Chapter 15 #3
I kept busy at the vineyard. It had been in need of attention from me for a while, mostly minor things I’d let stack up, but I found that even in a completely different state, Eliza still took up most of my thoughts.
I caught myself wanting to pull and save various wines for her to try, fighting a grin like a fucking dope when I recalled her scrunched-up face after she had tasted the wine at the business dinner that night.
When I was supposed to be speaking to local vendors at a game bar, I thought about how fun it would have been to challenge her to a game of, well…
anything. I could only imagine how much fun it would be to push her competitively.
I wondered if Sowerby had shown her the game room or if she even enjoyed things like that.
She hadn’t seemed like she played many games.
I should have shown her more of the house.
She was as easy as a book to read—I doubted she’d wait a day before she snooped around now that I wasn’t there to catch her.
I didn’t blame her. I’d have wandered the house the first night after someone told me not to.
I didn’t hate the idea of her looking through my stuff as much as I thought I would.
I would have liked to catch her, though.
She looked particularly beautiful when she was afraid of me.
Over the next few days, I began to forget entirely why it was better that I stay away from Eliza.
I didn’t like being told no, even when I was doing it to myself.
I wanted her, and I was far too accustomed to getting every single thing I wanted.
The house I kept while at the winery was average sized.
I didn’t need much, especially since I kept no staff at any of my other houses.
The only people I even remotely trusted were at Blackwood Manor, always waiting for me when I returned.
This time, being at the vineyard was different.
It was lonely in a way I’d never noticed before.
With the bulk of my work completed by evening, I had nothing else to do but sit alone in the quiet house and listen to myself breathe.
The management at the vineyard was a well-oiled machine, and in truth, I was only getting in their way being here after doing the small handful of things required of me.
As the owner, it was good to pop in every now and again to maintain order, but this vineyard had been thriving long before I had taken over.
They needed my say on a few small changes and additions, but that was easily done.
Typically, in truth, I spent most of my time away from Blackwood Manor.
It was easy to leave the discomfort behind.
But not now. Now I found I wanted to go home—and play.
Still, it was better this way.
If I’d stayed near her any longer, I’d have ruined her. Even if I pursued Eliza for my own selfish reasons, I would be a possessive, controlling monster, and I liked her too much to subject her to that. Besides, it sounded like she’d already had too much of that in her life.
I needed to call Sowerby and check on things at the manor, make sure everything was all right. I picked up my phone from the kitchen island and saw I had missed a text from a number that I didn’t recognize.
I realized the chaotic brown and green photo was of a freshly emptied flower bed with Eliza bending over it accompanied by three bug emoji.
Then, First bed to be planted! Adrenaline surged in my veins.
It was from Eliza. I could feel her enthusiasm through the phone.
I typed a response, then deleted it. The whole reason I was in New York right now was to put distance between the two of us. To keep away from her.
Three little dots appeared on the screen from her end, and I felt another jolt of adrenaline.
I waited for her words to come through, my chest tight from holding my breath. The dots disappeared. Nothing.
She was waiting for my response.
Nope.
No.
I threw the phone on the couch across from where I sat with more force than I had intended.
No.
No. Do not.
But she put in so much work.
No!
Had she sent me a photo without a bra on purpose?
I jogged across and grabbed the phone to examine her exquisitely perky tits.
It was just talking about the garden; it’s not like we were sexting or anything stupid.
She was doing a job for me, and as a good business professional, I had a duty to speak to her about any concerns she may have about that job.
My heart raced as if I were a teenager texting a girl I had a crush on. I smiled to myself and tried to think of the right thing to say.
Respectfully, you may want to look into painting; it looks empty.
Sent. Fuck. Did that sound mean or funny? I panicked, added a smiley emoji, and then swore.
I held my forehead and strung a line of expletives together. The phone pinged immediately with a picture of her standing in the bed with dirt smeared across the ridge of her pretty nose and a cultivator in one hand. And most definitely no bra on.
I haven’t planted the flowers yet! I just finished breaking up the soil, lol. How is your trip going? Katya said it’s beautiful there.
She used an emoji after every sentence—classic people-pleaser. I hesitated a minute before walking to the large window spanning nearly the entire side of the second story and taking a photo of the rolling vineyard and sending it to her.
It’s been productive, I typed.
Wow, that’s beautiful. Sorry, you’re probably headed out to dinner. Or not? What DOES Jasper Blackwood do when he’s not being reclusive at Blackwood Manor? she asked, adding a thinking emoji.
I began to unfasten the top few buttons of my dress shirt, planning on jumping in the shower after I typed out my last response to her.
I’m not going out tonight; I only go out when I have to. And I’m not reclusive, I’m just an asshole that hates everything and everyone, I answered back. The words stung with truth.
I don’t think you hate everyone, and I don’t think you’re an asshole…at least not all the time.
The three dots appeared again; she was typing more. They disappeared, and I found myself unable to set the phone down and go to the shower.
Do you know my favorite things about the plants I work with? she asked.
That they smell nice…? I guessed. How could she think I wasn’t an asshole after how I’d left? Come to think of it, I hadn’t sensed a drop of anger from her. Was she that used to being walked all over by assholes that my behavior hadn’t registered? I hated that thought.
No, but speaking of smells, remind me to ask you about Chanel No. 5. Hold on, I can’t text and dig at the same time, she said.
What was she doing?
A second later, the video call came through. Immediately, Eliza’s face popped up on the screen as she set the phone on something, giving me the POV of a plant looking out of the bed at her while she dug and grated through the soil.
She looked really fucking good in those overalls. My mind immediately wondered what she’d looked like in them without the shirt she was wearing. What shade of pink her nipples were. What they’d taste like when I bit them. If she’d scream.
“Hi.” She smiled.
I cleared my throat. “You have something to ask me about Chanel No. 5?” I asked, sitting down on the couch and stretching out while I watched her.
“Yeah, but first, I want to tell you, I’ve been thinking about it, and you’re a plant,” she said decidedly, adjusting her purple gardening gloves.
I quirked my brow. It was impossible not to be intrigued by this creature. “I’m a plant?”
“Yes. Would you like to know why?” She lifted up a pale green leaf with a blue metallic sheen to it. “Sometimes, because of how they look, you think they’re dead and ugly and—”
“You think I look dead and ugly?” I cut her off, not hiding the amusement in my voice.
She grinned from ear to ear. “And what if I say yes?” She lifted her brow in a challenge.
“Then I suppose I’d be able to come back for your corpse flower party,” I replied.
“Well, then, you’re hideous, inside and out,” she teased. A bright, rosy blush pinked her cheeks, either from her laboring or the conversation.
“You’re a horrible liar. Never enter politics,” I stated, feeling the corners of my eyes wrinkle.
“Stop interrupting me,” she demanded. She was playful but still serious.
Something about the confident command in her voice made me sit up slightly. I liked her feeling like she could boss me around. It stirred something in me that wanted more.
She cleared her throat. “You’re a plant because all the time, people neglect them and throw them away thinking they are ugly and dead, but it’s only what you see on the outside.
Underneath the soil, the roots grow stronger, and eventually the foliage returns, and the plant grows back stronger and more beautiful than ever.
” She stopped what she was doing to look at the camera with a heavy look. “You’re a plant.”
Something in my chest ached. My mouth opened slightly as I was hit by the sentiment.
I stared into the phone, unable to form a cohesive sentence to deliver back.
Her words had glided over my skin and curled up in my bones, where I knew they would stay.
It was one of the most poetically thoughtful things I’d ever heard.
I wasn’t used to being treated like this, and I wasn’t quick enough to have a response ready.
It was quiet for a few moments while I watched her work before I found words I felt confident speaking.
“Then you’re a painting, confined to a frame. With dutiful brushstrokes that conceal your true colors. You are a beautiful masterpiece aching to break free. A work of art, created and kept as a captive to agony.” I didn’t say it to flatter her. It was an honest observation.
Eliza sat back, putting her hands in her lap at the edge of the flower bed. We both simply marinated in the other’s poetic sentiments for a moment.