16. Graham
Chapter sixteen
Graham
R osay is a goddess.
I stare at the picture she sent for entirely too long, pulled in by her alluring eyes and the playful smile she wears.
Loose tendrils of blonde hair frame her face, highlighting the delicate slope of her nose and the long expanse of her neck, and my knees weaken as I imagine placing kisses at the base of her chin all the way down to her collarbone.
“You’re up, Graham,” Reign says, pulling up to the tee with Jordan and Mr. Monroe, one of Reign’s friends, in his golf cart.
I slide my phone into my pocket and grab my driver.
Kieran is off in the distance trying to chip his way out of a sand dune, and I delight when sand sprays into the air but no ball comes along with it.
His frustrated yell is music to my ears.
I sink my tee into the ground and grip the club to do a practice swing.
After a few moments, I position myself in front of the tee.
The thwack of the head against the ball draws everyone’s attention, watching as it flies into the air in an arch.
I hold my breath, silently praying it lands exactly where I want it to on the green.
“Nice hit, son,” Reign says, clapping me on the shoulder as Jordan tees up. He cracks the ball with all his might, launching it down the hill and onto the green. “Enjoying yourself so far?”
“Of course. It’s nice to actually play rather than doing business.”
Reign nods and stares off into the distance, and I wait for him to say what’s on his mind.
I’m under no assumption that I wasn’t invited out to this shin dig to be tested.
His wine test was an easy one, but there’s no telling what’s going through his mind now that we’re not in front of his daughter.
“You know, I never thought Rosay would bring another person home after what happened with Connor.” He adjusts the glove on his hand. “Let alone that she’d pop up engaged.”
I try to listen to the rest of what he’s saying, but my brain stalls when he mentions Connor.
Rosay hasn’t talked about any exes—a fact I’m happy about because at this point, thinking about her being with anyone else gives me indigestion—but I guess there wasn’t any reason to.
She wasn’t the one whose name was splashed across the tabloids because of their ex.
“He stole her light, and I feel at fault for that. For not paying enough attention.”
The pain in his voice renders me speechless for a moment. I don’t know who Connor is or what he specifically did to Rosay, but just knowing he hurt her in some way makes my stomach curl in disdain.
“You couldn’t know what would happen,” I say, trying to placate him without diving for more background. If it’s something Rosay wants me to know, then she’ll tell me.
“You seem like you’ve got a good head on your shoulders.”
“Dad raised me to take care of the people around me.”
“Rosay doesn’t need someone to take care of her.” Don’t I know it. “She needs a partner.”
“She’s a strong woman,” I say, squeezing my hand at my side. “I knew the moment I met her that she was going to throw my life into a tailspin.” And she did. Every day with this woman is something different, a new challenge to tackle, or something to fix that she’s broken.
“I worry about her a lot.” He sighs, staring off into the distance before facing me with a rueful smile.
“I know I shouldn’t, but she’ll always be my baby.
And all I’ve wanted was for her to find someone who would love and cherish her like I did her mother.
I’ve seen the way you look at her, how you light up when she walks into a room, how you handle her fire—her mother was fiery too, never one to let me get away with anything—and how you make sure she’s comfortable when no one is looking. It’s the same way she looks at you.”
His words hit me right in the solar plexus, and I fight the urge to rub my chest. He’s saying these things he’s noticing about us, but it’s all a facade.
At least, for her it is. I can’t deny how I'm feeling, but it doesn’t matter either way.
This is just a crush; it’ll blow over eventually.
I can’t get distracted when I have my dad to take care of and a reputation to salvage.
I inhale a deep breath, swallowing past a dry throat. “She commands every room she walks into.”
He chuckles. “You’re damn right she does.”
Mr. Monroe curses as his ball flies off to the side, landing close to Kieran’s yet teetering on the edge of the sand dune.
He props his club on his shoulder and walks toward us with a frown on his face.
“Damn sprinklers turned on and I caught the side of it as I came down through my swing.” He chucks the club into his bag. “What are we crowing about over here?”
“Rosay,” Reign says.
“Ah, my protégée,” Monroe says. “How is she doing at Thompson?”
“Protégée?” I ask, walking down the fairway toward the hole. To my knowledge, Rosay has only worked for Thompson. There was no mention of any other employment in her file, so Monroe must’ve worked for the investment group.
“I took her under my wing when she came back from Spain. Taught her everything I know about investing and managing portfolios while she was in c ollege. She interned with me for a few years after she got in trouble.”
Reign stiffens beside me but stays quiet.
“She’s the best VP I have,” I say with pride, though my mind snags on the trouble part. What trouble did she get into?
“She’s not a senior VP yet?” He hums with disapproval. “That’s…disappointing. Guess Weston’s fall from glory didn’t help.”
“It’s not for lack of trying,” I say. “Getting the woman to sit down for more than five minutes is a harder task than herding sheep.”
“You got that right,” Reign says, approaching his ball on the fairway. “Getting her to sit down and eat dinner required heavy chains, unless it was her mom’s enchiladas.”
Kieran’s voice rises, and our heads snap to his as he yells into his phone. “I don’t care if she doesn’t want to sell. She’s too far in the red and needs to put her pride aside before she takes the whole place down with her.”
“Ooh, Kieran’s talking about his girlfriend.” Jordan throws his glove at the side of Kieran’s head. “No taking phone calls on the green.”
“I’m already losing,” Kieran says, swatting at him. “And she’s not my girlfriend. She’s a pain in the ass.”
I stifle my laugh behind my hand. The camaraderie between this group of men is something I never expected.
They’re all easy to talk to, give each other shit, and have real conversations, like my friends back home.
Bethany’s family was rigid, the type to only speak to one another over a formal dinner and definitely not around people outside of the family.
It’s a breath of fresh air to see the realness.
We finish out the last three holes and stop at a local bar for a drink before heading back to the house.
I listen as Jordan talks about a difficult surgery he assisted in and then as Kieran fumes about the rival winery owner who is refusing to sell.
There’s an easy banter between the two, and they dra w me into it, asking about my background and how things are going with Thompson.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask why they aren’t investing with us, but something holds me back.
Maybe it’s not the right time, or maybe it’s because I don’t want them to think I’m only with Rosay because of what she can do for me.
Newsflash, dipshit. That’s the exact reason you entered into this deal.
My heart squeezes painfully, refuting my brain telling me there’s another reason I decided to help Rosay, and it has nothing to do with how it could benefit my job.
I shift uncomfortably in the back seat on the way home, anxious to see her. Being separated wasn’t something we planned for, and though it’s much easier to keep the lines of what this is separated when we’re not together, she still consumes my every thought.
Kieran stops outside the rental and looks at me in the rearview mirror. “Paintball tomorrow. Payback time.”
I chuckle and exit the car, saying goodnight to Reign and Jordan. They drive up the hill, and I take a moment to relax and call my dad. It rings twice before he picks up.
“Gra—” He enters a coughing fit, and I clench my hands at my side, waiting with tense shoulders for it to abate. “Son,” he says. “Everything okay?”
A tightness creeps into my throat, but I clear it away and say, “Yeah, everything’s fine. Just wanted to check in on you, pops.”
“I’m fine.” He groans, and I can picture him getting up from the recliner he usually falls asleep in. “Just watching Jeopardy and eating one of those veggie meals you brought over.”
I can tell by the disdain in his voice that he’s super happy I spent my entire Sunday afternoon prepping healthy, organic meals for him to consume instead of the fast food that probably got him in this situation.
“Leafy greens have a ton of vitamins your body needs.”
He sighs. “I know, I know. But if I’m dying anyway, a cheeseburger isn’t going to kill me faster.”
I kick gravel around, fighting the tightness wrapping around my throat. “You don’t know that. And you aren’t dying. You’re a healthy person fighting cancer, remember?”
“Yeah. A healthy person fighting sickness,” he grumbles, repeating the phrase only for my benefit.
“Did you send the maid out to get the mail this morning?”
“Sure did,” he replies. “Nothing but a bunch of those car warranty papers and a Valuepak.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. Imelda has been great about separating the bills, so my dad doesn’t get stressed out about the payments for his treatment. I know lying to him about how it’s getting paid isn’t the right thing to do, but sometimes a little white lie is needed.
A light flicks on inside the rental, and even though I want to ask him how his recent bloodwork levels were, I’m pulled toward her. “I’ll be away for a few days, but if you need anything, don’t hesitate to call me, okay?”