CHAPTER EIGHT
BELLA
“Thank God you brought over the good stuff,” I told Kyra when I opened the door to her that evening. “I was totally out.”
Kyra dangled a bottle of expensive-looking red wine from her left hand, shaking it back and forth. “This is the best part of working at the bar—all the insider info on the best wines to drink.”
That night’s offering came courtesy of a small vineyard in Oregon known for its red reserve blends.
I’d never heard of it before, and Kyra made it clear it wasn’t a brand her bar was likely to stock for customers.
It was too niche, too pretentious, and too expensive for the regulars who preferred their drinks cheap and predictable.
Still, she hadn’t hesitated to snag half a case left behind by the sales rep, and I couldn’t blame her.
Once the bottle was open, I had to admit, it was a damn good label.
Sure, it was probably meant for some upscale bar with overpriced cocktails or a restaurant with cloth napkins and a sommelier who’d bore you to death, but it was good, nonetheless.
Smooth. Rich. The kind of wine that made you feel briefly sophisticated even if you were drinking it in sweatpants.
“I still can’t describe what it felt like having Cade in my dad’s old conference room,” I said once my serving was half empty.
Kyra and I had texted about the “meeting” before she came over.
I’d told her it had been bizarre, and she had insisted this niche red would solve everything.
“That was a total mistake. We should have met at Starbucks. Or hell, maybe a gas station parking lot.”
Kyra scoffed, slouching against the counter. “He’d probably clap back and say no. Too out there.”
“No way I’m helping him. I’m good.”
I stabbed at a few pieces of cheese from the large plate between us with more force than necessary, imagining Cade’s smug face under the fork.
Before Kyra showed up, I’d spent a solid fifteen minutes slicing up a block of aged cheddar and some creamy brie, arranging them on a platter with prosciutto, pickles, a handful of almonds, and this ridiculously expensive fig jam that hit me with a wave of nostalgia.
My mom used to slather it on toast when I was a kid, back when I thought that kind of thing was normal instead of a luxury.
The spread looked good, Instagram worthy, and I felt a little swell of pride that I could afford stuff like this now.
One more perk of FanZone footing the bills.
Still, no amount of fancy cheese could erase the sour taste Cade left behind.
“There’s no way I’m going to be part of anything Cade Weston is doing,” I added, popping a pickle into my mouth for emphasis.
Kyra snorted. “Get over yourself, Bella.”
I recoiled at her unexpected rebuke. “Why would you say that?”
“Because you’re being ridiculous.”
I laughed. She’s joking, right?
“Cade only asked you to show up at a ribbon cutting,” Kyra said. “That’s it. A couple hours tops—maybe a little input from you if it makes sense.” Kyra bit into one of the crostini, the crisp snap of it between her teeth punctuating her point. “I don’t see why this has to be some grand drama.”
“But it is.” My voice came out sharper than I meant, and I took a quick sip of wine to cover it, the red stinging my throat.
“Only because you make it that way.” She reached over, rubbing my arm with a gentle, coaxing touch she’d perfected over the years of our friendship.
“Look, I know this is a tough subject. You’ve been through hell since your dad died.
I get it. Anyone would be sensitive about it.
But I still think you should reconsider this hard no. ”
I opened my mouth to push back on her, but she rushed onward.
“It’s one an afternoon, Bella. It’s not like he’s asking you to sign your soul over to him,” Kyra added. “You might even find it... I don’t know, therapeutic. Maybe being there could help you lay some of that grief to rest.”
Her words hung in the air, heavy but not wrong.
She’s kind of right. The grief I carried was a beast, always threatening to pull me under into a vast ocean of sadness.
It had been exhausting, treading water through that and everything else just to keep my head above the surface.
Cutting that weight loose, even a little, sounded tempting.
And then there was Cade. The thought of him stirred something else, a flicker of heat I hated admitting.
That lazy smirk of his, the way his voice dipped when he said my name, like it was a secret he was letting me in on. It was infuriating.
And straight-up fire.
I poked at some cheese, dodging Kyra’s stare. “He’s got no business asking me for shit. But still...” I trailed off, pissed at the heat crawling up my neck. “There’s just something about him, Kyra.”
Kyra’s lips quirked, like she was holding back a smirk. She leaned in, voice low. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
I sighed, swirling the wine in my glass, watching it catch the light. She really did have a point, as much as I hated it. The grief, the anger, the stupid, stubborn spark I still felt when I thought of the Weston family... maybe facing him head-on will cut through some of that.
“There’s something else,” Kyra said, her voice carrying a sharp edge that snapped my gaze to her.
“What?” I asked, wary, the wineglass stilling in my hand.
She shifted, looking a bit sheepish as her fingers traced the rim of her glass. “I ran into Cade at the gym the other day, and he asked me to help convince you to do this.” Her eyes flicked to me. “He mentioned he’d work on getting the bar a better deal for the lease renewal.”
I stared, my jaw dropping. “Seriously?”
“That’s not why I think you should do it,” Kyra said quickly, raising her hands defensively.
“I was testing him, seeing how far he’d go.
And Bella, he’s serious about this. He wants you involved.
” She leaned forward, her voice lowering.
“He also said something about opening doors with his network. That could be huge for your career.”
I snorted. The idea was almost laughable. “Now I know I probably shouldn’t.”
“Bella, please...” Kyra’s eyes softened, pleading, but there was a glint of determination there too.
I set the glass down, the soft clink against the table sounding louder than it should.
My chest tightened, a mix of defiance and curiosity stirring.
Cade’s promises, his world of favors was tempting.
But it also meant digging up the past, and I wasn’t sure I was ready.
Still... “Okay,” I said finally, the word heavy with reluctance. “I’ll think about it.”
Kyra’s face lit up, her smile all confident and hype. “You’re not gonna regret this, Bella. Swear.” I forced a half smile, hoping she was onto something.
“Okay, so last night at the bar, this total creep rolls in, wedding band tan line screaming ‘married,’ but he’s clearly on the prowl,” Kyra said. “Such a lame move. Guys, am I right?”
I groaned. She dished how two savvy women shut him down before he found some other chick. But we laughed, which was what I had truly needed with my best friend tonight. She was good for my soul, always had been.
Still, as I popped some prosciutto, half tuned in to her story, I couldn’t shake Cade’s image, and how slick and charming he’d be at that ribbon cutting. Part of me was totally not stoked about it.
And part of me felt more energized than I had in a long time. Was that because of seeing Cade or of supporting something my father had once dreamed about coming to life?