Chapter 8
maverick
Islide into the booth next to her. It’s a ballsy move. But fuck it. I don’t know why, but I like riling this woman up.
“Amos. How you doin’?” I extend a hand, and he shakes it.
“Mav,” he greets.
I look at Aria, her face is like a doll’s, placid. “It’s nice to see you again, Aria.”
She gives me an imperceptible nod.
“You still serve the best steaks in a hundred-mile radius,” Amos says, his eyes going from me to Aria and then back to me. He can sense there’s something between us, just as I can, just as she can.
The server comes by and clears their table. “Jenny, put it on my tab.”
Jenny nods, smiles, and leaves.
“I hope that’s okay,” I say to Aria.
She leans back, creating distance between us. “Knock yourself out,” she replies, her tone dry, casual.
Celine said she was like this. Aria the gold digger. Aria the runaway. The selfish daughter who left her father in the dirt and came crawling back now that she wants her half.
“I wasn’t payin’ anyway,” she adds.
Amos’s phone buzzes. He checks it, frowns, and stands. “Damn. I’ve got to go. Kate’s gone into labor.”
“Congratulations.” I rise.
“Grandchild number three,” he says proudly. “Aria, I’m so sorry I won’t be able to drop you off and—”
“I got this,” I cut him off. “Now, hurry along and be with your family.”
Amos again does the looking at me and looking at Aria business. Then, as if he doesn’t have time for this, he shrugs and leaves.
I walk around the booth and take his place, so I’m across from her.
“You know Amos’s kids?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t even know Amos…just on the periphery.”
“And, yet, you’re having a meal with him?” I am taunting her. I don’t know why, but I want to get a reaction from her, break that doll mask she’s wearing.
Unless…that’s who she is. Cold and unfeeling. Mercenary.
She doesn’t seem to be affected, neither by my tone nor my words. “He’s Papa’s accountant.”
“Right.”
“You don’t have to give me a ride. I can call Nadine and—”
“It’s on my way; we’re neighbors after all,” I cut her off. I want to spend time with her. Get to know her. Find out what makes her tick.
She picks up her wine glass and takes a small sip.
“How’s the wine?” I ask.
“Good. Napa.”
“How long have you lived there?”
“A few years.”
“You work at a vineyard?” I probe.
“Yes.”
“Damn, woman, if you get any chattier, I may have to ask you to shut the fuck up,” I joke, but I can’t stop the steel from entering my voice.
I’m not used to people treating me like this—like I don’t matter, not since I became the owner of Kincaid Farms, not since I was a boy who had to become a man.
It grates on my nerves.
She grates on my nerves.
She takes another small sip. “It’s been a long few days. Do you mind if we leave now?”
Yeah, I do mind.
“Have another glass of wine. I’m drivin’.”
“No, thank you. I’m good.”
Very polite and prim.
Where Celine is cheerful, happy, and open, this woman is a dark vault.
“I’m assuming you talked about Longhorn’s finances with Amos.”
She doesn’t say anything, but there’s a tic in her jaw.
Ah, finally, I get a reaction!
“He tell you that you got few choices?”
She remains impassive. She’s listening, but she’s not responding.
“He tell you that—”
“Maverick, I don’t want to talk business,” she whispers. It’s throaty, like it’s an effort for her to speak.
Something wavers in her eyes, but it’s only for a moment, and I’m not sure what I saw.
“Look,” I persist. “Longhorn is under so much debt that paying out the interest is goin’ to pull you under. Why not sell, get your share, and go have fun?”
Her eyes change. Go from unreadable to hard.
Yes!
Now, the tension rising between us is like smoke off a brand.
She lets out a long exhale. “If you’ve changed your mind about giving me a—”
“You know we don’t got Uber here.”
She’s not as calm as she wants to be. I can see it in her face. She’s paler than she was just a few minutes ago.
I press my advantage.
“I’ll make it worth your while if you let the sale go through as soon as possible.”
She jerks her chin up. “What does that mean?”
“I can throw some extra money your way if you don’t hold out. We’ll keep it off the books. Celine doesn’t need to know.”
I’m surprised by the fire in her eyes at that suggestion.
“Thank you for the offer, Maverick. I’ll take it into consideration,” she says tightly.
I expected her to jump at the offer, but maybe I should’ve been more specific.
“Give me a number.”
“Excuse me?”
“Give me a number,” I repeat. “How much to make sure you don’t cause me problems?”
“I don’t think you can afford that,” she snaps.
She’s paler now. Her brown skin looks almost papery.
“Try me,” I push.
She looks weak. Maybe she’s tired. Or not feeling well. Works for me.
“Come on, Aria, you like money, and I’ve got plenty of it,” I drawl lazily, enjoying the flicker of irritation and insult in her eyes.
It’s there and gone, but I’m starting to get a feel for Aria Delgado. I’m starting to learn her buttons.
She gets up. “Thank you for dinner.”
“Sit down,” I order.
She smiles at me and walks away.
She’s outside the restaurant, pulling out her phone, when I catch up with her. I grab her arm and take the phone from her, pocket it.
“I said I’ll take you.”
The look on her face stuns me. She looks…fragile. Her eyes are tired.
She’s really not feeling well, I realize, and feel like an asshole. “Come on.”
She doesn’t resist as I open my truck. She gets in without comment. I hand her back her phone. She holds it and closes her eyes.
There’s pain on her face.
“You okay?” I ask, my voice gruff.
“Yes.” The word is barely a whisper.
I feel a pounding need to hold her and take care of her. I shake it off and bark, “Put on your seatbelt.”
Her movements are jerky as she gets the job done with effort.
“What’s wrong with you?” I demand.
“Just tired.”
Her voice is soft. Her eyes are closed. Her hands are clenched in fists.
I lean across and open the glove compartment. I throw a bottle of painkillers on her lap. She opens her eyes and looks at them, and then turns to me.
I pull out a bottle of water from the side where I keep them and hand it to her.
She takes three pills and drinks half the water. “Thank you.”
“You gonna tell me what’s wrong?”
“I get migraines.”
I don’t know much about that, so I wait for her to tell me more.
“I…it’s…stress-related, and I get nausea and…” She closes her eyes again, rests her head against the seat. “It hurts to keep my eyes open.”
“You take somethin’ for it?”
“It’s at the house.”
“The painkillers? Will they help?” I don’t like seeing her in pain. I want to soothe her. I want her to feel better.
“Yes,” she murmurs.
I start the truck. It’s a good forty-minute drive to Longhorn, and my goal is still to convince her to sell. I may not like seeing her like this, but I’m ruthless enough to use it to get what I want out of her.
After we’ve been driving for fifteen minutes, I ask. “What’s the real reason you don’t want to sell?”
I glance at her.
Her eyes are still closed. But her jaw tightens. “You sound like someone who thinks I owe him an explanation.”
Ah, the painkillers are making her feel better.
“Celine warned me that you’d hold out, wanting me to sweeten the pot.” I change lanes and wave at a rancher. “I’m happy to sweeten whatever you want, baby.” I intend it as an insult, and I’m happy when it lands.
She opens her eyes. Her gaze flicks up. “Celine says a lot of things. Most are lies.”
“From what I hear, you’re the liar.”
That gets a flash of something. Was that hurt? No, not a woman like her. “That’s cute,” she says flatly. “Did she also tell you I eat children and kick puppies?”
I laugh. “No. Are you sayin’ that you’re not here for your share of Longhorn?”
“I’m here to bury my father,” she retorts sharply and winces, like her own voice hurts her.
“And take half of Longhorn.”
“Let me ask you a question. Why do you want Longhorn so badly?”
“Land. Hay fields. Location. Sentiment.” I lean in. “But mostly because I can make it work. You can’t.”
“And you think if you keep pushing me and poking at me while I’m struggling to not throw up and keep my head straight, you’ll get your way?” There’s condemnation in her tone and her words.
They don’t bother me. I don’t think I have a lot of respect for the woman I think she is, and so it doesn’t matter a damn what she thinks about me.
But…you still want to fuck her.
Well, my dick doesn’t have a conscience.
“I think everybody breaks eventually. Just depends on what it takes.”
“Are you sleeping with my sister?” She surprises me by asking.
“No.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
Now, it’s my turn to be insulted by her remark that I’m lying. “I don’t fuck married women.”
“How noble of you!” she jeers.
“It’s not noble. I don’t share.”
“So, when you sleep with someone, you expect a loyalty clause?” Her tone is cold.
I turn to look at her.
Her color is better.
She’s still in pain. I can see it in the way she frowns and holds herself. “When I sleep with someone, I make sure they’re not wantin’ anyone else.”
A chuckle escapes her. “Wow! You certainly have a high opinion of yourself for someone who sleeps around like you do.”
I don’t like her insinuation. “I’m not indiscriminate, Aria. In fact, I’m very discerning about who I let in my bed.”
She scoffs. “Of course, you are.”
“Someone like you wouldn’t make the cut.”
She snaps back, “Like I’d want to!”
My sister always tells me that when I’m angry, I should shut up because I say hurtful things that I cannot take back.
Well, considering, I don’t like this woman, I don’t think I’ll give two shits about taking anything back.
I park the truck right in front of the ranch house. If I were a gentleman, I’d open the door for her. But I’m not feeling particularly gentlemanly. I’m feeling sore.
“I’m not interested in indulging your penchant for sleeping with your sister’s leftovers. I hear you like to fuck the men she fucks.”
Her mouth opens and hurt flashes in her eyes. I pretend like I don’t know if it’s because of my calculated cruelty or her migraine.
I also don’t give a damn so I continue.
“And in any case, I like my women soft. Classy. The kind who don’t confuse attitude for value. Not angry little girls who wouldn’t know femininity if it slapped them in the face because they’re too busy pretending they’re tough when they’re merely unattractively masculine.”
She goes still.
My words pierce through her.
I see it in the way her jaw clenches, in the way her eyes go blank.
“Thanks for the ride, Maverick.” She opens the truck door.
Fuck! She didn’t deserve that. Damn it!
“Aria—”
“You know you’re not the first man to prefer Celine because she’s soft. I don’t take it as an insult, Maverick. I take it as a compliment. Have a good rest of your evenin’.”
She hops off the truck and walks into the house without looking back.
I bang my head against my seat. That was a fucking cruel thing to say, and I had no right to spew that shit her way.
I’m a grown man. Forty fucking years old. I shouldn’t behave like a Goddamn insecure young buck just because she called me a manwhore.
And yet, I think, a little impressed, she didn’t break. She kept her head high. Most women would’ve buckled. Not this one.
But she did crack when she told me something I don’t think she meant to—that men have chosen Celine over her. I wonder who did that to her.
Hudson? No, I can’t imagine him wanting a woman who’s as prickly as Aria, and honestly, I can’t imagine her being interested in a milquetoast like Celine’s husband.
I drive home, turning over ways to apologize to Aria—if an apology would even matter to a woman like her. If she even has something as forgiving as ‘good graces’.
But I know this much: it’s a game now.
Cat and mouse.
I always catch what I’m hunting.