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This, I know immediately, is bad news for me and my sale. I already see it coming. “We aren’t getting that wine Ed wants, are we?”
“No, but I came with a peace offering.” He reaches into his jacket and hands me a notecard. “Bottles I want. I’ll pay you five percent more than he does in commission.”
Suspicion flares hard and fast. “Why?”
“Because I’m not the asshole you think I am. Because I know this is how you make your living and I sincerely feel bad that you’re stuck in the crossfire.”
I’m not that easily sold and I make sure he knows. “In exchange for what?”
“Nothing at all. Do I want to take you to dinner? Yes. But this deal is not contingent on you saying yes, now or ever. I like my wines. You’re obviously resourceful. This is quid pro quo in a strictly business sense. What do you say?”
I grab the list and scan the bottles he’s listed. It’s a big list and while I don’t know many of the bottles by name, I have no doubt they’re all high-dollar.
“I’m not the bad guy here,” he adds. “I’m not. Ed—” he cuts his stare and then glances back at me, “it’s personal. Really, deeply personal between he and I.”
There’s a cut of emotion—of loss, I think—in his stare and with it, a shift in how I feel about this man. I don’t ask for details. I long ago learned that when I ask intimate questions of someone, they then ask intimate questions of me. “And you think buying the wines before he does beats him?”
“No. No, I don’t.” He doesn’t offer more, but he doesn’t have to. I get it.
“It’s part of a bigger plan,” I say.
“Possibly,” he replies noncommittally.
I glance down at the list again and back up at him. “You want me to work for you so I won’t work for him?”
“I’m not asking you to drop him as a customer.”
“But you’ll outbid him.”
“All’s fair in love and war, but I’m not big on innocent victims. I want you to make the money back he promised you.”
Maybe he means that. Maybe he doesn’t. I don’t know. What I do know is that I recognize in him something I should have recognized in Gio six weeks back: a hunger for revenge. I’m just not sure why that flared in my brother now, after all this time. Sofia, I think. This has something to do with Sofia. “Do you know a Sofia?”
“Sofia? No. Should I? Who is she?”
“Someone my brother mentioned having a lot of hot tips for hard-to-find items.” It’s my turn to offer nothing more. I return to his request. My first inclination is to decline his offer, but I also need money to find my brother. I indicate his list in my hand. “I’ll think about it.” And with that, I stand up and grab my purse.
I glance at the table where Crystal and Mark sit in deep conversation with Kace. Chris is there, too, with a pretty brunette by his side. His wife, of course, and even if Crystal hadn’t told me his wife was coming tonight, I’d know that’s who she was instantly. His arm is around her and he nuzzles her neck. She cups his face and there is this connection between them I can’t explain, a deep burning bond. My chest tightens with the idea that I’ve never allowed myself the chance to experience that kind of bond.
Kace’s gaze suddenly shifts and lands on me, and I swear there is a punch between us, an awareness that defies every lost moment. Alexander steps to my side. “Can I give you a ride home?”
I rotate away from Kace to Alexander. “No thanks. I’ve got it covered.”
“Well then, I’ll just go say hello to Mark.” He winks. “And Kace.”
I’m not sure what that’s all about, but I don’t stay to find out. I walk toward the door, punch in a call for an Uber that’s only two minutes away, even as the hostess grabs my coat for me. Bundled up, I step into a chilly night that reminds me that the holidays are coming and I can’t live through them without Gio.
My car is already pulling up to the curb and I chide myself for the hollow feeling of another encounter with Kace that ends just like this, with me on my own, and no promise of more. I have no business being involved with that man. None. Zero. I hurry toward the black sedan and I’ve just opened the door when I hear, “Aria!”
At the sound of Kace’s voice, my heart leaps, and my belly burns. I turn to find him running toward me, and now my heart is fluttering rapidly. It’s cold and he’s didn’t bother with his coat, his thin T-shirt, no match for the chill. This tells me that he ran after me. He didn’t let me go. He didn’t let me go. I lean in and speak to the driver. “Give me a minute. I’ll add an extra tip.”
