Once Tasted: A Silver Creek Novel (23 page)

Only yesterday he’d congratulated himself on his talent at avoiding relationships and emotional entanglements; they were too much heavy baggage for a man who preferred to travel light and fast. So what if Ward and Brian had found something special? His new preoccupation with seeing how often he could get Mia to smile was just about getting her into bed. It didn’t mean he had to go down the road those guys had chosen.

He was safe.

To prove it, he decided he’d go over to Quinn’s. Their dinner must be finished. He’d make sure Mia got home all right. Maybe they’d have sex, maybe they wouldn’t. No biggie.

Okay, that was a lie, he admitted. Sex with Mia was definitely a biggie, and he wanted it again and again, until the explosive heat he felt when he touched her had cooled to a stale fizz.

Tuning back in to the conversation, he realized that Ward and Brian had moved on. The topic was the honeymoon itinerary. Hallefuckinlujah. Honeymoons and sex on the beach were way better than vows of eternal love. He cleared his throat.

“So, Bri,” he said. “I’ll be in touch with the final list of bars. The limo’s set. And we’re good to go on the other.” The “other” being courtside seats to a Knicks–Lakers game. Reid made to rise from the sofa.

“You heading over to Quinn’s? To take Mia home?” Ward asked.

Reid froze. How had Ward guessed? Reid didn’t consider himself predictable. With a careless shrug, he said, “Yeah. The Jay situation still isn’t resolved.”

“It’s time I hit the hay, anyway,” Brian said. “Carrie wants to go running early tomorrow. Take care of yourselves. And, Reid, glad you have some months before
the wedding. That shiner’s scary-looking, dude.” After telling Ward to give Tess a hug, Brian signed off.

Reid had just risen to his feet when Tess walked into the room. “Hi. Have you finished looking at videos of dancing girls jumping out of cakes?”

Ward stood and wrapped his arms about Tess, kissing her as if he hadn’t seen her in days. “Not yet. Want to watch?”

“I’ve got something way better in mind.”

Ward grinned.

Right, Reid thought, rolling his eyes. “ ’Night, you two.”

“Say hi to Mia,” Ward offered distractedly.

“Oh, Mia’s gone home,” Tess said.

“What?”

“Don’t worry,” Tess said to him. “Quinn and Sooner went with her. Quinn convinced Mia that Sooner needed the exercise so she wouldn’t think we’re babysitting her. Oh, and Quinn told me she’s found a couple of dogs that might suit Mia.” She paused and looked up at Ward. “I really like Mia. What would you say to inviting her to the wedding?”

Ward took Tess’s hand and, lifting it, grazed her knuckles with his lips. “I’d say you’re wonderful and that you should invite anyone you want to our wedding.”

“Even that mean old teacher you had in fifth grade?”

“Mrs. Radner? She was about a hundred years old back then, so I think I’m safe from the nightmare of her sour face staring at me from the pew. I’d much rather have Mia. Way prettier.”

“She is. I’d kill for hair like that. But you know what I especially like about her? She seems to be the anti-Quinn. She’s going to come riding with me, and neither of us is even going to
consider
loping.”

Such was his brother’s besottedness that he merely
grinned and murmured something that made Tess laugh and lean into him. Ward’s hands slipped around her waist, pulling her even closer. They’d clearly forgotten his presence. With a shake of his head, Reid walked outside and then up the drive to his empty house.

M
IA FOUGHT THE
queasiness that assailed her at the prospect of meeting Jay. She’d be at The Drop, she reminded herself. Beau and Nell were friends. They and their staff would keep Jay in line. And what could Jay do, anyway? The contract between Thomas and the Knowleses had nothing to do with her. She was the manager of the vineyard and the winemaker, but when all was said and done, she was just an employee.

If he’d met with Don Polk, he knew this and recognized he wasn’t going to be able to change the contract. She’d half-expected to hear his voice on the answering machine, saying he was heading back to L.A. or wherever he was living now. The absence of such a message confused her. What could he possibly want to discuss?

It was eight o’clock—still early at The Drop for many around Acacia who, like Mia, worked out of doors. A quick scan of the place told her that Jay hadn’t arrived yet. No surprise there. He preferred others to wait for—and on—him.

Both Nell and Beau were working tonight. Nell, in the midst of wiping down a table, straightened.

“How are you, Mia? Holding up okay?” Nell, who’d grown up in Oregon before moving to Louisiana, didn’t
have Beau’s thick-as-molasses drawl. She did, however, share her husband’s eagle-eyed watchfulness. In her case, it made it easier to avoid hands unwise enough to attempt a grope and to alert Beau if any customers seated at the tables needed to be cut off and given a bracing cup of coffee and a ride home.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Though I may not be quite so cheerful in a few minutes. I’m meeting my cousin Jay here.”

“Jay Bodell? Thomas’s son? Don’t think I’ve ever seen him.”

“You wouldn’t have. He’d already left Acacia by the time you and Beau opened the bar. But he seemed to know The Drop, so he must have passed it on one of his rare visits to Thomas.”

“Well, it’ll be interesting to meet another member of the family,” Nell said. She gave the table she was cleaning one last swipe. “You’re looking good, Mia. I like that skirt.”

“Thanks.” She’d decided to dress defensively in one of her nicer outfits—a white linen A-line skirt and a slate-blue knit top that she’d worn to her UC Davis graduation. She’d slipped the skirt on and had been pleasantly surprised to find it still fit. Maybe she could face Jay down and win this time.

It was an admittedly shallow thought, because of course she didn’t equate her self-worth with her waist size, but there was no arguing that her self-confidence had spiked when she looked in the mirror.

Then the door to the bar opened. Jay walked in and Mia’s stomach knotted unpleasantly. So much for self-confidence.

Nell must have been looking at her and caught her reaction. “I don’t need to ask who that is,” she said, and then glanced over to the entrance. “Funny, he doesn’t look like Thomas.”

“No, he doesn’t.”

Jay spotted Mia then, and the smirk she knew so well twisted his mouth.

“I guess you two will need a table,” Nell said.

“Yes,” Mia replied, with all the enthusiasm of someone about to sit across a very small table from a close relative who’d never made it a secret he despised her. “We’ll take that one over there,” she said, pointing to one close to the scraped plaster wall.

“Sure thing. I’ll be by to take your orders in a few.”

Mia had expected the meeting with Jay to be short and extremely unpleasant, something along the lines of him snarling and cursing and then storming out of the bar. Why it wasn’t—not that any encounter with her cousin could ever truly be described as pleasant—remained a mystery. She’d read the contract that Thomas and Daniel and Adele Knowles had negotiated. While she wasn’t a lawyer, it looked straightforward and, more important, airtight to her. The Knowleses had invested too large a sum for them to tolerate anything else. Moreover, Thomas’s instructions for dividing the money they’d received were equally clear.

Thomas’s accountant and lawyer, Don Polk, was a straitlaced guy. He’d always shaken his head when he came over to the winery and Thomas shamefacedly explained that Jay required yet another cash infusion. Mia could well imagine the man’s quiet satisfaction at informing Jay that his favorite pipeline was closed out.

She was aware her thoughts were mean. Petty, even. But experience had left marks, and the ones involving Jay had been laced with acid, not only deep but corrosive.

It made her leery of his outward calm when he’d greeted her and followed her to the table she’d chosen. If she hadn’t known him better, she’d have thought he
might actually be looking forward to a pleasant chitchat and that he wasn’t seething with resentment at having his plans for a quick refill thwarted.

He didn’t even give Nell his usual slime-bag leer when she appeared to take their orders.

“Nell, this is Thomas’s son, Jay. Jay, this is Nell Duchamp. She and her husband, Beau, own The Drop,” she said, in case he hadn’t noticed that Nell had a huge “I’m taken” ring on her left hand and that Beau was watching them openly from behind the bar. Beau was not a man you wanted to come after you.

“Nice place you’ve got here, Nell.” Jay leaned back in his chair as he let his gaze sweep over the interior. “I have some business interests in a few joints in L.A. If you’re ever interested in selling, I could talk to my partners.”

“That’s mighty kind of you, but Beau and I are real happy here.” Nell’s easy tone didn’t fool Mia. She was as possessive of her bar as Mia was of the vineyard. “What can I get you two?”

“A double whiskey and soda,” Jay said immediately, without waiting for her.

“I’ll have a glass of our Pinot, please.”

“Coming right up.”

Jay was content to wait to speak until Nell returned with their drinks. Perhaps he guessed that simply sitting opposite him would exact a toll on Mia’s nerves.

He wrapped a meaty hand around his drink, his rings clinking against the glass. “Cheers, Mia.” He took a long sip and then relaxed against the back of his chair, as if he wanted nothing more than to spend the next several hours enjoying her company.

There was no way she could continue with this fake-as-Cheez-Whiz situation. “I assume Don Polk answered all your questions satisfactorily,” she said.

“ ‘Satisfactorily’?” He bared his capped teeth in a
smile. “Not by a long shot. I’m disappointed that Thomas didn’t bother to consult me about whether the amount of money he allotted to me would be sufficient.”

“And how much would have been appropriate?”

He shrugged and reached again for his drink. “I have a lot of deals in the works right now. One in particular requires a significant outlay of cash.”

That was pretty much Jay’s standard line. What he never mentioned was why none of his deals ever seemed to pan out, let alone make him money. Or maybe they did, and he turned around and blew every last cent.

“Still,” he continued, as he put the glass down with a soft
thunk
, “it’s useful to know exactly what the terms of the partnership are between the Knowleses and Thomas. They must have high hopes for the wine to have invested so much money.”

“Our Pinot has always been delicious. As the vines mature, it’s getting better and better.”

“Ever the cheerleader. So how are the grapes looking this year?”

“The conditions have been good so far. The
véraison
has begun.”

“And the wine aging in the barrels?” he asked.

Jay might be drinking whiskey and soda and living in L.A., but he’d grown up on the vineyard. He knew his way around a winery. Mia doubted his questions were moved by sentiment.

“Thomas was pleased with last year’s harvest.”

“So the Knowleses are onto something, huh? I bet they’re thinking that if they can raise the vineyard’s profile, it’ll bring in easy dough.” He smiled. Jay was smiling way too much for her comfort. “Listen, speaking of money, I need more than Thomas has deigned to give me. I’d speak to him myself, but I can’t reach him on his cell and I don’t even know if he understands how to work a computer.”

She decided not to clue him in on Thomas and Pascale’s romantic midnight Skype sessions. “He’s due to return to Pascale’s place soon,” she replied. “You’ll be able to reach him then.”

“I have to let my associates know the money’s a sure thing.” There was an edge to his voice. “They might get impatient otherwise.”

“What about the sum you just received?” she asked, keeping her voice even.

“I had expenses to cover.” He leaned forward across the table, invading her space. “I live in L.A., not Hicksville.”

“You mean it’s gone?”

He shrugged. “Yeah, pretty much.”

She tried not to show her shock. “How about getting a short-term bank loan? You’d be able to pay it off at the next fiscal quarter.”

A muscle twitched in his cheek. “This isn’t some pissant deal I’ve got in the works. I don’t have time to draw up a business plan for a bank and then sit around waiting with my thumb up my ass while some dickhead loan manager decides to approve it. I’ve got to have the money soon or renege on the deal. My associates are not people you want to disappoint.”

It was useless to ask why he’d entered into a business deal if he didn’t have enough money. Jay’s opinion of his canny intelligence when it came to his various ventures was unshakable. “Well, I don’t know what else to suggest. I’m sorry.”

His sigh was loud. “Yeah, me, too. It’s a sweetheart of a deal. It could change things around for me, know what I mean?”

Right. She made a noise that Jay for some reason interpreted as sympathetic.

He took another sip of his drink. “Damn, I wish Dad had done the smart thing.”

“The smart thing?” she echoed.

“Yeah.” He nodded. “That he’d sold the vineyard.”