and women-centric. ”
I rattled off the line I’d repeated a hundred times in all the applications I’d been filling out over the past months.
Sarah clapped her hands. “Cassandra, it’s amazing. You should see the business plan.”
“It’s not finalized,” I said.
“I’ve read it,” Sarah said. “It’s pretty close.”
Sarah had read the plan last week. And had immediately asked if she could be on the board.
I was going to ask her anyway, so I was thrilled.
So why was I throttling my excitement? When I was starting Heartbreaker Plumbing, I wouldn’t shut up about it to anyone.
I wasn’t riddled with nerves like I was now, and it was frustrating as hell.
“It sounds incredible,” Cassandra said, leaning her elbows on the table. “Where do I fit in?”
“Well, funny you should ask,” I began. “I—”
But the doorbell rang, interrupting me.
Cassandra frowned. “Sorry, one sec.” She got up, and I heard Blake’s voice too. He’d been making himself scarce in the living room.
“Did we invite another person?” Sarah asked Cher.
“Nope,” Cher said.
They said something else, but I missed it. Because a tingling spread at the back of my neck.
It intensified when Blake said, “Well, holy shit.”
Cassandra appeared in the doorway a moment later, looking a little shocked but not unhappy. “Everyone, we have a surprise visitor.”
“Surprise is right,” Blake said, appearing next. “As in, we’re extremely surprised he decided to grace us with his presence despite living here for more than half a year.”
My heartbeat thudded so far up my throat I felt unable to breathe.
I prayed with all my might that there was some other person who might fit the very specific description Blake just gave.
Because I’d made a vow to never see that person again.
I couldn’t. After everything that had happened between us—and in the weeks since—I didn’t know what I’d do if I saw him again. So I’d just decided not to. Ever.
But there he was, filling the doorway, staring straight at me.
My stomach dropped right out of my body, hitting the floor beneath me.
There was no denying it was Mitchell Harrington.
But I hardly recognized him. The wild-man beard was gone.
His hair was slicked back, revealing the sharp, intense angles of his face I’d only gotten hints of before.
The raggedy sweats and t-shirt were gone too, replaced with a crisply tailored button-down and slacks.
He looked every bit the austere billionaire who’d just stepped off a helicopter, after leaving a boardroom where he’d fired half his staff.
But those eyes. There was no denying those emerald eyes that bore into me like a physical thing. That still held all the versions of him I’d seen those tiny glimpses of before. Eyes I dreamed of as he pressed up against me, his hand tangled in my hair—
“Winona?”
A kick hit me under the table. I blinked, ripping my gaze away with more than a little effort. Only to find all the other eyes in the place staring at me.
My cheeks flooded with mortified heat. “Sorry, what was that?”
I had no idea who'd been speaking.
Did Mitchell know I’d be here? It wouldn’t surprise me. Nothing would, when it came to this man. Though to his credit, he looked as shell-shocked as I did.
It was Cher who’d kicked me. “Winona, Blake was introducing you to his brother, Mitchell.”
Blake looked from me to Mitchell, his expression deeply confused. “Do you guys know each other?”
I swallowed, my throat like sandpaper. I would have tried to speak, but Mitchell took a step forward, thrusting his hand out. “Nice to see you again, Winona.”
My name in the deep, rough tenor of his voice was like a rusted sword slicing through the most tender part of me. That was the voice that rattled through my dreams at night, waking me up hot and liquid, with a need that always made me nearly ill.
I didn’t want to touch Mitchell. But I already looked like a complete fool.
“I repaired a pipe at your brother’s residence,” I said to Blake. It was the truth, but the understatement felt like the biggest lie I’d ever told.
I reached out, meeting Mitchell’s hand. Even though I knew the touch would be impactful, I wasn’t prepared for the shivery, melting sensation that ripped through me at his touch.
I swallowed hard. “Good evening, Mr. Harrington.” The words were overly formal. But I needed the iciness to counter the phantom breath in my ear I felt even now. The graze of rough fingers ghosting my jaw.
I jerked my hand away, but Mitchell’s thumb pressed into my knuckles, slowing the withdrawal. His eyes dropped to the red line there—the cut he’d taken care of. It had only been a few weeks, but it felt like a year ago.
I pulled my hand the rest of the way out of his and stuffed it in my lap.
Blake knew something was up. He was staring at his brother, eyes narrowed. I could practically hear the words What did you do?
But Cassandra spoke, filling the strange static in the air. “Sorry, Mitchell, we weren’t expecting you. My friends and I were having a little wine night here before you arrived.”
“Yeah. We’ll go to the other room,” Blake said. “We’ve got plenty to talk about.”
“Oh, that’s okay,” Cher piped up.
I would kick her myself this time, but I was unable to move.
If I could move, I’d be worried about seriously denting her shin.
She’d restrained herself for the last little while, respecting my need to not talk about Mitchell.
But apparently seeing him here was too much for her not to slip right back into her regular oversharing Cher shoes.
“You guys are welcome to join us for a bit,” she carried on. “Right?” She looked to Sarah, who glanced at me, which only made things worse.
I cleared my throat. “Sure, why not?” I was impressed with how level my voice sounded.
Cassandra looked dubious, but Cher smiled cheerily. “Winona was just telling us about her business plan for this amazing new venture she’s working on.”
I was going to murder her. Straight-up go to jail murder.
Mitchell didn’t blink. He just left the doorway to come into the room, leaning against the counter like he was settling in for story time.
I wanted to scream at the way him leaning there oh-so-casually made me think of him doing the same in his kitchen.
I thought of water shooting out all over the floor. Mitchell’s worried bark. I don’t care.
Now, his gaze unwavering, Mitchell said, “I’d like to hear about it.”
I wanted to do anything else. Dive out a window, maybe. Take apart Blake and Cassandra’s toilet. But I couldn’t deflect. Not on this, and not in front of him. I’d already shown enough weakness. I’d be damned if he saw any more.
I ran my finger over the words printed on my wrist, taken from the last note Mama had ever left me. It had been a long time since I’d needed her strength, but I drew on it now.
“It’s called Heartbreaker Trades,” I said, my voice not betraying how every cell in my body was now bouncing around double time.
"It's a collective that will make the trades more welcoming for women at any stage of their careers.
" I explained how I was registering it as a non-profit; how the idea was that it wouldn’t just be a local organization, but one with chapters across North America.
The moment the words were out, I wanted to throw up. I was so proud of this venture, but the stakes had never been so high. Personally and professionally.
Which made Mitchell's presence that much more rattling.
“Oh my gosh, Winona!” Cassandra said.
Blake handed Mitchell a beer. Mitchell didn’t move. Blake muttered something inaudible and set it on the counter beside him.