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Then I go through the motions for the rest of the night, looking at each unfamiliar face and wondering if it’s someone from Hayden Lanes. But even the potential to come face-to-face with someone who may lead me to the money trail I’ve been chasing for months doesn’t really hold my attention.
Every time there’s a lull in a conversation or a moment when no one is pumping my arm and telling me how great the restaurant’s food tastes, my thoughts drift back to Ruby. That look on her face. That sucker punch in my gut.
She tried to act indifferent, hiding her face from me, but there was no hiding the hurt in her eyes before she managed to look away. I never wanted to hurt her—ever—but at least now I have the evidence I need that she wants me.
I just have to hope she still does after the shit show of this evening.
Finally, after four long hours, I’ve air-kissed enough cheeks, gladhanded enough fellow winemakers, and tried unsuccessfully to find an answer to my questions, I get the go-ahead from PJ to get the hell out.
The misty air hits my face as I stride toward the exit.
I have no idea what I’m going to do when I get home, but I’m not planning to sit on my fucking hands anymore, telling myself this woman is off-limits.
No.
Not anymore.
ChapterTwenty-Four
Ruby
“But I’m not tired.” Fiona yawns, barely able to get the words out before her exhaustion takes over. Her eyes are at half-mast, and she’s fighting against gravity with every fiber of her being.
“Okay,” I tell her. “You can stay up later if you want.” I dim the lights in her room so that everything looks gray, with a pale blue cast coming through the half-open blinds.
Her lips widen into a half grin, but she doesn’t have the energy to smile fully. Her cheek rests on the pillow, blond hair splashed over her Hello Kitty pink pillowcase, limbs starfished on the mattress. “Yes, please.”
Even tired, she’s polite. We’ve made a forest’s worth of clay animals and a diorama to display them. Brown clay tree trunks have real green leaves on them, plucked from the ferns growing outside in the shade. We used blue permanent marker on a tiny tin foil brook running beneath the trees. Then we ate lentils, made a couch fort, and filled half a notebook with doodles and designs.
Her eyes are closed tight, her body heavy on the bed. Fast asleep, despite herself.
I should be as tired as Fiona, except that my adrenaline is running high, every torturous scenario playing in my head on a loop, wondering how Jackson’s date with Mallory is going.
I don’t want to be thinking about him, or her, but I can’t stop my mind from replaying the scene in the house earlier, his hand on the small of her back… It still makes me nauseous, and it shouldn’t. It can’t.
He’s probably kissing her. Probably fucking her in a bathroom. Or maybe they have special rooms at the fancy restaurant just for that.
Shit!What if he brings her back to the house? What should I do, other than die of embarrassment? Me, the hired help, sneaking out the back door as he invites this classy, rich date back to share his wine…and his bed.
God, why did I have to fall for my boss? So. Stupid.
“Out like a light.” The voice makes me jump. Its deep tenor sends a jolt of electricity through my chest, part nervousness, part dread. I don’t want to look at him, lest he see exactly how much he still affects me, despite an entire evening of talking myself down and telling myself to build a wall around my feelings.
I still feel the disappointment dragging down the muscles in my face.
“Yeah, not a minute ago, she insisted she was wide awake,” I choke out, hoping my voice sounds normal, knowing it sounds higher than it should. I need some water.
It’s dark in the room, so I can probably make a run for it, dashing past Jackson and heading downstairs. I’ll call out a quick goodbye, grab my things, and race out before he can get a solid look at me. Then, I’ll get a good night’s sleep and reset my expectations in the morning.
Or maybe I’ll call in sick.
I turn to go, but Jackson has moved closer, a wall of man in my path. Instead of the cloying smell of Mallory’s perfume, I inhale a deep breath that’s all Jackson—his manly pine and citrus scent that brings a shot of awareness to my core.
Stepping to the side, I plan to go around him. Even in the dimly lit room, I can see a path to the door.
His hand catches mine, stopping my progress. He tugs gently, and I turn, still unwilling to look at him. I look down.
“Hey.” His deep voice rolls through my veins like lava. One finger tilts my chin up to look at him. His eyes burn like dark infernos that tell me nothing about what he’s thinking.
