Total pages in book: 54
Estimated words: 49814 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 249(@200wpm)___ 199(@250wpm)___ 166(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 49814 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 249(@200wpm)___ 199(@250wpm)___ 166(@300wpm)
"He has a soul," she says, laughing in protest. "It's just pinned beneath the weight of that stick up his butt."
"Has he always been like this?" I ask, genuinely curious.
"Yes." She sighs. "No, not really. Even as a kid, he was super serious and dedicated. But he didn't turn into the Fun Police until he took over the vineyard. Honestly, I think he's just forgotten what it's like to have a life that doesn't revolve around making money. He does it for us, but sometimes…"
"What?" I ask when she trails off.
"Sometimes, I wish he'd find something he's really passionate about," she whispers. "All he does is work so the rest of us can breathe. We try to help, but he won't let us take anything off his plate."
"He cares," I murmur, a little of my irritation fading. Even when he's a tyrannical pain-in-the-ass, it's obvious how much he loves his family. He's the first at the office every morning and the last to leave every night. Even when they're busy, everyone has fun around him all day, every day, and he never tries to stop them or complains. He just lets them do what they enjoy while he holds it down.
"Yeah, he does." Haven sighs again before perking up. "What are you wearing? Please tell me you're at least planning to torture him a little for being a total jerk today."
"Oh, absolutely," I say, grinning. "He threatened my job and made me miss my dentist appointment. There's no way I'm letting him get away with that."
"You're my favorite employee ever," Haven says, sighing dramatically.
I laugh quietly, gazing down at the dress. Bastian is either going to lose his mind or fire me for real. Either way, I think it might actually be worth it just to see the look on his face.
By the time I pull into the parking lot at Della's, an upscale restaurant in downtown Santa Maria, I'm ten minutes late and alternating between anxious as hell and annoyed. My hair wouldn't cooperate. My car wouldn't start. My Spanx are so tight I feel like a sausage poured into a dress casing. And the temperature has dropped a full ten degrees since the sun went down.
If this meeting isn't life and death, Bastian's survival might actually be on the line tonight.
"Breathe," I whisper to myself as I shove my keys into my purse and try to paste a bright smile on my face. I give myself a quick look in the rearview, but I do not look like I'm happy to be here. I look like I'm marching toward the gallows. That'll go over real well with whoever we're meeting tonight.
I still don't have that information. Bastian never sent it. He just told me when to be here. Haven was no help on that front either, since she didn't know about the meeting. I'm walking in blind.
I probably should have worn something other than the Fuck Me Dress, but by the time I came to that realization, I was halfway here. There's no changing now.
I take a minute to reapply lipstick and fluff my hair before stepping out. Even though it was hot as hell when the sun was up, now that it's dark out, the air has cooled considerably, making me shiver. I hurry my steps, my heels click-clacking against the cement as I dip my head and rush for the warmth of the restaurant.
The maître d, Diego, holds the door open with a grin. "Ms. Maverick, it's good to see you again."
"Thank you, Diego." I hurry through, fighting another shiver. The low hum of voices and the smell of spices instantly hit me. My stomach growls, my mouth watering. The restaurant at the vineyard is, by far, the best in the area, but Della's is a close second. "Is Bastian already here?"
"Yes, ma'am. He asked me to bring you to the table as soon as you arrived."
"Of course he did," I grumble, which has Diego's lips twitching. He keeps his opinion to himself, however. He's nothing if not discreet.
He motions for me to follow him.
We wind our way through tables situated to afford diners as much privacy as possible. The candelabra chandeliers hanging over each table provide a soft, intimate glow to the restaurant. It might be my imagination, but I feel like everyone is looking at me.
I have to resist the urge to tug the dress down a little.
I exhale a relieved breath when I see Bastian in the back corner, his suit jacket stretching across his broad shoulders. His dark head is bent as he examines a menu. He's alone at the table, nursing a glass of bourbon. At least whoever we're meeting didn't beat me here. He glances up as we approach, his eyes locking on mine.
For a long moment, he just stares at me, his expression as inscrutable as ever. And then his gaze dips, drifting down my body.