Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
CALLUM
Idon't do impulsive.
Twenty two years of running Ridge Brothers Timber has taught me that patience yields better results than recklessness. You don't rush a cut. You don't force a deal. You read the grain, assess the conditions, and make your move when the timing is right.
So what the hell am I doing offering a fake relationship to a woman I met fifteen minutes ago?
Nadia's hand is still in mine, her pulse quick against my palm. She's watching me with those dark eyes that haven't stopped challenging me since she sat down, and I realize I'm in more trouble than I anticipated.
She's not what I expected.
Tyler mentioned his future sister in law a few times. Marketing executive from Chicago. Driven. Single. The way he said it made her sound like a cautionary tale about women who prioritize careers over connection. I pictured someone brittle and defensive, armored in designer clothes and bitterness.
Instead I got fire wrapped in silk. Sharp tongue. Sharper mind. And a vulnerability underneath all that attitude that she probably thinks she's hiding but broadcasts with every defensive joke and self deprecating comment.
She's exactly the kind of woman I've spent eight years avoiding.
"So." Nadia pulls her hand back and reaches for her whiskey, taking a sip that's more gulp than taste. "How does this work? Do we need a backstory? A meet cute we can tell people?"
"The truth works fine. We met at The Velvet Antler. Hit it off. Decided to spend the weekend together." I signal Silas for another round. "Simple is better. Fewer details to keep straight."
"And if someone asks how long we've been seeing each other?"
"We say it's new. Because it is."
She laughs, and the sound does something uncomfortable to my chest. "That's almost too honest for a fake relationship."
"I told you. I don't play games."
"No, you just proposition strangers in bars."
"First time for everything."
Silas appears with fresh drinks, and his knowing look tells me I'll be hearing about this later. He owns The Velvet Antler, and he's been trying to set me up with every available woman in a fifty mile radius since his own marriage made him insufferably smug about partnership.
"Callum." He sets down the glasses with exaggerated care. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?"
"Silas McCrae, Nadia Smith. She's Yasmine's sister."
"The maid of honor." Silas extends his hand, and I watch Nadia shake it with the same firm grip she gave me. "I've heard a lot about you."
"None of it good, I'm sure."
"On the contrary. Tyler says you're the smartest person in your family and the only one who tells your sister the truth."
Nadia's eyebrows rise. "Tyler said that?"
"He's perceptive for a man who still can't figure out how to properly decant wine." Silas glances between us with barely concealed amusement. "Will you two be needing a table? Perhaps somewhere more private?"
"We're fine here." I give him a look that clearly communicates he should find somewhere else to be. "Thanks."
Silas retreats with a chuckle, and Nadia turns back to me with curiosity written across her features.
"He owns this place?"
"And the attached vineyard. He's also the local estate lawyer and one of the most connected people in Crimson Hollow." I take a sip of whiskey. "Which means by morning, everyone in town will know you exist."
"Is that a problem?"
"Only if you were hoping to stay anonymous."
She snorts. "Anonymous went out the window when my sister decided to have a Valentine's Day wedding in a town with one traffic light."
"Two traffic lights. They added one last year."
"Oh, well. Practically a metropolis then."
I find myself smiling, which is unusual. I don't smile much. My brothers would say I don't smile at all, but they're dramatic and prone to exaggeration. Still, there's something about the way Nadia delivers her sarcasm that makes it impossible not to respond.
"You don't like small towns."
"I don't know small towns." She shrugs. "I grew up in Detroit. Went to Northwestern for undergrad, stayed in Chicago for my MBA, built my career there. The closest I've come to rural living is when the L breaks down and I have to walk eight blocks."
"And now you're unemployed."
Her jaw tightens. "Thanks for the reminder."
"I'm not judging. Just observing." I turn my glass in my hand, watching the amber liquid catch the firelight. "Seems like this trip might be good timing. Give you some distance to figure out your next move."
"My next move is surviving this weekend without my mother setting me up with every single man at the reception." She pauses. "No offense."
"None taken. My goal is similar. The matchmakers in this town are relentless."
"So you've said. Eight years single?" She tilts her head, studying me. "That's a long time. What happened?"
The question lands heavier than she probably intended. I could deflect. Give her the same surface level explanation I've given everyone else for nearly a decade. Just haven't met the right person. Too busy with the company. Set in my ways.
But something about the way she's looking at me, direct and unafraid, makes me want to give her the truth.
"I was engaged. She was a lawyer from Vancouver.
Beautiful. Ambitious. Everything that should have worked on paper.
" I take a slow breath. "Except she wanted me to be something I'm not.
Wanted me to sell the business, move to the city, become the kind of man who wears suits and makes small talk at cocktail parties. "
"That doesn't sound like you."
"It wasn't. I tried for two years to make myself fit into her vision of who I should be.
Gave up things that mattered. Compromised on things I shouldn't have compromised on.
" The old bitterness rises, familiar and unwelcome.
"When it ended, I promised myself I wouldn't do that again.
Wouldn't pretend to be something I'm not just to make someone else comfortable. "
Nadia is quiet for a moment, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. "That sounds lonely."
"Sometimes. But lonely is better than losing yourself."
"Is it though?" She meets my eyes. "I spent the last five years losing myself in my career.
Told myself I was building something important.
That the sixty hour weeks and the missed holidays and the relationships I let die were worth it because I was going somewhere.
" Her laugh is hollow. "And then they called me into a conference room on a Tuesday and handed me a cardboard box. "
"Their loss."
"You don't know that. You don't know anything about my work."
"I know you flew across the country at the last minute to support your sister's wedding even though you clearly have a complicated relationship with your family.
I know you're sitting in a strange bar making deals with strange men because you'd rather solve a problem than wallow in self pity.
" I hold her gaze. "That tells me more about your character than any resume. "
The color rises in her cheeks, visible even in the dim lighting. "That's either very insightful or very manipulative."
"Can't it be both?"
"Probably shouldn't be, given that we're about to spend a weekend pretending to be together."
She has a point. I'm already too interested in her, already cataloguing the small details that will become dangerous if I let them. The way she holds her glass. The stubborn set of her shoulders. The hint of something softer in her voice when she talks about her sister.
I need to be careful. This is supposed to be simple. Transactional. A temporary arrangement that benefits both parties and dissolves cleanly when the weekend ends.
Except nothing about Nadia feels simple.
"We should go over logistics." I pull out my phone and check the weather app. "Storm's supposed to hit hard tonight. The B&B is on the other side of town, and the roads that direction get treacherous after dark."
"Are you suggesting I drive in a blizzard?"
"I'm suggesting the opposite. My place is closer. Ten minutes up the mountain instead of forty through the valley." I keep my voice neutral, even though my pulse has picked up at my own suggestion. "Guest room. Separate space. You can head to the B&B in the morning when the roads are cleared."
Her eyes narrow. "You're inviting me to stay at your house."
"I'm offering you a practical alternative to dying in a snowbank."
"We just met."
"And yet you've already agreed to spend the next four days pretending to be my girlfriend." I lean back, spreading my hands. "Seems like sleeping under the same roof is a fairly minor addition to that arrangement."
She's quiet, and I can practically see the calculations happening behind her eyes. The smart choice would be to decline. To thank me for the drinks and the offer and drive to the B&B like a sensible person who doesn't go home with men she met an hour ago.
But Nadia doesn't strike me as someone who always makes the smart choice.
"Fine." She finishes her whiskey and sets the glass down with a decisive click. "But if you turn out to be a serial killer, I'm going to be very annoyed."
"Noted."
I settle the tab over her protests, and we head into the parking lot where the snow has already started falling in earnest. Fat white flakes that catch in her braids and dust the shoulders of her designer coat.
She looks out of place against the rustic backdrop of Crimson Hollow, like someone painted a city woman into a mountain landscape just to see what would happen.
What happens is she catches me staring.
"Problem?"
"You're going to need different shoes."
She glances down at her heeled boots. "These are Louboutins."
"They're going to be ruined by morning."
"They're already ruined. I walked through slush in Chicago, ice in Vancouver, and whatever that gray sludge was in the airport parking garage." She shrugs. "Shoes can be replaced. Toes cannot."