Savor: A Billionaire Bachelors Club Novel (13 page)

I probably won’t be around to witness it though. And that thought alone fills me with such complete and utter sadness, I almost fall to the ground, my legs get so wobbly.

Pushing on, I head toward the crowds opposite of where Matt stands. I find an empty table and collapse in a chair, slipping my hand beneath the heavy weight of my hair, so I can rub my neck. No wonder I don’t wear it down very often. It’s heavy and thick, making me hot and my neck hurt.

I should just cut it all off and be done with it.

“Are you all right? You look like you’re contemplating murder.” Ivy pulls out a chair and settles in next to me.

“Only the murder of my hair.” At her weird look I explain. “I’m thinking of cutting it all off.”

“Don’t you dare. It’s gorgeous.”

I shrug. “Like anyone notices. This has all been for nothing.”

“Ah, Matt didn’t notice? I know he’s busy trying to keep everyone happy tonight,” Ivy reminds me.

“Oh, he noticed.” He definitely noticed if his mouth fused with mine and his hands roaming all over my body earlier was any indication. “His father came along though and ruined everything.”

Ivy’s mouth dropped open. “His father came? I never saw him.”

“Aren’t you lucky?” I mutter.

“Aw. Did he say something awful to you?” Ivy reaches out and grabs my hand, giving it a quick squeeze. “He’s terrible—says the most offensive things ever. When I was younger, he used to try and hit on me.”

“He doesn’t try and hit on you now?”

“Well, I haven’t seen him in a while and besides, Archer would kill him. Like tear him apart and murder him with his bare hands if he so much as leered at me, let alone touched me.” Ivy smiles, a dreamy look in her eyes. “He’s so hot when he gets all possessive like that.”

Envy curls through me, gripping me tight. “Must be nice.”

“Someday I bet you’ll experience the same thing with Matt,” Ivy says, full of a confidence I wished I felt even a tenth of.

Instead of making her more curious, I decide to put on a brave face. “Yeah, maybe I will,” I say with a false enthusiasm that makes Ivy give me the side eye.

I can’t get anything right, I swear.

Matt

I
CAUGHT SIGHT
of Bryn escorting my dad out of here not even twenty minutes ago, and it was like a weight had been lifted off me, making me infinitely lighter. It took everything in me not to fret and worry like a little old lady, my gaze constantly going to where Bryn sat with Dad.

I was afraid he’d say something horrible to her, or worse, touch her in an inappropriate manner. Wouldn’t be the first time he’s done something like that to some poor, innocent woman.

I just don’t want him doing it to
my
woman.

With my dad off the premises, I find my focus and really start to work it. I talk to the local winery owners I invited, who all seemed grudgingly impressed with my wine list. I speak with plenty of local media who want to feature the DeLuca Winery; being a former pro ball player gives my story an extra edge they all want to explore.

I haven’t eaten dinner and I’m starved, living on the occasional appetizer I find here and there, taking way too many swigs of wine. My head is spinning—I’m high on tonight’s event coming together so perfectly—and I wonder where the hell Bryn is.

Plans to celebrate with her are definitely on my late-night agenda.

“Have you seen Bryn?” I ask Archer when I find him moving through the crowd, clutching two glasses, one full of water. I figure he’s on his way back to Ivy.

“She’s sitting with Ivy over there.” He gestures with one of the glasses. “Ivy asked me to grab her a drink.”

I should probably stay and talk with my guests some more, but I’m growing exhausted being on all the time. I need a break. I want to hang out with my people. “Yeah, I’ll come with you.”

“Uh huh.” Archer flashes me a knowing smile over his shoulder as I fall into step behind him. “Missing your girl, hmm?”

“She’s not my girl,” I say, though the thought of Bryn with any other man, of her giving another man the right to call her his girl, fills me with a near overwhelming rush of jealousy.

Yeah. That was sort of a lie. I wouldn’t mind if Bryn was my girl. But she can’t be my girl. I have a bet to win.

Fuck the bet.

“You got what—less than forty days? Then she can be your girl. If you can hold out that long,” Archer says, stopping at the table where Ivy and Bryn are sitting, deep in conversation. “Look who I found, ladies,” he announces as he sets the glasses in front of the women.

They both glance up, their gazes dark and not necessarily happy when they see me.

Weird.

“Hey, Matt,” Ivy says first, grabbing her water glass and taking a big swig. “Looks like tonight was a huge success despite your father showing up.”

I frown. Great, did she notice? Or did Bryn tell her? “Yeah, well thanks to the dependable Miss James, who took care of everything and made sure he didn’t cause too much of a scene.”

“Yes, well thank goodness. You can always count on Miss James. Right, Bryn?” Ivy casts her an unreadable glance, which Bryn returns silently.

The vibe is completely off though Archer seems oblivious to it. They’d been talking about me. And somehow, someway, I must’ve pissed Bryn off. But how? She’d been so sweet to me right before she went and took care of my dad. How could it all have fallen apart in that short amount of time? Could Dad have said something to her, and she’s keeping it to herself?

Shit.

“Well, listen I’m going to wander around and see if there’s anything else that needs to be done,” I say, gripping the chair in front of me.

“Off to play the gracious host, huh?” Archer asks, slinging his arm around Ivy’s shoulders. She snuggles up closer to him and jealousy fills me, sharp and painful.

I wish I had the right to be as affectionate with Bryn. We’re not even close to that comfort level yet. I touch her in front of Gage and Archer and they’ll be all over me like white on rice, ready to call the entire bet off.

Not that I care about the million dollars, but damn it, it’s the principle. I won that bet fair and square. I want to collect from them and rub it in their faces.

I feel like an immature asshole, but I want to win.

“Gotta do what I must to ensure everyone’s having a good time,” I say with a smile, glancing at Bryn to find her watching me with those all-seeing, sky-blue eyes.

“Do you need my help?” she asks.

“No, relax. Sit and enjoy the party. You dealt with enough already.” I’m trying to communicate with her how much I appreciate her taking care of my dad. That couldn’t have been easy. The old man is a grumpy asshole with a mouth that never, ever stops.

“Okay. As long as you’re sure.” She smiles but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She looks so beautiful and so incredibly fragile sitting there next to the pregnant Ivy, who’s glowing with vitality. Compared to her, Bryn’s natural light from the last week is dimmed. She doesn’t need the beige tonight. Even in magenta she looks subdued.

And I hate that. Knowing I’m the cause of it all.

“Could I talk to you for a moment though?” I suddenly ask. “Privately?” I need to make sure she’s all right.

“Sure.” She shrugs those beautiful, bared shoulders and stands, going round the table so she’s next to me. I lead her away to another table at the far end of the courtyard, ignoring Archer since I can feel him watching me. Just waiting for me to slip up and somehow touch Bryn inappropriately in front of him.

Jackass.

“What’s going on?” she asks when we stop to talk.

“Did my father say something to you? Did he offend you or try to put his hands on you?” I ask, cutting right to the point.

She sighs, hangs her head. “He said a few things. Nothing that I haven’t heard before.”

What the hell does she mean by that? “What are you talking about?”

Bryn lifts her head so her gaze meets mine once more. “He asked if the two of us were—sleeping together yet, though he phrased it a little more crudely.”

I inwardly groan. “What did you tell him?”

“I told him we weren’t, of course, which is the truth.” She stresses the last word. “He didn’t believe me.”

“What a bastard,” I mutter, running my hand through my hair in pure frustration. “How did you get him to leave?”

“Well, he wouldn’t stop with the crude remarks and insults so I finally dragged him to his feet and hauled him out of here. Turned him over to the guys working valet, and they got him to his car,” she explains matter-of-factly.

While I wish I could’ve been there by her side to defend her, I’m also proud of the fact that she handled herself so calmly. “You’re amazing,” I say softly, wishing I could touch her. But I can still feel Archer’s eyes on me so there’s no way I’m going to do it.

“I did what you asked. Don’t make it out to be more than it was.” She offers me a wan smile. “Is that all you wanted to ask me?”

“Bryn.” Unable to help myself, I reach out and touch her arm lightly. Screw it. I don’t care what Archer thinks. “Are you okay? You seem upset.”

“Nothing like a little dose of reality to bring me back and remind me of what I really am.” The smile turns brittle, and she inclines her head toward the rest of the partygoers circling in the courtyard. “You need to go talk to everyone else and make them all happy that they got a chance to speak to the owner of the new and rather impressive DeLuca Winery, don’t you think?”

I let my hand drop. “Can I see you? Later tonight?”

She slowly shakes her head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Mr. DeLuca.”

And with those last words, she walks away, leaving me in the dust.

Chapter Nine

Bryn

T
HE PHONE HAS
been ringing constantly since I got into work this morning, but I blame that on the aftermath of the party. Everyone’s looking for Matt, including me. Though I shouldn’t. I’m not sure if I’m quite ready to face him yet.

I stayed home the entire weekend, not daring to go out, barely glancing at my phone. I ignored the calls and texts from Ivy and Marina, ignored the single text from Matt too. It wasn’t work related so I figured I was safe. The text had come Saturday afternoon, asking if I’d survived the night okay, and I didn’t bother answering.

How could I tell him the night had been a revelation? That I realized exactly who I am and what people saw when they looked at me? Well, specifically what men see, minus the bland outfits and boring hair.

That hurt, though deep down inside, I knew it. That’s why I hid, pretending to be something I’m not.

Avoiding Ivy and Marina was tough because I would’ve loved to confide in them but what if my confession turned them against me? All the old worries and insecurities swamped me these last few days. It’s hard to shake those old habits when they’d been such a part of my life for so long. Men don’t respect me, they never have. I didn’t have many friends growing up, and I definitely haven’t had any since I’ve come to California.

I’m scared if I tell Ivy and Marina my fears, what happened between Matt and me, what his dad said about me, they’d see me differently. Dumb, I know since they’re the ones who convinced me to go after Matt in the first place, but I can’t help it. I’m afraid they’ll know what I really am versus what I present. A silly dumb girl who is only thought of for her sexuality, not her brains or her skills.

And I don’t know if I could face them, seeing the judgment in their eyes.

Besides, I know they kept reaching out to me because they only wanted to gossip about Friday night’s party or analyze what happened between Matt and me. I’d rather not think about it at all. The more I do, the more upset I become, especially when the things his dad said to me come into play.

I bet you chase her around your desk all the damn time, trying to get your hands on that ass. I know I would.

Spending the majority of the weekend in bed watching bad TV and eating junk food didn’t do anything to help my mood either. By the time I got my act together and prepared to go into work, I had bags under my eyes, my skin was kind of pale, I felt five pounds heavier, and I had a zit on my chin.

Great.

I showed up right on time though, not wanting to disappoint anyone—specifically Matt. Not wearing any beige or my severe hairstyle either, deciding to give in and go with what’s natural for me, not the phony front I’ve put up since I’ve arrived here. Clad in the dress I wore last Monday, with the black background and blue and green flower and bird pattern, I leave my hair loose and hanging down my back.

I’m tired of the facade. Of being something I’m not. If I had my slightly trampy clothes from my time in Hollywood or even my wardrobe from Cactus, I’d be wearing them. Today. Right now.

But I don’t have any of those clothes anymore. I burned most of them. It had felt like a cleansing of sorts, one I’d needed to start fresh.

Now I wish I had them. Just to remind me of my roots and who I really am. That reminder would fuel me and keep me strong for what I’m about to do today. Something I need to do.

I need to quit.

But Matt showed up late which made me antsy. He came in just past nine with a harried expression on his face, rushing into the room with the determination of a man on a mission. He’d dressed casually, jeans and a polo shirt that fit him to perfection.

My mouth literally waters when I see him now.

But what else is new?

“Had a meeting with the Napa Valley Vintners this morning,” he says, stopping just in front of my desk. His mind is going a mile a minute, I can tell. “I need you to look into flights to New York City in a few weeks. We’re going to attend the Savor Wine Guild annual convention. Had no idea it was going down, so I need to make arrangements quick.”

I grab a pen and start jotting down notes. “What are the dates?”

“We’d have to leave two weeks from today,” he says, whipping out his phone and scrolling through his emails.

My pen stills on the notepad, and I pause for a moment, his words slowly sinking into my dense brain. I glance up to find him watching me carefully. Almost too carefully. “Did you say we?”