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I hear PJ’s laughter coming from somewhere inside the restaurant. It’s like windchimes calming my nerves in the late afternoon breeze. I can’t see her, but knowing she’s near enough for me to hear her drives home the feeling I can’t shake—that I want more of her.
I should say something to Archer about PJ. He’s my oldest friend, and I owe him my honesty. At the same time, he seems so utterly wrecked by his dad’s health and the financial troubles at the winery that I don’t want to flip him out tonight.
Maybe he’d shrug and tell me he was just blowing smoke when he said to stay away from his sister. After all, we’re grown-ups. But tonight, with the high stakes of the evening laid out so clearly, it’s not the right time.
A hint of a smile creeps across his face as he surveys the healthy crowd. This is the same guy I’ve known for half my life, the one who was always my wingman when I wasn’t being his. I know he wants good things for me, and I feel a little bit guilty that one of those things is his sister. But we don’t always get a choice, and my heart chose her.
I’ll tell him. Just not right now.
From across the patio, I see PJ square her shoulders when she sees me talking to Archer. She puts on the serious work face she thinks she needs to be taken seriously.
When she reaches us, I grab a glass of wine from the bar and hand it to her. It’s the sauvignon blanc I know she likes. “Thanks,” she tells me before turning to Archer. “You making the rounds?”
“Yeah, and I still hate the idea of any of these people butting in where our business is concerned. Especially Trevor Stagwood. Is he here yet?”
“Not sure, but I promise I’ll handle him. I’ve got this.”
I want to put my arm around PJ to reassure her that I believe she’s absolutely got this, but instead, I subtly press my hand to her lower back.
Her eyes shoot to me and she flinches, but Archer doesn’t notice. Guy has a shit-eating grin on his face as he sees something inside the restaurant.
“What just gave you a hard-on?” I ask.
Archer wraps an arm around each of our shoulders and gives us a squeeze.
“Mallory Rutherford. She always talks a good game about wanting a bigger footprint in Napa. Maybe it’s time to see how serious she is.”
He continues smiling at us as he backs away, leaving us alone on the patio. A few other people stand in groups chatting, but it’s far less crowded than the madhouse I can see just inside the restaurant.
Photographers’ camera lenses are aimed everywhere, and smiling groups are captured for the society pages of magazines and newspapers. It’s not my world, but living amid tech billionaires gives me enough of a view of it at home.
A tuxedo-clad server walks past with a tray of ahi tuna appetizers on fried wontons, and I turn to grab a couple on a napkin for us.
“Aw, there she is! I’ve been looking all over for you.” The deep male voice doesn’t faze me until I turn back and find my view of PJ blocked by a slicked-back head of hair and a guy in a brown suede sport coat.
I circle around to find that he looks about a half dozen years my junior and has PJ buttonholed in a corner. He wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her against him. She tips her head up to kiss him on the cheek, but I see the stiffness in her gesture. She doesn’t like him.
He returns her gesture—slowly and intentionally. Even though it’s a cheek kiss, it’s too long. Too intimate. Then he gazes into her eyes.
Who the fuck is this guy?
“Tuna tartare?” I offer the appetizer to PJ and tilt my head at the new guy because she either needs to introduce us very quickly, or I might punch his lights out. Maybe this is the infamous Trevor.
“Ooh, thank you.” She slurps the tuna off the wonton and crunches into it. A dribble of sauce runs down her chin, and the douchebag who still has her in his grip reaches over and wipes the drip with his finger. Then he fucking licks it.
I glare at him, and the words rip from my throat uncensored. “Take your fucking hands off her.”
He turns slowly to face me, eyes wide in mock innocence. He takes his arm from around her, thereby saving his own life. He puts up his hands like I still might shoot him. He’s not wrong—I might.
“I’m sorry. You are…?” The boredom in his voice irks me.
PJ wraps her hand around mine, instantly calming the fire in my veins. Slightly. She steps forward, forcing me to move away from the guy I still want to clock with my fist. “Colin, this is Trevor Stagwood. Trevor, Colin.”
I glare at Trevor. He looks at me, unimpressed and slightly confused, until a light bulb seems to sputter to life in his dim brain. He smiles at me and nods. “Hey, nice to meet you. You’re the space guy, right?”
I grind my teeth so hard I’m pretty sure the people in the restaurant can feel the vibration. PJ interjects before I tell this tool of a man that there is no such thing as a “space guy,” unless he’s talking about the character fromThe Lego Movie.
“He’s an astrophysicist. His company launches spacecraft. They’re going to Mars.” The pride in her voice pulls at my heart.
