Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
Daisy
When I return to the house at the end of a very long day, my muscles ache, I’m covered in sweat and grime, and I’m exhausted. But it’s the good kind of tired as opposed to the I need to call an ambulance and pace the hospital waiting room while the doctors pump out Finn’s stomach kind of tired.
The study door is closed as I walk past, and I’m relieved I won’t have to see Beckett’s stupid face. With any luck, he’ll stay in there all night, crunching numbers and creating his ridiculous spreadsheets or whatever it is he does in there all day.
I grab some clean clothes from my bag and briefly consider unpacking, but I’ve spent so many years living out of a suitcase that it’s become second nature. I can’t remember the last time I went a month without traveling for an assignment, let alone three, so if nothing else good comes from this, at least I’ll have some time to pursue personal projects.
My eye snags on a manila envelope on the floor that I missed on my way in, and I swipe it up. Beckett must have slipped the contract under my door.
I toss it on the bed to deal with later and take a long hot shower then scout out the best location to set up a makeshift darkroom. I’ve ordered all the supplies online and they’re supposed to arrive within the next few days.
After narrowing it down to the spare bedroom next to mine or the dining room with easy access to the downstairs bathroom I get started on dinner.
I’m sautéing vegetables from the garden to go over pasta when Anna calls.
“Why did you give that good-for-nothing the keys to your apartment?” she says in lieu of a greeting.
“Because he needed a place to stay. I told him to keep the music down and not disturb you. Is he bothering you?”
“My dear, I’m not calling to complain about the volume of his music. Why do you feel that you deserve so little? Call me old-fashioned but he should be taking care of you, not the other way around. Boys like him are nothing but trouble. You need someone who can protect you.”
We’ve had this conversation before. My octogenarian neighbor has disapproved of every single “boy” I’ve dated, but she harbors the most resentment toward Finn, who has been a fixture in my life for so many years he’s become the only family I have. “Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.”
“I know you can ,” she huffs. “But just because you’re capable of doing it doesn’t mean you should have to. How many times have I told you to dump these losers? When are you going to start listening to me?”
I smile as I add chopped tomatoes to the zucchini and onion. “We’re not even together. We broke up a long time ago.”
She sniffs. “Then you should have cut him out of your life altogether instead of letting him come sniffing around like a dog every time something good comes your way. He’s using you, you know.”
I turn off the heat under the pot and drain the pasta. “It’s okay. Really. He’s…” Messed up. Broken. One of the many lost boys I’ve collected over the years. But Finn is the only one who stuck around, and if not for him, I probably wouldn’t have survived my teen years. “He’s not a terrible person. He just needs to get his life together.”
I’ve been saying the same thing for years, and at this point, I don’t believe it either, but I’m not ready to give up on him completely. He was there for me when no one else was and in my book, that counts for a lot.
“You’re enabling him,” Anna says as I stir the pasta into the sauce. “He has no incentive to stand on his own two feet when he knows that all he has to do is run to you when he needs some quick cash or a place to stay.”
Finn and I are complicated, but I don’t want to get into any of this with Anna, no matter how well-meaning her advice is.
“I’ll deal with it when I get back.”
She sighs. “If only you could see yourself the way I do, you would never doubt your own worth. Your mother did a real number on your head, didn’t she?”
I laugh a little. Anna knows my story. Over the past few years, she coaxed it out of me while sipping oolong tea or walking through the park. I’ve done an entire series of photos with Anna as the model, so we know each other well.
“I’m fine. I’m doing great.”
“Whatever you say,” she says, her tone skeptical. “He’s just gotten home. It looks as if he’s brought some floozy with him.”
“Anna,” I chide. “Get away from the peephole.”
She ignores me and forges on, giving me a play by play of what Finn and the “floozy” are doing across the hall. In the background, I hear muffled laughter and Finn’s voice.
If I close my eyes, I can envision him with the girl Anna described. I can picture his green eyes clouded with lust as he pushes her against the door, his hands in her hair, his kisses tender but bruising.
If I’d heard any of this a few years ago, it would have hurt. It doesn’t hurt anymore, not the way it used to, but I’d still rather not know. “I have to go. My dinner is ready. I’ll call you soon.”
“Please do. I want to hear what’s happening in California. I certainly hope he is treating you with respect.”
I hang up and laugh to myself as I fill a bowl with pasta. Beckett makes Finn look like Prince Charming.
When I turn from the stove, I give a jolt of surprise. For such a big guy, he moves like a ninja.
“I didn’t even hear you.” He’s standing in the arched doorway, and now I’m wondering how much of my conversation he overheard and if I said anything that I’d prefer he didn’t hear.
“Did you look over the contract?”
“Not yet,” I say, waving my hand dismissively.
“I need you to read over it now.” His tone is demanding, not the least bit respectful .
I dig my fork into the pasta. “I’m sure it can wait until after dinner.”
He crosses his arms over his chest and scowls. “Pete and Neil are stopping by in twenty minutes to act as witnesses so no , it can’t wait.”
“Witnesses?” I ask with a laugh. He, however, is not the least bit amused.
My God. What have I done to deserve this? He’s ruined my appetite with all his scowls and demands.
When this is over, I’d better get a big deposit into my karma account, that’s all I can say.
I throw down my fork and retrieve the document from my room.
I’m not the fastest reader and this thing is thick, the subject matter so dull, it’s putting me to sleep. Not to mention that Beckett is sitting directly across from me watching me read, which only makes me more self-conscious.
I give up on page two and shove it away. “I’m happy to sign it.”
“You haven’t even read it.”
“Does it get better? Did you include some spicy scenes?” I form an O with my mouth and slap my hand over it. “I’ll bet you’ve revealed your hidden kinks, haven’t you? Come on, tell me.” My eyes widen dramatically. “Do you have a pleasure dungeon?”
“I’m not Christian Grey.”
I let out an exaggerated sigh. “That’s a shame. We might have had more fun if you were.”
“Somehow, I can’t picture you being submissive.” Somehow , I can’t picture him watching Fifty Shades of Grey . He taps his finger on the contract. “You should never sign anything before reading it.”
“Just give me the CliffsNotes version. If it’s just about the cost of the repairs and the dates we agreed on, I already promised to uphold my end of the bargain so I’m fine with all of that.”
“You should still read this before signing,” he insists. “Did you even read the first one?”
I shrug. “I skimmed it.” He gives me an incredulous look. You would think I’d just confessed to drowning a litter of puppies the way he’s acting. “What’s the big deal? Are you asking me to sign away my firstborn child so you can row him across the River Styx and have him lord over the underworld with you?”
He snorts. “As if I’d allow any child of yours to lord over anything.”
I’m outraged on my unborn child’s behalf. “So you’re saying my precious child is not worthy?”
“Do you actually have a child?”
“I’ll have to check my suitcase, but as far as I know, I don’t have any spare kids lying around. But if you think that would add to this whole experience, I’m sure I could find one.”
“Dealing with you is a lot like having a child already,” he mutters and then proceeds to summarize each paragraph of the contract, insisting that I listen when I fake snore. Like it’s important that I pay attention and never sign anything without reading the fine print first.
There’s nothing in this contract that’s any more objectionable than spending time with him, and since we’re both signing it, I knew there wouldn’t be.
Pete and Neil arrive. We sign the document, and it’s not even close to being the big deal he was making it out to be, but even so he still asks three times, “Are you sure you’re okay with everything in the contract?”
I guess he was expecting me to put up a fight or suggest amendments, but it all seemed fair to me so why argue over something I’ve already agreed to do?
After signing the contract, Beckett is slightly less contemptuous over the next few days.
While he still hasn’t lifted a finger to help on the vineyard, we’ve started eating dinner together, although I suspect that’s more out of necessity than anything.
“Do you even know how to cook?” I ask when, once again, the dinner preparations fall on my shoulders.
“Why would I have to cook when I have you?” he scoffs.
“Next time I’m only making enough for myself.”
For some reason, this makes him laugh. I don’t mind cooking extra for him, but it does seem like I’m doing all the work around here.
I spear a piece of broccoli and guide it to my mouth. “You seem like the kind of guy who only eats at Michelin starred restaurants.”
“I get my kicks out of slumming it.” He swirls the red wine in his glass then brings it up to his nose before tasting it. “One gets so tired of the lavish lifestyle.”
He’s quoting me.
I smile to myself.
Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.
On Friday morning, Beckett catches me on my way out the door. He’s wearing a T-shirt and running shorts because instead of working on the vineyard, he runs for miles and miles every morning and lifts weights.
“I’m throwing a party next Saturday,” he says, dragging my gaze from his muscular thighs to his face as he rubs his hand over the scruff on his jaw.
He must be growing on me. Even though he’s still a dick, I can see how he might appeal to some women.
“Count on a hundred people, give or take,” he continues. “I’ll need you to hire a caterer and some live entertainment. Something tasteful. I’ll leave the guest list and the invitations on the kitchen counter. You can get them done tonight and send them out tomorrow. And make sure to tell all the employees they’re invited.” He waves his hand in the air. “I’ll take care of the rest.”
“The rest? You’ve literally given me every job already.” I plant my hands on my hips. “You can’t plan a party for a hundred people on such short notice. Regardless, I’m not doing it so take your pie in the sky dreams elsewhere. Bad enough I’m your personal chef, I’m not going to be your personal assistant too. I’m almost certain that wasn’t in our contract.”
“I guess that will teach you to read the fine print next time.”
I’m tempted to plant my fist in his smug, pretty face. “You’re an asshole. And I’ve dated a lot of assholes, so I know what I’m talking about.”
“Rich assholes, I’ll bet.”
I stab my finger at him. “But you, my dear sir, are by far the worst.”
“Off to Pemberley you go.” He shoos me out the door with his hand like I’m a pesky fly. “Good luck finding a wealthy suitor.”
I roll my eyes as the door slams shut behind me. But if he actually believes I’m going to plan this party for him with only a week’s notice, he must be on crack.
If Beckett had taken the time to get to know the employees, he would have figured out that he already has people on the payroll to do the job he’s assigned to me.
When lunchtime rolls around, I track down Georgia who is flirting with two men in the tasting room. Her job title is Hospitality Director & Event Coordinator, but from what I’ve seen, she’s only hospitable toward men, and I have yet to see her coordinate a single event.
She reminds me a little bit of my mother—blonde and botoxed—but not nearly as beautiful.
My mother is one of those women who can walk into a room and command the attention of every person in it. She turns heads and when she speaks, people listen because she’s not only a pretty face, she’s also clever and entertaining.
Her superpower is making a man feel like he’s the most charming, interesting human on the planet, and she does it in a way that never looks forced or like she’s trying too hard.
Georgia is the opposite. There’s a lot of hair flipping, arm touching and overly loud laughter.
When I finally manage to get her attention, she shoots me the evil eye.
“May I help you?” she asks with a saccharine smile that is so fake she’s not fooling anyone. The men quickly excuse themselves and Georgia crosses her arms over her chest, glaring at me like I’ve ruined all her fun. “What do you want?” she snaps.
Out of all the people working on the vineyard, she is the only one who has been openly hostile toward me. My mother always said women only act like that when they feel threatened. She didn’t have a lot of female friends. She didn’t really have any friends. And by the time I was a teenager, she’d treated me like I was her biggest threat, so Georgia’s open hostility doesn’t faze me a bit.
“Why didn’t he ask me himself?” Georgia asks after I tell her about the party Beckett wants to host.
She looks a little hurt and honestly, I have no idea why he didn’t ask her directly, but I suspect it’s another one of his ridiculous power plays. “I don’t know. Are you okay with it?”
“It’s short notice and you haven’t given me much to go on,” she huffs. “I’ll have to discuss this with Beckett.”
I would love to see how that goes down, but I’ve done my part, and I’m out.
This seems like a Beckett problem now.
But later, when I’m washing out tanks with Callie in the winery, it occurs to me that Beckett probably knew I’d go to Georgia. He’s smart, and nothing much gets past him, so he probably also knows that she doesn’t do her job.
What are you up to, evil mastermind ?
I’m so curious to find out that I don’t even care that he got me involved.