Chapter Eleven
Friday, 6 p.m
Quinn
S unlight glints off luxury vehicles as Lyla weaves her car through the upscale Riviera neighborhood, leaving the city’s hustle behind us. Beautiful homes with manicured lawns pass by in a blur while I mentally rehearse my strategy for today. Yesterday’s impulsive bet with Nathan plays on repeat in my mind, a constant reminder of just how much is at stake.
“You’re doing that thing again,” Lyla says from the driver’s seat. Her lips quirk into a teasing smile. Her keen hazel eyes missing nothing as they move back and forth between the road and my face.
“What thing?” I ask, pretending indifference.
“That thing where you bite your lip whenever you have a trick up your sleeve that you’re excited about.” She signals for a turn onto a tree-lined boulevard. “Your poor lip has been through enough trauma. Save some for Nathan.”
I swat her arm playfully. “I am not saving anything for him except maybe a well-timed reality check.”
“Mmhmm. That’s why you spent three hours this morning getting ready for a venue tour that will last, what, ninety minutes tops?” She glances at me, eyebrows raised. “That black dress is lethal, by the way. Remind me again how this isn’t about making him drool?”
Heat rises to my cheeks as I smooth down the front of my outfit—a fitted dress that hugs my curves in all the right places while still looking professional enough for client meetings. “It’s called strategy. Looking good is part of the job.”
“Strategy. Right.” Lyla snorts. “And I suppose the fact black was his favorite color on you is just a happy coincidence?”
“Was it?” I ask innocently. I remember every compliment Nathan ever gave me. No matter how hard you try, there are just some things you can’t scrub from your memory.
“You’re terrible.” Lyla laughs, her voice warm with affection rather than judgment. “But I’m here for it.”
I can’t help but smile, grateful for her support. “It’s not just about winning the bet, you know. It’s about?—”
“Vindication. Justice. Clearing your name. Making him cry uncle.” She verbally ticks off each item on her fingers.” And maybe, just maybe, getting to see that vein in his forehead pop when he realizes he can look but can’t touch.”
“That vein.” I sigh dramatically, remembering how it would appear whenever Nathan was particularly frustrated. Usually, right before he’d channel that frustration in bed. My girl parts flutter at the memory. No, that’s not part of the plan. So I quickly redirect my thoughts.
Focus, Quinn.
Lyla turns onto a winding, private road that cuts through acres of rolling hills. As we drive deeper into the property, she fills me in on the details.
“So, Solana Vineyard belongs to Marco Alvarez—Jonathan’s roommate from college. Apparently, he inherited this place from his grandfather two years ago and has been transforming it into an event venue,” Lyla explains, navigating a curve in the road. “The main villa is already stunning, but they’re still renovating the old wine barn into a reception hall and redoing the landscaping around the ceremony site.”
“How did I not know about this place?” I ask, taking in the breathtaking views as the Tuscan-inspired villa comes into view. Rows upon rows of meticulously maintained grapevines stretch across the landscape, leading up to a stone structure with a bell tower and terracotta roof.
“It’s not officially open to the public yet,” Lyla says. “Marco’s only hosted a handful of events for friends and family while construction is ongoing. Currently, they’re doing a soft launch in about eight months, so Jonathan and Kiera’s wedding will be one of the first major events here.”
“That explains the timeline,” I muse. “Having the wedding in September gives them plenty of time to finish the renovations.”
“Exactly. And it gives Marco time to get all the proper permits and licenses squared away.” Lyla slows as we approach the main building. “Jonathan got really lucky with the timing. In another year, this place will probably be booked solid with a waitlist a mile long. There would’ve been no way to have a wedding in six months otherwise.”
“This is holy Insta heaven,” I murmur, my PR brain already cataloging perfect photo opportunities.
“Game face on,” Lyla murmurs as she parks. “They’re already here.”
“How do I look?” I ask, suddenly nervous despite my preparation.
Lyla gives me an exaggerated once-over. “Like a woman who’s about to make her ex-boyfriend question every life choice he’s made in the past year.”
“Excellent!” I apply a fresh coat of lip gloss, the vanilla-scented one that was Nathan’s favorite. “If his eyes happen to glaze over when I walk by, I won’t complain.”
“That’s my girl.” Lyla grins, giving my hand a squeeze. “Now let’s go make some magic happen. For the wedding,” she clarifies with a wink, “but also for your revenge tour.”
I laugh, feeling lighter than I have in days. With Lyla in my corner, maybe I can pull this off after all.
We make our way up the flagstone path to the main entrance where a man with sun-bronzed skin and an easy smile greets us.
“You must be Ms. Sanders and Ms. Clark. I’m Marco Alvarez.” He extends his hand. “Jonathan has told me all about you both. Welcome to Solana Vineyard.”
After pleasantries, Marco leads us through the main villa. The interior is a stunning blend of old-world charm and modern luxury—exposed wooden beams overhead, hand-carved furniture, and floor-to-ceiling windows that frame the vineyard like living paintings.
“The main house dates back to the twenties,” Marco explains. “My grandfather purchased it in the fifties and started the vineyard, but it was never open to the public. I’ve spent the last year renovating to meet event standards while preserving its character.”
We follow him into a grand room with vaulted ceilings and a massive stone fireplace. And there, standing by the windows deep in conversation with Jonathan and Kiera, is Nathan.
My heart stutters at the sight of him. He’s wearing dark jeans and a navy button-down with the sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms. His veins are prominent under his skin. The casual attire shouldn’t look so good, but the way the fabric stretches across his broad shoulders and chest makes my mouth go dry.
No. I can’t get distracted. If he sees I’m ogling, who knows what he’ll do to take advantage?
Kiera spots us and waves. “Quinn! Lyla! Come check out this view. It’s unbelievable.”
Nathan turns, and for a moment, our eyes lock. At first he looks surprised. Yes, one point for me! His expression is quickly replaced with careful neutrality, but I’m quick to notice his gaze slides down my body in a quick assessment before returning to my face.
I force a professional smile as we approach. “Sorry we’re a few minutes late. The drive took longer than expected.”
“No worries!” Kiera says warmly. “Marco was just showing us the main reception space options.”
“This room is beautiful,” I say, genuinely impressed by the tall ceilings and natural light.
“The acoustics are excellent too,” Marco adds. “Jonathan and I tested it last week. Even without amplification, you can hear perfectly from every corner.”
“I was beginning to wonder if you’d changed your mind about our arrangement,” Nathan murmurs next to me. His voice is perfectly professional, but there’s an undercurrent I can’t quite identify.
“Not a chance,” I reply softly, meeting his gaze steadily. “I never back down from a challenge, especially ones I intend to win.”
A ghost of a smile plays at his lips. “We’ll see about that.”
Jonathan looks between us, clearly sensing the tension before taking his attention back to Marco. “Great, we’re all here. Why don’t you show everyone the ceremony site options first?”
We follow Marco through French doors onto a sprawling terrace with panoramic views of the vineyard and distant hills. The bright afternoon sun illuminates the landscape, the neat rows of grapevines stretching toward the horizon like nature’s own design.
“We have three potential ceremony locations,” Marco explains. “The terrace here, which can accommodate up to three hundred guests. The rose garden at the north end of the property is more ideal for about two hundred. And finally, the vineyard gazebo, which provides the most dramatic backdrop, but is limited to one hundred fifty guests.”
Kiera turns to Jonathan. “What do you think? I’m torn between the terrace and the gazebo.”
“Let’s see both before deciding,” he suggests. “Marco, could you show us the gazebo next?”
As our small group follows Marco down stone steps and along a path through the vineyard, I find myself falling into step beside Nathan. His proximity has me hyperaware of him—the familiar scent of his cologne, the nearness of his body is so close to mine, we almost brush fingers. My body can’t help but respond with goose bumps.
“So,” he says quietly, pitched for my ears only, “enjoying the tour so far?”
“It’s a beautiful property,” I reply, keeping my voice professional despite the fluttering in my stomach. “Perfect for social media content. The lighting alone will give us stunning material to work with.”
“Spoken like a true PR professional.” There’s a sharp edge to his tone, hinting at a deeper meaning to his words. “Though I have to say, that dress isn’t exactly what I’d call standard professional attire.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Are you critiquing my wardrobe choices, Nathan? Because last I checked, that wasn’t part of our arrangement.”
“Not critiquing,” he says, his voice dropping lower. “Just observing. Black was always my favorite on you. Shows off your pale skin best.”
Observation or otherwise, the comment catches me off guard and I nearly trip over a loose stone. Nathan’s hand shoots out to steady me, his fingers wrapping around my bare upper arm. The contact sends a jolt of electricity through me. I pull away as soon as I steady myself.
“Careful,” he says, his eyes darkening slightly. “Wouldn’t want you to fall.”
“I’m fine,” I say, perhaps too quickly. “And I don’t need your help.”
His lips curve into a knowing smile. “If you say so.”
We arrive at the gazebo just as the sun begins its descent behind the hills, casting long shadows across the vineyard. The structure itself is breathtaking—a circular pavilion with marble columns and a domed roof, surrounded by lavender plants and climbing roses. A stone path leads to a center platform, a romantic spotlight fit for a wedding ceremony.
“Oh, my god,” Kiera breathes. “Jonathan, this is it. This is where I want to marry you.”
“Your wish is my command, darlin’.” Jonathan pulls his fiancée close against him as they share a kiss. The one they share is tender, so full of genuine love and devotion, that I have to glance away out of respect. Also because it stirs a twinge of pain in my heart, a reminder of what I once thought I had with Nathan. What I thought was real.
“What do you think, Quinn?” Jonathan asks, turning to me.
I bring my focus back to them. “Absolutely stunning. And given one of your top priorities is privacy, it’d be easy to set a secure perimeter around the venue.” I slip easily into work mode, grateful for the distraction. “The secluded location, along with a good security team, will give us natural protection from paparazzi camera lenses.”
Jonathan nods approvingly. “Perfect!”
I continue, surveying the area. “We could potentially leak a few decoy locations to keep the press occupied elsewhere while the actual ceremony happens here. You’ll be enjoying your reception, away from prying eyes, by the time they’d figure out the actual location, assuming they do at all.”
“That’s good to hear,” Kiera says with a smile. “The last thing we need is for the press to think they’re invited and have a field day outside the gates.”
“Even if they do, they won’t be able to see anything. And if any wise guy thinks he can climb over a fence, the security team will prove them wrong,” I assure her.
Lyla steps in, already in planning mode. “And logistically, we’d want to create clear pathways for guests, perhaps string lights leading from the main villa. Plus comfortable seating—nothing worse than guests shifting uncomfortably during the emotional parts.”
Marco nods enthusiastically. “My team here at Solana can make sure everything is what you desire. I’ve recently installed a security system with sensors that will notify the security hub.”
He then leads us back toward the main building, explaining renovation plans for the wine barn that will serve as one of the reception spaces available. “It’s currently still under construction, but even in its current state, it can be ready by the July,” Marco promises. “Chandeliers, large dance floor, and built-in bar showcasing our vineyard’s wines.”
Jonathan turns his gaze to Kiera, their hands clasped. “What do you think, babe?”
“I love it,” she says, beaming. “I can already picture everything.”
While they discuss specific details with Marco and Lyla, I find myself wandering toward the tall windows that overlook the vineyard. The sun is beginning to set, painting the sky in brushstrokes of pink and gold. It’s undeniably romantic, the kind of view that makes you want to share it with someone special.
“Makes you think, doesn’t it?” Nathan’s voice comes from behind me. Too close behind me.
I don’t turn around, keeping the landscape as my focal point. “About what?”
“About what could’ve been.”
Yeah, he ought to know.
The words hang in the air between us, heavy with tension. I force myself to stay still, to not show how much they affect me.
“I prefer to focus on the present and future,” I say finally. “Thinking of the past only holds you back.”
“Interesting how you say that, yet here we are.” He moves to stand beside me, his reflection appearing in the glass of the window in front of me. “A PR consultant who took a job knowing she’d have to face her ex every day? Seems like you’re doing more than thinking about the past.”
I turn to face him, careful to maintain a professional distance. “I took this job because it’s a fantastic opportunity. Your brother wanted me, hired me. If you were in my shoes you’d do the same.”
“And our bet?” His eyes are intense, searching. “Is that just business too?”
“It only became a bet because you took my words as a challenge,” I remind him. “I simply took you at face value.”
He shakes his head. “But you didn’t hesitate, didn’t say no. You knew exactly what you were doing.”
In hindsight, he’s partially right. I could have told him to go pound sand, but I didn’t. I quickly shove that thought away. That line of thinking isn’t productive.
“Does it matter?” I ask, meeting his gaze steadily. “We both know what’s at stake. And we both know I’m going to win.”
He laughs as though mocking me as he steps closer into my personal space. “Are you so sure about that? Because from where I’m standing, you seem…flushed, breathing heavily, and so far you’re not walking away.”
My pulse quickens. Even after a year, he still has my body down to a science. I shift my expression to a cool neutrality. “Don’t flatter yourself. It’s just the heat.”
His eyes drop to my lips briefly before returning to mine. “We’ll see.”
“If I managed a year without you,” I reply with confidence that comes from a place of genuine indifference rather than forced bravado, “two weeks to make you eat your words will be a cakewalk.”
“Sure, but there’s a big difference between then and now.”
“Like what?”
He caresses the inside of my upper arm. “We weren’t working together”—his voice drops lower—“and you weren’t wearing dresses like that one.”
So he’s noticed…
Before I can formulate a response, Lyla’s voice calls from across the room. “Quinn? Jonathan wants your input on something.”
Nathan steps back, a subtle smile playing at his lips. “Duty calls.”
I walk away with my chin high, refusing to let him see how much he’s right, that he’s affected me as much as he has. I’ve spent the past year building immunity to Nathan Knight’s particular brand of charm. What I feel is purely residual physical attraction, a biological familiarity, nothing more.
I won’t let him have emotional power over me.
Nathan
I rip my tie off the second I get back to my car, tossing it onto the passenger seat. The venue tour, Quinn’s appearance, has left me wound up tighter than I’d care to admit. Knowing the image of Quinn in that goddamn black dress is seared into my brain, I know I can’t go back to my empty apartment. I have to be around other people, preferably where there’s enough alcohol to drown out this growing image that I can’t help but wonder what’s underneath her clothing.
Twenty-minutes later, I push through the heavy wooden doors of the bar, the Brick. The familiar scent of polished wood, quality bourbon, and comfort food wraps around me like an old friend. Friday nights are usually packed, but it’s early enough that I can still spot an open stool at the far end of the bar.
“Nate!” Ian Brown’s voice carries over the growing crowd as I make my way across the room. “Didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”
I slide onto the stool, nodding at Ian as he approaches. “Needed a change of scenery.”
“Rough day?” he asks, already reaching for a glass and the bottle of whiskey he keeps for regulars.
“You could say that,” I mutter, watching as he pours.
Ian slides the drink across the polished bar top to me. His eyes, sharp as always, study me for a moment longer than necessary. “This have anything to do with the venue tour? Kami filled me in.”
Of course, information delivered from her seems to travel at the speed of light.
“Has she ever considered a career with the CIA?” I deflect, taking a slow sip of the drink. “Her intelligence-gathering skills are wasted in social media.”
Ian laughs. “I’ve suggested it, but she’d rather take corporate life than people shooting at her.” He wipes down the bar, his movements efficient and practiced. “So, the PR consultant huh?”
I groan. “Seriously? Not you too.”
He shrugs. “Kami likes her. Says she knows her shit.”
“Yeah well, Kami doesn’t know her like I do.” I take another sip.
“Hey, I’m just the bartender. But for what it’s worth, as far as what the others have said, she seems like a nice person.”
Great. Even my favorite bar has been infiltrated by the blond bombshell’s aura.
“I’d rather not talk about her, if you don’t mind.” I finish the rest of my drink in one go.
Ian studies me for a moment, then nods. “Fair enough. You eaten yet? Kitchen just rolled out a new menu and I can’t in good conscience be having you drink on an empty stomach.”
The mention of food reminds me I haven’t eaten since my hasty lunch before the tour. Approximately six hours ago. “What’s good?”
“Everything,” he says with the confidence of a man who takes pride in his establishment. “But the cheeseburger with fries will change your life.”
“Sold,” I agree.
Ian relays the order to the kitchen, then gets pulled away by other customers. I’m left alone with my thoughts and a glass of water as an alternative to a drink until food arrives. The bar’s ambient noise—laughter, clinking glasses, music playing at just the right volume—creates a comforting buffer between me and the chaos in my head.
But before I can truly enjoy the sound of silence, my phone buzzes in my pocket. Letting out a deep sigh, I pull it out to find a text from Meredith, a gorgeous redhead I met at a charity gala last month.
Free tonight? My bed is feeling empty…
Five words that would typically have me texting back immediately. Simple, uncomplicated release—exactly what I need after today. Except I can’t. Not if I want to win this bet.
My fingers hover over the screen for a moment before I start typing.
Raincheck? Swamped with work this week.
Her response comes almost immediately.
Sure thing! Just let me know when you’re…less swamped
I slip my phone back into my pocket, frustration coiling tighter in my chest. This is going to be harder than I thought. Not just turning down willing women—though that’s its own special kind of torture—but resisting the pull toward Quinn that I’ve spent so long trying to deny.
Today at the vineyard, watching Quinn, I saw the respect in Jonathan’s eyes as she outlined her PR strategy, something he rarely shows people. Trying to impress Jonathan is like learning to ride a unicycle. A near to impossible feat, she managed to do it in a single afternoon. Witnessing that was as surreal as glimpsing into a parallel universe. A world where things hadn’t gone so catastrophically wrong between us. Where the leak never became one. Where she was still mine.
The memory of her nearly stumbling on the path flashes through my mind. Grabbing her, steadying her, was from pure instinct. And once I did, I immediately regretted it. Just one simple touch of her softness is one of the many things that has me going into a spiral. The jolt I felt between us at the contact was too hard to miss. Those blue eyes widening, her breath catching, before she seemed to reclaim her composure and mask whatever reaction was replaced by cool professionalism. The worst part of it all? When she did pull away from my grasp, I felt her absence under my fingertips.
My cock hardens, straining against my zipper like I’m some desperate teenager rather than a grown man with self-control. Dammit. Barely two days into this bet and I’m already fighting with myself.
I shift uncomfortably on the barstool, grateful for the dim lighting and the counter between me and the rest of the bar. Giving into my player tendencies when I walked out of Quinn’s life was supposed to purge her from my system. But clearly my… soldier didn’t get the memo. I clench my jaw in frustration.
“It’s just physical. It means nothing,” I murmur to myself, the same words I’ve repeated like a mantra. “She’s just a woman. She doesn’t mean anything to me.”
But if that were true, why did I form my hands into fists as I watched Quinn look at Jonathan and Kiera at the gazebo? Besides my own discomfort, why did I see a flash of longing cross her face as my brother shared a kiss with his fiancée?
“Food for thought?” Ian asks, pulling me away from my tormenting thoughts. The plate in his hand smells good, of cooked meat and french fries.
“Ha-ha, very funny.” I roll my eyes as he sets the food in front of me.
“Eat. It helps.”
I take a bite, and damn if he isn’t right. The food is exceptional and the extra fuel starts to wake me back up again. “Man, what did you do to this burger? It’s fantastic,” I compliment between bites.
“Thanks, man.” Ian seems pleased as he sits down beside me. “You know, when Kami and I first got together, I wasn’t exactly her favorite person.”
I raise an eyebrow. “How could I forget? Volunteering yourself as her fiancé without her permission didn’t exactly win you brownie points.”
He grins, completely unrepentant. “Best bad decision I ever made.”
“Your point?”
“Just that sometimes the path to something good isn’t always straightforward.” He shrugs. “And holding grudges is exhausting.”
Before I can give a retort about decisions, my phone rings—Jake is calling this time. I accept the call.
“Please tell me you’re calling with a genuine work emergency,” I say instead of hello.
Jake’s laugh comes through the speaker. “Not even close. Jonathan just texted that the venue tour went well. Said he was satisfied with Quinn’s ideas.”
No surprise. “Fascinating,” I mutter sarcastically.
“That bad, huh?”
No comment. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you don’t.” I can practically hear his smirk through the phone.
“Please don’t,” I groan. “Ian already beat you to whatever talk you’re thinking of giving me.”
“Well, if that’s the case, then I’ll just add on.” I can imagine the smug smile on his face. “Based on your tone, and that you’re at the Brick right now, I’m going to assume Quinn showed up looking like a million bucks.”
I roll my eyes as he continues.
“And am I right to assume you were struggling to keep your eyes on the venue instead of her?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. I turn my attention to Ian. “Dude, have you ever considered investing in a gag for your fiancée?”
Ian only laughs as he walks off to help another customer.
Jake continues. “Actually, I got my info from Jonathan. He said you were?—”
I cut him off. “Like Kami, my brother needs to mind his own business.”
“Are you kiddin’? Your love life is his favorite reality show right now,” Jake says, not unkindly. “By the way, he just arranged for a meeting for tomorrow morning.”
“What?” I take another sip of water, already sensing I won’t like what’s coming.
“Ten a.m., his office. You, him, and Quinn. He wants to discuss the social media schedule for the wedding announcements.” Jake’s voice has that too-casual tone that tells me he’s enjoying this. “You should have the calendar invite right about now.”
I pull my phone away from my ear. Sure enough, there’s the notification. I bring the device to my ear again. “Fantastic. Nothing like a little ambush planning from my dear big brother.”
“Word of advice? Maybe not wear a suit and tie. If you’re trying to win this bet, beat her at her own game.”
“What do you think I’ve been doing?” I snap.
“I’m just saying, a dress shirt that’s a size too small might do wonders.” Jake’s tone is too innocent.
I consider hanging up, but that would only confirm I’m rattled. “Was there an actual reason for this call, or are you just entertaining yourself at my expense?”
“Can’t it be both?” Jake laughs. Then his voice turns more serious. “Okay, all jokes aside, be careful.”
“Why would I need to be careful? It’s not like I’m going to battle.”
“What I’m trying to say is…if neither of you will be backing down, someone’s going to get hurt. Just don’t push it too far.”
“And what if she does?” I point out. “Don’t worry; I’ve got it all figured out. See you later.”
I end the call. Ian returns from the other end of the bar. “Ready for another drink?”
I consider it, tempted to lose myself in the comfortable buzz of alcohol and the bar’s atmosphere. But tomorrow’s meeting looms large in my mind, and I need all my faculties intact if I’m going to stay one step ahead of Quinn.
“Just the check,” I say, reaching for my wallet.
Ian waves me off. “On the house. Consider it payment for turning down Kami when she tried to replace me with you as her fake fiancé.”
“Safe to say things worked out in the end, huh?” I manage a small smile as I lay down a ten-dollar bill on the bar anyway.
“Definitely. Stay safe, man.”
The night air is cool against my face as I step outside, clearing my head further.
Tomorrow’s meeting feels daunting in my mind. As though I’m about to walk into a minefield. But Quinn forgets I know her weaknesses just as well as she knows mine. That spot just below her ear that makes her breath catch, the way her body flushes pink when I stand close, how she always bites her lower lip when she’s trying to maintain control.
After calling an Uber, I slide into the backseat of the car. Determination replaces frustration.
Fuck around, and find out, sweet pea.
This isn’t just about winning a bet anymore. It’s about proving, once and for all, I’m over her. And once this bet is over, I can finally close this chapter of my life for good.