A Harvest of Lies (The Secrets of Stone Bridge #2)

Prologue

THREE MONTHS AGO…

Devon Boone hadn't planned on staying for the entire wine auction but watching Emery Tate get publicly eviscerated by her boss had been like witnessing a car accident, impossible to look away from.

He'd been nursing a glass of overpriced Bordeaux in the back of the Terroir and Gavel Auction House with his Operations Manager, Gabe Maxwell, when Harold Pemberton, the owner of Terroir and Gavel, had taken the microphone and announced that "irregularities in authentication" had been discovered.

Emery had stood frozen at the front of the room as Pemberton detailed her alleged crimes with theatrical flair, her face growing paler with each accusation.

The crowd had shifted from polite attention to a gossip-hungry gathering, and Devon clenched his jaw watching her endure it.

She'd walked out with her head high, but he'd caught the tremor in her hands.

Now, three hours later, he found her exactly where he'd expected—drowning her sorrows at the Rusted Rail, the kind of establishment that didn't ask questions and poured drinks strong enough that a patron would forget their name.

Emery sat alone at the far end of the bar, still wearing her auction house uniform of black blazer and pearls, though the blazer was now wrinkled and the pearls slightly askew.

Her dark hair had escaped its professional style, and she was staring into a rocks glass like it might hold the answers to life's mysteries.

“I’m surprised to see her out in public,” Gabe said. “I can’t believe she made such a grievous mistake.”

“Regardless, Harold didn’t need to hang her for all to see.”

“I don’t know, man,” Gabe said. “Collectors dish out a lot of money for unique bottles, and they need to trust the person authenticating them, and Harold had the proof in hand. Hard to argue with that.”

“I struggle to believe she’d make such a blunder. For two years, we’ve both seen her work at different auctions. She’s a perfectionist, and she’s diligent in her research.” Devon stared at the sexy woman at the end of the bar. “She deserves the benefit of the doubt.”

“You’re going to go have a chat with her, aren’t you?”

“I am.” Devon couldn’t let it go if he tried.

For the last month, he’d been doing all that he could to banish her from his thoughts, but she haunted his dreams and occupied his daily thoughts.

When she’d returned to Napa Valley two years ago, he’d kept a safe distance.

She wasn’t the kind of woman he typically went for.

She was intellectual, elegant, and somewhat shy, which he found endearing.

Only, in the last few months, since he’d gotten to know her better, he’d learn she wasn’t shy… she was reserved.

“No offense, but considering Winston and Callie are sitting in the back booth, I think I’ll pass on that nightcap.”

Devon glanced toward the booth in question.

It hadn’t surprised him to see his family winery’s biggest rival at Terroir and Gavel.

Winston constantly bragged about his collection.

But seeing them at Rusted Rail, well, that was different.

Callie believed the bar was beneath her, and Winston thought it was where the poor folk hung out.

Guess they decided to see how the real world lived.

Gabe checked his watch. “And I told my wife I wouldn’t be too late.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Devon slapped Gabe on the back before Gabe turned and slipped out the door of the tavern.

Devon strolled across the bar, boots crunching the peanut shells covering the floor, his gaze locked on Emery. She’d always been the prettiest girl in any room, even when she looked like the most miserable, as well.

“Hey there.” Callendra “Callie” Callaway stepped in front of him, blocking his path.

She wore a tight pink top with a low V-neck, a black mini skirt, and knee-high boots with heels at least four inches.

Granted, Callie was only five foot four, and she’d always been sensitive about that.

But he couldn’t fathom how she didn’t topple over between the new breasts and the stilts for shoes.

“Want to throw down a drink with the competition?” She leaned closer.

“Maybe you and I could catch up back at my place?”

Devon tried not to laugh. He really did, but it proved to be impossible. However, it came out more like a half-grunt followed by a mangled snort.

“Aww, come on. Still think I’m too much for you?”

“You’re definitely too much of something, and I’m still too old.” He ran his fingers through his hair, staring over the top of Callie’s head while Emery ordered another drink.

That worried Devon.

“You know, that might have flown when I was a freshman in college. But not last year.” She lowered her chin and batted her eyelashes. “Or are we still pretending that one didn’t happen?”

“Not pretending, nor am I denying, just saying we’re not a good match.

” He lowered his gaze and smiled. It was impossible not to.

Callie wasn’t the worst person in the world.

Misguided. Immature. Spoiled. But she also had a sweet side.

She was kind. Considerate. And often generous with her time and even her money.

She volunteered and organized many charitable events, and she was damn good at it.

Devon’s mother had to admit that Callie had skills in that department, and she’d even co-hosted an event with Callie.

Now, that was a big deal. Not just because it was Callie.

But because she represented Callaway Wines—their biggest competitor in the space.

And rumor had it they were also about to enter the premium wine market.

But as nice and adorable as Callie could be—she had two fatal flaws—at least in Devon’s eyes.

The first being that while she had a role at the family business as a manager of their tasting room, both in town and on-site, as well as running private tours, she didn’t seem to have any ambition outside of finding a husband who could take care of her—which was a problem since the idea of walking down the aisle made Devon twitch.

The second flaw—and probably the biggest of the two—because who was he to judge a person and their life choices when it came to family, was that she had a touch of crazy. Callie knew how to hold a grudge, and when backed into a corner or pissed off, that woman came out swinging.

Callie reached out and traced her finger along his jaw. It was so quick, he barely had time to react. But fast enough to be unnoticeable. He glanced at Emery in time to see her pursed lips and rolling eyes.

Wonderful.

“You say that, and perhaps long haul could be tricky, but we always did have a good time between the sheets,” she said.

Christ. Sometimes he and his brother sure knew how to pick them. “You’re a nice girl. Go find yourself someone who has the same interests,” Devon said, leaning closer. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

She grabbed his forearm. A little too forcefully. "Where are you going in such a hurry?"

"To talk to someone who's had a rough day," Devon said.

Callie's eyes narrowed as she followed his gaze toward Emery at the end of the bar. "Always playing the hero. You know that's going to bite you in the ass one day."

"Not playing anything. Just being a decent human."

"Is that what you call it?" Her grip tightened and her perfectly manicured nails dug slightly into his skin. "You've got a soft spot for strays. Always have. But sometimes people's problems are their own making."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means maybe you should think twice before getting involved in drama that doesn't concern you. This valley's a small place. Reputations matter—yours, your family's, your winery's." She leaned closer, her voice dropping. "Don't go making things complicated for yourself."

Devon pulled his arm free, irritation flashing through him. "I'll take that under advisement. Now, if you'll excuse me."

"Just remember, I warned you," Callie called after him, but he was already walking away.

Devon pushed that entire encounter out of his mind and approached slowly, sliding onto the barstool beside Emery. "Mind if I join you?"

She looked up. Her green eyes were glassy but still sharp enough to recognize him. “Why, Devon, did you get bored, or did Callie turn you down?”

“That’s not even a good joke.”

“I thought it was hilarious.” She fiddled with her glass. “What are you doing here?”

"Same thing you are, I'd guess. Wondering how the hell that auction house stays in business selling overpriced wine to people with more money than taste." He signaled the bartender for a whiskey. "Though, I'm guessing your evening went considerably worse than mine."

Emery let out a bitter laugh. "Understatement of the year." She took a sip of her drink.

Devon's beverage arrived, and he raised it slightly. "For what it's worth, I thought Pemberton’s performance was over the top."

"Performance." She said the word around like she was tasting it.

"That's exactly what it was. Complete with dramatic pauses and everything.

" She studied him over her glass. “So, tell me, Devon Boone, Stone Bridge High's golden boy, you didn’t bid on a single bottle of wine. Nor did you have a conversation with Harold. That makes me think you went out of your way to see me. I thought we agreed that what happened was a one-time thing.”

"Research. Not to mention I’ve been known to lurk around these things before.” He grinned. "And I believe you have me mistaken me for my little brother when it comes to being the golden anything.”

“Didn’t you both date homecoming queens?”