Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Daisy
“Don’t make any plans today,” Beckett says on Sunday morning. “We’re going out.”
I spin to face him, the peanut butter knife still in my hand. “Out? Together ?”
His gaze roams over my ratty T-shirt with a ripped collar and my cutoffs, and his lip curls with disdain.
Yep, everything is back to normal. He’s no longer the dashing knight on the white horse coming to my rescue or the Beast who kissed me in the library.
“You might want to change out of your rags, Cinderella.”
“First you defend my honor and now this.” My hand goes to my heart. “Are you asking me out on a date, Prince Charmless?”
He snorts and grabs one of his green juices from the fridge and twists off the lid. “I don’t date.”
“What a surprise,” I mutter. “What makes you think I would agree to go anywhere with you?”
It’s my one day off and I was planning to hit the beach and take photos of the surfers. Or just hang out and relax. On the beach .
“If you play your cards right, you’ll be able to buy that yacht.” His smile is positively wicked.
What brings the most joy to an evil mastermind? Revenge.
Curiosity killed the cat and wouldn’t you know, it gets the best of me too.
Over breakfast, I find out that Robert had a feud with the owner of a neighboring vineyard. The block of syrah grape vines had been cut down to the root and although Robert had no real proof, he was convinced that Michael Castellano was behind it.
“Why would someone do that?” I ask. “How could anyone destroy innocent grapevines?”
Beckett gives me a look that says, You of all people should know better than to act all na?ve and innocent.
“So you want to sell the vineyard to Michael Castellano.” It’s not a wild guess. He told me as much on Friday night. Before the kiss that we’re now calling a mistake.
Not that I’m bitter. It’s barely even crossed my mind.
“Yep.”
“I’m not so sure he deserves it. Anyone who would even be implicated in a crime against grapevines should not be a vineyard owner.”
“It was never proven,” Beckett says. “It was my father’s paranoia working overtime. He just hated Michael enough to point the finger at him. The feud went on for years with both parties accusing the other.” He waves it away. “A load of nonsense and mostly irrelevant. Let’s focus on selling this place.”
Maybe I should be grateful that he’s finally including me in his plans. But how pathetic that I’m willing to settle for scraps when in reality he should be thanking me for agreeing to all this in the first place.
“We already have an interested buyer but we’re not at liberty to disclose the name.”
My brows shoot up. “We do?”
He gives me that look again, Don’t be so na?ve. Of course we don’t have a buyer lined up, Daisy.
“So how do you know he’ll be there today?” I ask.
“Because we’re having lunch with Michael and his wife,” Beckett says like it’s obvious. “We’re leaving here at one o’clock,” he says on his way out of the kitchen.
He’s a stickler for punctuality so when he says one o’clock, he really means quarter to one.
If I didn’t care so much about this vineyard, I would tell him to go on his own. But I want to meet the people he intends to sell to and ensure they’re worthy of owning this place, so I head upstairs to get ready.
The trouble is that when I go through my clothes, I have absolutely nothing to wear for lunch at a winery. Which means I need to go out and buy something for the occasion. And that poses another problem. Finn still hasn’t transferred the rent money like he promised he would. I should have mentioned it on the phone the other night but got sidetracked by his melancholy.
On my way into town, I call Finn, but it goes directly to voicemail. I try again but no luck, so I send a text asking him to please transfer the money.
Then I stash my phone in my pocket and walk into the boutique in my ratty T-shirt and shorts, channeling my inner Astrid.
It’s not what you wear, it’s how you carry yourself. Don’t ever let anyone think they’re better than you.
Twenty minutes later, I leave the shop with a white sundress that isn’t usually my style but seems perfect for today’s lunch.
I was worried the dress was too young and innocent for me and that I’d never in a million years pull it off. But as soon as I stepped out of the dressing room the saleslady clapped her hands together and said, “That’s the one! It looks perfect on you.”
The dress and her compliment made me feel so good that I bought it and immediately drove back to the house to get ready.
I add a coat of tinted gloss to my lips and take a final look in the hallway mirror, wondering if Beckett will like the dress. Then I mentally slap myself for even caring what he thinks.
All that really matters is whether or not I like it.
The white sundress sets off my bronzed skin. My eyes look greener today and my hair flows down my back in loose waves.
I feel good in my own skin. I feel good in this dress. So I give myself a dorky high five in the mirror and laugh at myself.
As I descend the stairs, I kind of feel like Cinderella going to the ball.
Even more so when I see Beckett standing at the foot of the staircase waiting for me, hands tucked into the pockets of his chinos, blue linen shirt sleeves rolled up. Dark hair tousled to perfection. And those blue eyes darkening as they appraise me.
“Is the dress okay?” I ask, suddenly feeling shy, like I’m going on a first date with my high school crush.
“It’ll do.” But his smile gives him away, and I can’t help but smile too.
I think he likes what he sees.
Again, you don’t care what he thinks, Daisy.
And yet my stomach flutters. So I have to remind myself that he called the kiss a mistake and that brings me right back down to earth.
I’m going to approach this as a business deal, which is exactly what it is.
“Okay, so what’s our story?” I ask on the drive. “We love the vineyard but we’re pursuing our own dreams so we can’t devote the time and care it takes to run it full time. Therefore, we want to ensure it ends up in the right hands so that we’ll be free to run the not-for-profit organization that we’ll be setting up?—”
“They don’t need to know all that,” he says.
“But it would be good to get our stories straight. People are more apt to invest in someone’s dreams than to?—”
“Let’s not overcomplicate everything. Just focus on today’s lunch. Don’t overdo it. In fact, say as little as possible. Put a filter on that mouth of yours and just follow my lead.”
I snort and he gives me the side-eye.
“If you’re not going to be an asset, let me know now and I’ll drive you back home and go on my own.”
I just love how he insinuates that I’ll be the one to fuck it up when his people skills are virtually nonexistent.
“You need me. We’re a team. Even if I have to carry both of us for the entire conversation, which is most likely what will happen, I won’t hold it against you. Teamwork makes the dream work and unfortunately for me, my teammate is a complete misanthrope. But I won’t hold that against you. I’ll take one for the team.”
“I’m already regretting this,” he mutters. “And I’m not a misanthrope. I’m selective. I just don’t like most people.”
All I can do is laugh. He’s just a little ray of sunshine, isn’t he?
Yesterday I caved and googled him. Imagine my surprise when I found out that he’s secretly a billionaire. Or close enough. Not that you’d ever know it. The man is such a Scrooge.
But what I found even funnier is that he was named one of the Bay Area’s most eligible bachelors.
Is it any wonder this charming man is still single?
The laughter dies on my lips when Chateau Castellano comes into view.
It looks like a French chateau with manicured gardens and stone statues of cherubs frolicking in a fountain.
It’s a little too perfect for me and not at all my style—too grand, too artificial-looking, a newer build posing as a centuries-old chateau.
It reeks of money, but it doesn’t have the time-worn elegance of the Heyward Estate.
“Wow. My mother knocked on the wrong front door.”
My joke earns me a scathing glance and this time I have to admit that I deserve it.
That was a really bad joke. Truly distasteful. But I’m trying so hard not to laugh that I end up choking on a cough to cover it up.
“Are you done?”
I clear my throat. “Yeah, I’m good. I won’t let you down, partner.” For some reason I punctuate my words by drawing from the hip and shooting him two finger guns.
He sighs and shakes his head. “Holster those guns so no one gets hurt.”