6. Gemma
GEMMA
Ifinished unpacking the kitchen and moved on to the office. While it kept my hands busy, it did nothing to stop all the thoughts racing through my brain. Box after box, I replayed the morning with Bas Whitmore.
The two men he’d brought had waved off my cash like offering it had been an insult. I grew up on vineyard wages. In the dead of winter, nobody turned down money, unless they were already being paid generously. My brothers never worked anywhere like that. I would’ve heard about it.
The one time I’d been out with Bas, it was for business. This time, he’d asked without a reason except wanting to, and I’d said yes before I could talk myself out of it.
“You like him.”
Saying it out loud to an empty office fixed nothing. It was still the truth.
Of the three rules I’d come up with for events, two were for weddings. The other came from home. My mother drank when she was supposed to be taking care of us. That was where my stance on not drinking on the job came from, and it had nothing to do with when I was working.
Unfortunately, I hadn’t considered I’d need to know what to do about a man who showed up to help me move before I’d finished my first cup of coffee.
My phone rang at the same time I flattened the last box.
“Tell me something good,” Alex said.
“I have a new name for the auction. A good one.”
“Confirmed?”
“He doesn’t know about it yet.”
“My favorite kind of bachelor. Who is he?”
“I’ll tell you when he says yes.”
“Fine, keep your secrets. Where does that put the count?”
“Two maybes and him.”
“Two maybes and a man who doesn’t know. I’d panic, but you’re not, so I won’t. What about the tent? Last I heard, the price you got from the first guy was over the top.”
“It still is. I found a second, though, and let him know it. Of course, then he promised a better price.”
“Terrifying. In the politest way. It’s why I hired you. And you? Sleeping, eating, any of the fun human things?”
“I’m managing.”
“Mm-hmm. We’ll dig into that when I have backup with the rugrats.”
The call ended before I said goodbye.
She’d asked about me, and I’d answered her with a status report. I’d left out the fact that I was living on the Whitmore property now. It wasn’t like she knew where I lived before.
Since I had time before I needed to get ready, I decided to tackle the agreement Bas had asked me to draw up. I listed the winery’s events and priced them out, then did the same for the cottages, minus what I’d owe in rent. When I finished, I typed one more clause at the bottom.
For the term of this agreement, one year from signing, the relationship between the parties shall be limited to the work described above. Neither party shall pursue or accept a romantic or physical relationship with the other.
It sounded stuffy and legal, which was exactly what I was going for.
It also wasn’t for him. Bas had been a gentleman since the day in the vineyard.
The clause was for me. A man I barely knew had brushed the hair from my face and said he needed me, and I’d been hearing it ever since.
I could’ve handled it if he said he wanted me.
That I was used to. Hearing him say he needed me scared the hell out of me.
I printed the draft and went to figure out what to wear.
In his text he told me to dress warm, so I put on jeans, a sweater, and grabbed my warmest coat.
He knocked while I finished lacing my shoes.
When I opened the door, he stood on my porch in a canvas jacket, jeans, and work boots.
The casual clothes suited him even better than the sport coat had, not that I’d tell him so.
He took me in and half smiled. “You look great.”
“Thanks, Bas, but I’m wearing jeans and a sweater. Not exactly designer threads.”
“Like I said, you’re gorgeous.”
I shook my head and chuckled. “You said I look great.”
“Now that I’ve had a minute, you got an upgrade.”
The thing about Bas was he’d also stood in my old kitchen and told me not to let my pride make me look stupid. A man willing to say that to my face wasn’t saying I was gorgeous to be polite.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“West.”
“That’s a direction, not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting.”
The truck was warm, and he took up his whole side of it plus a share of mine. When he reached across me to pull a tin of mints from the glove box, his forearm skimmed my knee, and I pressed into my seat until the armrest dug into my hip. He settled onto his side again like nothing had happened.
Several minutes had passed when I realized neither of us had spoken. I filled silences for a living. Watching his hands rest easy on the wheel, I couldn’t think of a single thing that needed managing, including me.
We followed the river as it wound through the woods all the way to where it spilled into the ocean.
Bas pulled into the parking lot of a restaurant I’d heard of but hadn’t been to.
It was built on pilings above the water, on the last bend of the road. Its cedar siding was weathered to gray, and its windows glowed yellow. A sign over the door said the Estuary in letters the salt air had worn thin.
The inside was warm, with low ceilings and a fire burning at one end of the dining room.
White cloths covered the tables that were preset with crystal wineglasses.
When I glanced around and saw everyone appeared to be dressed similarly to Bas and me, the muscles in my shoulders released some of their tension.
“Mr. Whitmore. Your table is ready,” said the hostess, who hadn’t needed to ask his name.
She led us past the dining room to a corner area with glass on two sides and a single table set for two. Candles were lit, and past the windows, the sun was minutes away from setting.
“Nobody can see us in here. I thought being seen was the point of our arrangement.”
“They saw us walk in.” He opened his menu.
“The soft-shell crab is the reason to drive this far. Especially at this time of year, when the season is ending. However, you warned me not to order for you, so I won’t go so far as insisting you have them.
” He winked, and I felt it down to my toes.
Sebastian Whitmore was every kind of dangerous, but no matter how many times I repeated it, my body refused to listen.
After we’d ordered, I brought up the bachelor auction again. “The biggest portion of the fundraising dollars comes from it, Bas. I need a minimum of ten to agree to do it.”
“What’s involved?”
“One date. Alex told me that, over the years, the dates have become more elaborate because the guys compete to see who can raise the most money.”
“Give me an example,” he said when the waiter returned with a salad for me and a cup of chowder for him.
“They range from a private dinner in a family’s wine caves to a helicopter ride up the coast and a night in a treehouse at Post Ranch Inn.”
He raised his eyebrows. “What did that go for?”
“That one doesn’t really count because the bachelor intended to propose that night, so he made sure his prearranged bid was the highest.”
“So what does this thing bring in total?” Bas sliced the loaf of warm sourdough bread that arrived wrapped in a cloth and motioned for me to take a piece.
“Thanks, but I’m okay.”
This time, he only raised one brow.
“You’re very good at that.”
He’d brought the bread to his mouth, but set it down. “At what?”
“Commenting with only your eyebrows.”
I nearly jumped out of my seat when he laughed. It was a big, unguarded laugh, and I immediately started wondering what else I could say to hear it again.
“Is that funny?” I asked.
“You met Zeke.”
I nodded and took a bite of salad.
“He can hold hours-long conversations with his.”
I covered my mouth when I laughed too. “That’s quite a talent. I take it the two of you are close.”
“That’s one way of putting it. Is there someone in your life—a parent, sibling, other relative, friend—who never lets you get away with your shit? That’s Zeke for me. Always has been.”
“No.”
“No?”
“You asked if I had someone in my life like that, and my answer is no.”
Bas leaned forward. “Why not, Gemma?”
“I don’t think many people do.”
He settled against his chair. “You need one.”
I set my fork down when the reason he wanted to have dinner alone with me, and in a private room no less, dawned on me. “Oh yeah? And why is that, Bas?”
“Because sometimes we all need a person who won’t let us hide.”
“What do you think I’m hiding from?”
Bas reached over and put his hand on my chair. His knuckles grazed my spine through my sweater, and I lost track of the point I was defending. I wanted him to do it again, and I wanted him gone, and I couldn’t have told him which I wanted more.
“I don’t know you well enough to say, but your reaction tells me that whatever it is, it’s big,” he said.
“It isn’t anything. I just don’t think everyone needs a back-pocket therapist. Some of us can figure ‘our shit’ out all on our own.”
He removed his hand and returned to his chowder. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“See that you do.” This was one of those times I’d cringe about whenever I thought back on it. “Sorry, I overreacted. I’m a very private person, and I like it that way.”
He nodded once and continued eating until he’d practically licked the bowl clean. “You never answered my question about how much the event brings in every year.”
“I don’t know the exact number, but given it has no overhead, I’d say at least two million a year. Maybe more.”
“What do you mean by ‘no overhead’?” he asked.
The waiter arrived with our entrees—both soft-shell crab served with black rice and watermelon salad.
“This looks fantastic,” I said, already digging in.
“You keep avoiding my questions.”
That wasn’t entirely true. However, even I’d admit that I wasn’t used to anyone caring enough to bother asking them. Most people handed me a check and expected me to deal with whatever issues came up. “What did you want to know?”
He set his fork down. “I asked about the lack of overhead.”