6. Rosay
Chapter six
Rosay
G raham’s compliment sets off jacuzzi bubbles inside my chest. I know I’m good at my job, that my skill set mixed with tenacious charm is sought after by plenty of companies, but hearing the words from him, Forbes Midas man extraordinaire, fills me with pride.
For once in my life, I’m not totally messing everything up.
“Thompson Investments is lucky to have you here.” He scrapes a hand through his thick dark hair, mussed yet still kempt enough to be sexy as hell.
“Thank you,” I reply, forcing down the embarrassment at word vomiting to my boss and the knee-jerk reaction to say something smart.
Graham and I usually speak to each other through sarcasm.
He’s not usually so…nice or big on compliments.
I curb the urge to lay my hand across his forehead and check for a fever.
“I’m curious though.” He crosses his arms as he observes me with a furrowed brow. There’s a small niggling in the back of my mind that alerts me to what he’s about to ask. “Why doesn’t your family invest with us?”
Yup. There it is. The question I’ve managed to avoid answering for the past seven years.
While the last name Wilmington is synonymous with vineyards and Texas royalty, most people don’t make the connection that we’re related—a fact I’ve prided myself on since I started as an entry-level advisor.
I didn’t want special treatment just because of who my father is—although my ex, Connor, always seemed to think I was stupid for not capitalizing on my dad’s notoriety—and my dad has never trusted anyone else to handle the portfolio.
Plenty of times I’ve considered going by my mom’s maiden name Cardenas to further put distance between us, but it would’ve felt like an insult to my dad after I’d already caused enough turmoil in his life with my juvenile arrests.
No matter how many community service hours I did, Wreck-it-Rosay is a name that followed me around for too many years after me and a few troublesome friends got picked up vandalizing stuff.
I try to come up with a believable lie. “It’s been brought up a time or two, but it never really seemed like the right time to ask.
I was a new advisor at first, just trying to gain my bearings, and then the wineries hit a rough patch before starting the weekend rentals.
There were the drought seasons when my dad worried we’d lose some of the higher producing vines and my brother was trying to acquire new land, and my dad and Wendy were building their new hou—”
“Rosay.” Graham’s voice sounds distant, yet its sturdy tone breaks through the whooshing inside my ears. Blood rushes to my cheeks, boiling me from the inside out. That’s twice I’ve spewed every thought inside my head onto the desk in front of me.
Maybe death by embarrassment is your penance for constantly pushing his buttons.
I grimace. “Sorry.”
“Are you okay?” he asks with a softness that turns my insides to cotton candy fluff.
“Yes.” No. Please stop being so nice when I’m used to you being a six-foot-two pain in my ass. “Just got a little carried away. ”
“I could tell.” He chuckles, and damn if I don’t like the way his full lips part to allow the noise through. “I have an idea that might help your…problem.”
I stare at him, unsure if my boss has been swapped with a cyborg.
In another universe, I could see Graham being the type of dude-bro who you can hang out and have a beer with, maybe shoot the shit over break room coffee, but the Graham in my universe is much more likely to steal candy from babies and hide the Keurig until quotas are met.
He’s a hardass who only cares about the bottom line.
“Okay?” I drag out the word, suspicious of whatever brews inside his head.
A glint of mischief in Graham’s eyes draws me in like a snake charmer. Though his posture is relaxed, the slight flutter of a muscle in his jaw shows me he’s not as calm as he’d like me to believe.
“I’ll pretend to be your fiancé,” he says with easy nonchalance.
“What?” I suck in air, intent on laughing, but I choke and end up coughing. The glimmer of playfulness is gone, and his deadpan stare makes me roll my lips between my teeth to stop the awkward smile. “I don’t understand.”
His disappointed sigh has a sobering effect. The people pleaser in me—normally not present when Graham’s around—rears her ugly head.
“Sorry,” I reply, miming zipping my lips. “Go on.”
“I’ll pretend to be your fiancé for your sister’s wedding.”
“Why would you do that?”
He shrugs. “Your family is Texas royalty.”
A knot lodges in my throat. If he considers my family Texas royalty, then he obviously knows I’m the black-sheep, the different one, so what could he possibly gain from this?
“An exaggeration but go on.”
“I want to network.” His reply is simple, but the ripple effect it causes behind my sternum sends tremors down to my hands.
Connor always pushed for me to bring him to events so he could network, and finding out the only reason he was with me was because of that still sends a pang through to my core.
When I don’t speak, Graham adds, “Anyone who knows your family knows their wineries are the go-to place for galas and celebrity events. Fredericksburg is small enough that everyone knows everyone, and I want to make connections in the agricultural field. Thompson needs to show everyone that we’re still the number one investment firm and that Weston’s ways are done. ”
“But how does that help if we don’t actually get married?” I ask.
“People have long engagements all the time that don’t work out,” he says. “We pretend to be a happy couple while we’re there, and you can tell your family we broke up in a few months.”
I hear his words, and while they make sense, it still leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I’ve always made it a point not to use my family to bolster my own career, and I’m not sure I want to start now. Not only that, but can we even pretend to be a happy couple when we bicker so much?
Do I spare myself the embarrassment now in favor of it later?
“I’m not sur—”
“Just think about it.” His smile is timid, hopeful. “If you decide against it, no harm, no foul.”
He gathers the papers on his desk and stacks them neatly on top of one of the color coordinated piles, effectively dismissing me.
I glance at his office as I leave, taking in the shelves lined with finance books, the awards hanging on the wall, the standard beach artwork that makes clients wonder if they can take an extra vacation .
It’s devoid of any personality—much like the man in front of me. Graham is the best at his job, but he’s known to be chilly and curt. I’m not sure my family would even believe we’re together.
“Close the door on your way out,” Graham says.
I stop and turn to give him shit about his lack of manners, but his attention is solely on the papers in front of him. Avery jerks upright when the door opens, wiping a trail of drool from her cheek. She relaxes when she sees it’s only me.
“You scared me.” She splays a hand across her chest. “I thought you were Mr. Miller.”
“Nope.” Feeling on edge after the weird encounter with Graham and his ensuing rudeness, I give her a sly smile and say, “He’s in there tweezing his nose hairs.”
Her sharp gasp makes me laugh the entire way back to my office.
***
Fractions. The bane of most high school students’ existence.
I glide my hand over the materials I laminated for one of the students I tutor, feeling a sense of value in the work I’ve put in to ensure I can make learning fun and easy.
Is it too much? Extra? Probably, but knowing that I’m helping shape the minds of the next stock brokers on Wall Street, as well as the kid that just needs to pass Algebra 1 is worth it.
My stomach grumbles, rivaling the thwack of the prongs when I secure the formula sheet into the binder.
I stretch and groan loudly as I saunter into the kitchen, searching for any leftovers.
A takeout box of drunken noodles from Thai Me Down is my saving grace.
I pop it into the microwave and pick up my phone to scroll social media as I wait for it to heat.
A text box appears at the top of my screen with a message from the family group chat .
Wendy: Can’t wait to see you next week!
Winnie:????Let's Party!
Waverly: Oh wow, you're finally gracing us with your presence? And bringing someone along? Awesome.
A weight clunks in my stomach. I'm not close enough with Waverly to tell whether she's annoyed or excited.
Papa: Graham looks like a great guy. Te amo, mi carina!
Looks like? A weight clunks to my stomach, and I press my hand against the cool island to steady myself as I type back.
Me: Can’t wait to see you next week too! What do you mean ‘looks like’?
The microwave beeps and the scent of garlic and chili peppers infuses the air, but I can’t think past the whooshing in my ears as I wait for his response. Dad wouldn’t—couldn’t—have researched Graham, right? How would he even know what Graham I was talking about?
Three little dots appear, and my heart chugs along with the ellipses, both waiting for the words to appear on the screen.
Papa: Isn’t he the man who took over Thompson after Weston went down? Or…did we get that wrong?
We?!
My phone clatters to the granite island.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity fuck.
Not only did Dad research who my potential fiancé could be, he enlisted help.
I exhale harshly as if I’ve been sucker punched.
I wanted to laugh at Graham’s offer earlier.
It was absurd. Farfetched to think that the guy who makes me want to rip my hair out on a daily basis could pretend to be a loving partner. I shiver at the thought.
Papa: Mija?