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Long Chapter...
SAM
"Pump can't be fixed, sir, gonna have to be replaced."
I swore under my breath and placed my wrench back in my toolbox, standing up straight. Carlos was right. I used my arm to wipe the sweat on my forehead and nodded, leaning against the useless piece of equipment, just another thing that needed to be fixed or replaced.
Carlos gave me a sympathetic look...
"I got the de-stemmer working, though. Good as new, I think."
"Well, that's some good news," I answered, picking up the toolbox I'd brought with me. One piece of good news to add to the long list of bad. Still, I'd take what I could get right now. "Thanks, Carlos. I'm gonna go clean up."
He nodded.
"Any news from the bank, sir?"
I stopped, but didn't turn around.
"They said no to a loan."
When Carlos didn't respond, I kept walking. I could practically feel his disappointed gaze burning into my back.
I had vowed to keep my family winery running, and nothing on earth was more important to me.
But Carlos had a family to feed, the newest member only weeks old. If I failed, I wouldn't be the only one out of a job.
If you were worth more...
I clenched my jaw against the way those words had stabbed, implying more to me than just my financial value. Reminding me I'd never been worth much.
If you were worth more...
If indeed.
With that mighty IF and four quarters I could buy myself something off the dollar menu at McDonald's.
I'd gone over the what ifs of my life more times than I could count... It was a painful, useless waste of time.
And I hardly needed another reason to despise myself.
I shut those thoughts down, though. I was slipping dangerously close to self-pity, and I knew from personal experience, that was a deep hole to climb out of once you'd let yourself descend.
Instead, I made a concerted effort to wrap myself in the coldness that kept the desperation at bay. And that allowed me to continue to do the work that needed to get done.
In the end, I reminded myself, my father had found me worthy. And I'd made a vow not to let him down. Not this time.
The late afternoon sun was high in the sky when I stepped outside, the smell of the roses my stepmother had planted so long ago filling the air and the lazy drone of a buzzing bee somewhere nearby.
I stopped to survey the rows and rows of grapes ripening on their vines, pride swelling in my chest...
It was going to be a good harvest. I felt it in my bones.
It had to be a good harvest...
And that was going to keep me going today, despite the fact that I'd have no way to use the fruit if my equipment wasn't ready by fall.
I'd sold almost everything of any value in my family home to raise the money to plant those grapes...
A few minutes later I was stepping inside the house, a grand stone estate built by my father, designed with plenty of vintage and old-world character.
It had been a showplace in its day, but it needed as many fixes as the winemaking equipment... Fixes I had no way to finance.
"The pump is unfixable, I gather..."
I gritted my teeth as Harold, the family butler, turned jack-of-all-trades around the place, greeted me.
"So it seems."
"I've made a spreadsheet of all the equipment needing to be fixed, what requires replacement and color-coded it according to priority."
Great. Just what I needed...a visual aid of the hopelessness of my situation.
I paused in my rifling through the mail on the foyer console.
"You're my secretary now, too, Harold?"
"Someone needs to be. Running this place is too big a job for one person, sir."
"Let me ask you this, Harold."
"Yes, sir."
"Did you come up with a list of ways I might pay for those color-coded items that need to be fixed or replaced?"
He shook his head...
"No, sir, I don't have any ideas that you haven't already thought of. But I hope the list in and of itself is helpful."
"Not in the least, Harold," I said as I headed for the main staircase. "And I've told you a million times to dispense with sir. You've known me since I was a baby."
Not to mention, that I hardly deserved the respectful title. Harold was worth three of me, and he surely knew it.
Nevertheless, I also knew he would never let go of the professionalism. Harold Bromley was from England and had been with our family for more than thirty years.
He cleared his throat...
"And there's someone waiting to see you, sir."
I turned...
"Who is it?"
"Someone," he cleared his throat again. "Looking for a job, sir."
I rolled my eyes to the ceiling... Jesus.
"Fine, let me get rid of him. What kind of idiot is trying to get a job here anyway?"
Harold swept his hand towards the kitchen where I heard his wife, my housekeeper, Alice, laughing with someone...
When I entered the kitchen, I saw a man sitting at the large, wooden table, a plate of cookies in front of him. When he saw me, he stood quickly, knocking the plate to the floor where it crashed onto the tile and splintered into a million pieces.
"Oh dear!" Alice exclaimed and rushed from where she was pouring a glass of milk at the counter. "Don't worry about that, Willie. You just talk to Mr. Evans and I'll clean that up."
The man before me was large...at least six six...wearing khakis, a red and blue striped shirt and a Giants' baseball cap on his head. His round face was full of fear as he glanced between the shattered dish and me.
I walked towards him and held my hand out...
"Sam Evans."
His eyes darted to my hand. Then he reached out hesitantly and shook it.
And when his glance finally met mine, I could see in his guileless eyes he was mentally slow.
Good God.
"My name is Willie Potter, sir, Evans, Sam, sir." He let go of my hand looked down shyly, glanced over at Alice sweeping up the plate and cookies, winced slightly, and then looked back at me. "Like the wizard, sir, only I don't got a scar on my forehead. I do got a scar on my backside, though, where I got too close to our electric heater once when I was..."
"What can I do for you, Mr. Potter?"
"Oh, you don't got to call me mister, sir. Just Willie."
"Okay, Willie."
Alice gave me a sharp look from where she was kneeling on the floor. And I looked back to Willie, ignoring her.
Willie hesitated, shifting from one foot to the other, glancing again at Alice, who looked up at him, smiled, and nodded.
He took the baseball cap off his head quickly as if he'd suddenly remembered he was wearing it, and held it clutched in his big hands.
"I was hoping, sir...that is...I need a job, sir...and I thought I might do something for you. I heard some people talking in town and saying you was going to have a heap of trouble keeping this winery running, and I thought I could help. And I would come for cheap, seeing as I'm not as smart as some other people. But I'm a real hard worker. My mama told me so. And I could work for you."
I sighed...
This was just what I needed. I was barely scraping by with the staff I had now...far fewer than needed, but all I could afford...and the only ones who'd stayed.
I could hardly take on one more, much less one I'd have to supervise around the clock, no doubt.
"Willie," I started to let him down, but he interrupted me.
"See, sir, my mama, she can't clean houses no more on account of that her back is so bad. And if I don't work, we won't have enough money to get by. And I know I can do a good job. If someone would just give me a chance."
Good Lord...
When Alice caught my eye as she stood to empty the dustpan, I gave her my most icy glare. She was behind this. What was she thinking?
When this place failed, both she and Harold would be out of jobs.
I closed my eyes for a second and then opened them.
"Willie, I'm sorry, but I..."
"I know you probably think I'm not worth much, just looking at me, but I am. I know I am, sir. I could work for you."
His large, child-like eyes were filled with hope.
If you were worth more...
The broken pieces of the plate clattered into the garbage can loudly and I glanced again at Alice, who still had her eyes trained on me despite her busy hands.
I pressed my lips together...
If you were worth more...
"Fine, Willie. You're hired," I said, keeping my glare trained on Alice, whose lips curved ever so slightly in a tiny smile.
When I finally looked back to Willie, his eyes were wide with joy.
I raised my hand as if I could hold back the intensity of his happiness with my gesture.
"But I can't pay you much, and we're going to do this on a trial basis, okay? Sometimes we work past dark and I didn't notice a car outside. However, I have a set of bunks down at the winemaking facility. And you can stay there if you ever need to. One month and we'll see how you do."
If this vineyard is even still running in a month...
Willie nodded exuberantly, wringing the poor cap in his hands so much it would probably be unwearable now.
"You won't regret this, sir. I won't let you down. I'm a hard worker."
"Okay, good, Willie. Come back tomorrow morning to fill out the paperwork and bring your ID. Nine a.m., okay?"
He still hadn't stopped nodding...
"I'll be here, sir, even earlier. I'll be here at seven."
"Nine is fine, Willie and you can call me Sam."
"Yes, sir, Sam, sir. Nine a.m. Okay."
With that, Willie turned his large, clumsy body, grinned and waved at Alice, then darted out of the kitchen, presumably before I could change my mind.
And I stood, silently watching out the window as he left the house and started a lumbering run up my driveway towards the decorative steel gates at the beginning of the property.
I swore under my breath for the hundredth time that day and gave Alice another icy glare.
"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were trying to sabotage me from the inside out."
"Ah, but you do know better, my boy. I only ever root for your success."
Of course I knew that. I snorted anyway, for effect.
She grinned at me and started humming at the sink.
So I turned without another word and headed for the shower.
I didn't do it often, but tonight, I was going to drink myself into a stupor.
Morning sunshine streamed through the windows, bathing the foyer in golden light as I descended the stairs, way too early, seeing as I'd only returned home a couple hours before.
I flinched, shielding my eyes against the too-bright glare...
My head was pounding. No less than I deserved. But the alcohol had drowned out my problems for a night and so it'd been worth it.
I'd been working from sunup until sundown most days, and it still wasn't enough. And after yesterday at the bank... Well, I'd deserved a night of drunken oblivion.
A man could only take so much.
"Sam, dear, there's someone here to see you. Good morning." Alice smiled at me as I reached the bottom of the stairs. "Oh," she frowned. "You look just like something the cat dragged in."
I ignored her last remark.
"Who is it now?" First thing in the morning? What exactly couldn't wait until a decent hour? It was barely past sunrise. And I felt like hell. "I suppose it's someone else wanting a job? Someone with no limbs perhaps?"
Alice only smiled.
"I don't think she wants a job, but I didn't ask what her business was about. And she has all the appropriate limbs. She's waiting in your office."
"She?"
"Yes, a young woman. She said her name is Mercedes. Very pretty."
Alice winked.
Okay, well, maybe this wasn't the worst way to start the day. Unless it was someone I'd slept with... and likely wouldn't remember.
I downed a couple of Tylenol, grabbed a cup of coffee from the kitchen and walked to the large office at the front of the house that had once belonged to my father.
A young woman in a reddish-colored dress, in some sort of silky material and belted at the waist, stood with her back to me, perusing the large bookshelf against the wall opposite the doorway.
My eyes went straight to her ass perfectly outlined in that dress.
What an ass...
I bit my lip and cleared my throat... She whirled around, the book in her hands falling to the floor as she brought her hands to her chest.
Her ample chest...
Her eyes widened and then she stooped to pick up the book, laughing tightly.
"Sorry, you startled me." She stood, suddenly moving towards me. "Sorry, um, sorry. Sam Evans, right?"
She placed the book on the edge of my desk and held her hand out.
She was barely average height, full figured, with hair a deep, dark color pulled back severely into some sort of knot at the nape of her neck.
Not my type, but Alice was right, she was pretty.
I tended to lean towards tall elegant blondes. One tall elegant blonde in particular, actually. But I shut that painful thought down immediately. No use going there.
It was only when the girl named Mercedes got close that I really noticed her eyes... large and framed with thick lashes, and brows the same rich shade as her hair arching delicately above them.
But it was the color of her eyes that stunned me... They were the prettiest brown I'd ever seen. They were luminous, like twin brown gemstones. And I got the sudden feeling those eyes saw things other eyes didn't.
They were bewitching... Magnetic. And I felt like I couldn't take a deep breath.
I stepped back slightly and narrowed my gaze, but took her hand in mine. It was warm and small in my own.
The warmth seemed to travel up my arm and down my spine. I frowned and removed my hand from hers.
"And you are?" I hadn't intended on the hostility in my tone.
"Mercedes," she said simply, as if that explained anything at all. Okay. She closed those stunning eyes of hers, and I felt a momentary twinge of disappointment. Then she shook her head slightly, before she looked back at me. "I'm sorry, do you mind if we sit down?"
I inclined my head towards the chair in front of the large mahogany desk. Then I set my coffee cup down and moved to sit in the leather chair behind the desk.
"Would you like a cup of coffee?" I asked. "I could call Alice."
What did this girl want? She didn't look familiar.
"No, thank you," she shook her head. "She already offered."
A lock slipped out of her pulled-back hair and she made a small, annoyed frown as she attempted to smooth it back again.
I waited...
My head pounded and I massaged my temple absently. Her gaze followed my hand, and I wanted to squint against it...
Finally, she took a deep breath, straightening her spine and crossing her legs as she did so.
As her chair was positioned away from my desk, my eyes could easily wander down her shapely calves, to her ankles that ended in a pair of gold heeled sandals.
The purse, which had been on her shoulder and now rested in her lap, had beads on it in the same shade as her shoes.
I didn't know fashion, but I knew expensive when I saw it. My coldhearted stepmother had been the epitome of coiffed decadence.
"I don't mean to rush you, but I have a lot to get done today," I said.
Her eyes widened...
"Right. Of course. I'm sorry to hesitate. Well, I guess I'll just get right to it. I have a business arrangement to offer you."
I lifted one brow...
"A business arrangement?"
She nodded, twisted the long gold necklace she was wearing.
"Yes, well, in actuality, Mr. Evans, I'm here to propose marriage..."
Despite being stunned, I laughed, almost spewing the sip of coffee I'd just taken all over my desk.
"Excuse me?"
Those magnificent eyes lit with something I couldn't define.
"If you'll just hear me out, I think perhaps this is something that could benefit both of us."
"And how exactly do you know anything about what might benefit me, Ms...what is your last name? You didn't say."
She raised her little chin.
"Jones. My last name is Jones." She eyed me with some sort of expectation.
"Jones?" I paused, frowning. I knew that name. "As in the ex-mayor of San Francisco Jones?"
"Yes."
She raised her chin higher.
Ah, haughty, that's what that gesture was. She was political royalty. An heiress. I didn't know a whole lot about Darius Jones, except that he'd been the mayor for two terms and was extraordinarily wealthy...a result of not only his political career, but I thought real estate dealings or something along those lines.
He was consistently on the list of the country's wealthiest men. So why in the hell was his daughter here?
"So I guess a better question, Ms. Jones... is how on God's green earth would a marriage to me benefit you?"
This ought to be good. I reclined back in my chair and waited...
Mercedes sighed, looking only slightly less haughty.
"I'm in a bit of a situation, Mr. Evans. My father and I are..." she chewed on her lip for a second, seeming to be searching for the right word. "...estranged. To put it bluntly, and I need money to live and to survive."
I studied her for a second and then chuckled softly.
"I can assure you, Ms. Jones, marriage to me would not benefit your financial portfolio. Very much the opposite actually. Someone has misinformed you."
She shook her head, leaning forward.
"Which leads me to the part that would benefit both of us."
"By all means, please educate me," I said, not trying to hide the boredom in my voice. I massaged my temple again. I hardly had time for this.
She nodded...
"Well, it's come to my attention that your vineyard is, uh, well, it's failing to be honest. You need cash."
Anger swept through me at the way this little rich girl summed up my situation. I jerked my hand from my temple and gave her my chilliest look.
"And you know this...how?"
She raised her chin again.
"I researched you."
"Ah."
"And, well, I was at the bank yesterday. I accidentally overheard part of your meeting. You were turned down for a loan."
I froze even as a sheepish look bloomed on her face. Well, at least she had the grace to be embarrassed.
Accidentally overheard, my ass. But then that little chin went up again...
Anger...and a small measure of shame about what she'd heard speared down my spine, causing me to sit up straight.
"You rudely eavesdropped on my appointment at the bank, googled me and now you think you understand my situation?"
What the fuck?
Her expression gentled and her tongue darted out to moisten her bottom lip. And just like that my body reacted lustily to that small movement.
I tamped it down violently. I was not attracted to the arrogant little princess sitting in front of me. Plus, I'd had a woman last night as a matter of fact...a blonde named Jodi who smelled like watermelon...or had it been pineapple?
She'd been highly energetic. And yet, even so, the whole escapade had left me vaguely dissatisfied and reeking of fruit salad.
I focused my attention back to the dark haired woman sitting in front of me.
As if her hair was responding to my thoughts, another lock slipped out of her up-do and she tucked it behind her ear.
"I'm sure I don't know all the particulars of your situation. But I know that you need cash and you have few options left, especially considering your...record. I need cash as well. I'm desperate, too, actually."
I let out a sigh...
"I'm sure if you went to Daddy, all this could be resolved. Things are rarely as desperate as they seem."
Except in my situation, they actually were.
Her eyes spat fire at me, but her expression remained neutral.
"No," she said. "Things will not be resolved with my daddy. We had a falling out over a year ago."
"Uh huh. And how have you been getting by since then?"
She paused as if she was considering her answer.
"I've been overseas."
Shopping, most likely. Or partying.
I ran my eyes down her legs again...
Entitled and hot, now her personal funds had run out and Daddy wasn't going to supply her with more. How tragic.
"Do you have something against getting a job? Do you have an education?"
"My college career was...cut short. And no, of course I'm not against getting a job if need be. But," she sat up even straighter. "Suffice it to say, I came here today believing this was the better course of action for all involved."
My head throbbed again. What did I care about her financial situation anyway?
"Okay, can we cut to the chase here? Like you so succinctly pointed out, my vineyard is failing. I've got a lot of work to do today."
"Right. Well, yes. Mr. Evans, you see, my grandmother, my father's mother, lived modestly, but thanks to some fortuitous investments my grandfather made, she died with quite a bit of money. She left it to her two grandchildren, me being one, the other a cousin I don't know well. However, she stipulated in the trust that we only get the money either when we turn thirty, or get married, whichever comes first."
I sat back again, steepling my fingers.
"And so," she went on quickly. "What I propose is this... We marry, split the money and in a year's time, file for divorce."
I raised an eyebrow...
"Split the money? How much money are we talking exactly?"
"Seven hundred thousand dollars."
My heart started beating faster... Three hundred fifty thousand dollars! It was even more than the loan I'd hoped the bank would approve.
It would be more than enough to make all the equipment and house repairs...
Enough to bottle the wine sitting in barrels right now...
Enough to add at least a couple employees, too. And if the newest harvest was as good as I predicted...this winery would be successful again in less than a year.
I could fulfill the vow I'd made in my father's name.
I remained silent, not only going over what she'd just said, but also to make her squirm. She didn't. So finally, I said,
"Interesting. There's no clause about how long we'd have to remain married?"
Mercedes released a breath and shook her head, no doubt assuming my question meant I was actually considering this insane idea.
Was I?
Was this even legit?
Surely there was some catch. It was too preposterous to be true.
My head was reeling just a bit and not only from the hangover anymore.
"No, but my father would be displeased if he knew I had married to get the money my grandmother left only to split it with you...that is, with anyone." Something raced across her expression, but I couldn't read it. "If he had any indication this was a fake marriage, he might very well try to contest the payout of the trust. So it would be in both our best interests to make the marriage look as legitimate as possible. However, like I said, my father and I are estranged. So I imagine our effort would only need to be minimal, but convincing."
I raised my eyebrows, allowing myself another moment to go over what Mercedes had just said. It was outrageous and totally unbelievable.
"Wait, you're not.." I leaned forward. "...one of those crazy women who used to write to me in prison offering marriage, are you?"
Her eyes went wide.
"What?"
I reclined back again...
"Yeah, there were lots of them. Apparently some women find a sick thrill in that sort of thing."
"For what...why?" She shook her head slightly as if she wasn't sure how the conversation had veered off track. And her confusion seemed genuine.
I smirked...
"From what I know, women like a bad boy."
She looked at me blankly for a moment.
"I can assure you, I'm not one of those women."
I nodded slowly, regarding her.
"Well good, because I can assure you, that you're not my type anyway."
She bristled, sitting up straighter...
"Even better then. What I'm proposing is strictly business, nothing more." She looked away, and I couldn't see those witchy eyes, but when she looked back her cheeks looked flushed. "However, it would look suspicious if I didn't live here, and frankly, Mr. Evans, I need somewhere to live. And so, I was thinking, that in exchange for the housing, I could do accounting work for you. I assume you no longer have much of a staff."
I leaned back again...
"I'm impressed by your research, Ms. Jones. And no, I had to let my bookkeeper go. And my secretary. And most of the rest of the staff as well."
Not that any of them had lived on the grounds.
She nodded...
"I'm good with numbers. I worked as an intern for my father's accounting team. I'm well acquainted with accounting programs. I could work for you in exchange for room and board, and obviously for appearance's sake. I don't propose I'd have to live here for a year...maybe just a couple months or so, or until I know my father has accepted the marriage and resume ignoring me. I could discreetly move away and we would never have to see one another again...except of course, in divorce court. It really would be very straightforward. And very temporary. And of course, we'd put it all in writing. And please, just Mercedes."
I studied her for several long moments, noting the way she'd just rambled. She looked to be very polished and sure of herself, but was she actually nervous sitting here in front of me?
I held eye contact for just a beat too long, but she didn't look away and didn't flinch.
"And what will you do with your half of the money, Mercedes? If I may be so bold as to ask."
She cleared her throat...
"Well, other than live, I'm involved in several charities in San Francisco. One of which is a center that's in dire straits and will have to close if they can't come up with the funding."
I smiled a tight smile... Just like my stepmother... An heiress with an empty life. I could just see her pulling up in her Bentley to save the lowly peasants from starvation so she could refer to herself as a philanthropist, before dashing off to the Louis Vuitton store to add to her luggage collection.
"I see." What did it matter to me what she did with her money? And what her purpose was. I needed only to be concerned with my own situation. "It's a highly unusual proposition. I'll think about it and get back to you."
I started to stand...
"Well see, I kind of need your answer quickly."
Her voice came out fast and breathy. And my body, or at least the parts between my legs, twitched again.
Dammit! Something about my body's reaction to her made me angry. Although the parts reacting had never been very discerning.
I sat back down...
"I wish I could give you more time to consider, Mr. Evans, but unfortunately, circumstances dictate that I..."
I put my hand up to stop her.
"I'll get back to you by the end of today. How can I get a hold of you?"
She paused...
"I'm staying at the Motel 6 tonight. I can give you my cell number, that way you can call me."
Motel 6?
My, how far the princess has fallen.
Yes, her situation was quite desperate.
I watched as she grabbed a sticky pad and a pen at the edge of my desk and carefully wrote out her phone number.
I took it and tossed it casually onto the pile of messy papers.
She looked at where I'd thrown it and then back to me, her lips pressed together.
"I can assure you my proposition is legitimate."
"It very well could be. Of course, I'd want to meet with the executor of this trust anyway. But it's still something I need to consider. I do have to think about other ways this might affect my life. A felon is one thing, but a felon and a divorcé? How will I fend off the ladies?"
Mercedes narrowed those startling eyes...
"Yes, well, if there were any other options, I wouldn't be considering this either. Trust me."
This princess wouldn't know a real problem if it smacked her in the face. But as we stared each other down, something flashed in her eyes.
Under her cool business demeanor, she was just barely holding back a temper. She was a princess, but oh yes, just as I'd thought, she had a little witch in her, too.
We were both silent as she leaned forward slightly as if waiting for...something.
Did she expect me to thank her?
"Have a good day."
I didn't stand. She could show herself out.
She stood slowly, holding her hand out so I could shake it. And I reached forward and took her hand in mine for the second time...
That same heat spiked through me, again and I quickly pulled away.
Then she turned on her heel, her haughty little chin in the air, and left my office without looking back.
Afterwards, I stood and went to the window, lifting the shade. I watched as she walked towards a white Jetta.
It surprised me she was driving such a non-flashy car.
When she got to the door and began to climb in, she paused and looked around at the vineyard... There was something in her expression that made me unconsciously take a step towards her, my face almost hitting the glass in front of me.
What had that been?
Appreciation?
For this run-down place?
But with something else, too...understanding?
Before I could consider it any longer, she ducked inside her car, slamming the door behind her. And a minute later, she was driving through the gate and out of sight.
Maybe I was judging her unfairly...
If anyone knew what that felt like, it was me.
Maybe I was just hung over and she had reminded me of the type of woman my stepmother was. And of course, there was the fact that she had just strode in here and blatantly offered me a marriage for money...
But perhaps Mercedes Jones wasn't exactly what she seemed to be.
I sat down at my desk and turned on my computer to google her... One good turn deserved another.
As soon as I typed in her name, a whole slew of images appeared...
Mercedes Jones in an evening gown, exiting a limo...
Mercedes Jones at the premiere of a movie at some theatre or another...
Mercedes Jones standing beside the man I recognized as Darius Jones at a black tie benefit... Always with the same small, tight, haughty smile.
In several photos, she was standing beside a good-looking man who appeared to be at least five to ten years older than her. So I clicked on one of the photos and read the byline, identifying the couple as Christopher Thomas and his fiancée Mercedes Jones.
Fiancée?
I looked at the date... It was a little over a year ago. Was this what had 'cut short' her college career?
Had she dropped out to become a society wife?
I clicked through several articles, my disdain growing as I pieced together Mercedes Jones' actual situation. None of the news stories came right out and said it, but it was easy enough to read between the lines...
She had been engaged to Christopher Thomas, a young assistant district attorney running for superior court judge in San Francisco, when she was involved in some sort of embarrassing scandal.
Drugs were heavily hinted at and apparently, it had taken place in a penthouse at the St. Regis Hotel.
Her father, in an effort to protect her and get the help she needed, had shipped her off to some rehab center...more likely a glorified spa in London or Paris. And her fiancé had broken off their engagement.
Who could blame him?
But now she was back and her father, he what? Wouldn't fund the partying lifestyle she was accustomed to?
Refused to give her any cash until she could prove she was willing to improve her life?
Of course, on that I was only guessing. Either way, Mercedes Jones had decided to take matters into her own hands.
I'd been right in my judgment of her...
She was just like my stepmother. A woman who'd been given everything in life and thought it was because she was entitled to it. A selfish woman who expected life to bend to her will.
And when it didn't, she'd go to extreme lengths to bend it back, regardless of whom it hurt.
I leaned back for a minute, thinking things through... Never in a million years had I expected to wake up to this.
We were both desperate in our own ways. The question was... Was I desperate enough to hand over my name...even temporarily...for the cash I needed to save this vineyard and fulfill my vow?
Something on the computer screen caught my eye, a small picture at the bottom of the article I'd been reading, and I clicked on it, making it as large as possible.
It was another picture of Mercedes and Christopher. He had his hand resting possessively on the small of her back and was smiling proudly as she grinned up at him.
My eyes homed in on her right cheek. She had the makings of a dimple. The little witch almost had a dimple...
And what it was about that small feature that made my pulse quicken, I couldn't have explained if my life depended upon it.
Stay safe!