Rosalie had forgotten to breathe, so she inhaled as her gaze shifted to the stranger’s face. His light eyes were looking at her, which was an indication that she had been staring at him for far too long. Thank goodness the handle on the pump clicked. Her tank was full. She scrambled to put the nozzle back on the pump.
“Yes, I heard you,” the man said.
The skin of Rosalie’s face and neck warmed. She was no longer freezing. The guy was admonishing whomever he was speaking to about submitting forms, which she ascertained were legal documents, before the deadline.
“What the hell, Victor? Whose job was it to submit them?”
She wanted to take another peek at him before getting into the warm cab of her car but was too nervous to do it. Goodness, her reaction to him was so weird. She settled into the driver’s seat, fastened her seat belt, and started the engine.
There were two knocks on the left-side back window. Rosalie slapped a hand over her heart and gasped.
“You left your gas cap off,” he said.
She could hear him screw the cap over the tank and close the lid. Her heart was beating a mile a minute. She rolled down the window and gulped nervously as she extended an arm out into the air to wave.
Her shaky, high-pitched “thank you” probably clued him in to how nervous she was.
All he did was nod and continue his heated phone conversation.
As Rosalie drove off, she remembered that she had forgotten to get her receipt. At least she was done thinking about Peter and Susan and the impending doom of seeing the entire maniacal Sterling clan. She got back on the two-lane highway and admired the grass and stony mountains, which rose on both sides of the road. Her hometown was not that far away. Then the curved road leveled out. Green fields stretched across the landscape, halting at the edge of the hills, where beautiful brick craftsman homes stood on top. Healthy white and gray clouds of smoke flowed out of chimneys and hung in the sky above the rooftops. When Rosalie was a kid, she had always wanted to live in one of those homes. She could only have afforded to after she married Peter, but leaving the Vineyard Valley area of Blushing Green would have been like sacrilege to him.
She finally exited the freeway and reached the fork at the end of Harvest Road. A left turn would have taken her downtown and to her old neighborhood, where people who had only a crumb of Sterling cash lived. So Rosalie turned right on Grove Road and drove up the mountain that separated one side of town from the other. Her car descended into the high valley that was filled with grape and olive vineyards, which produced a variety of wines, olive oils, and balsamic vinegars.
She recalled when she had first driven through the town people called the Valley of the Rich. She had felt as if she didn’t belong, which was a feeling that had not left her. Peter never did a good job of making her feel accepted, nor did Virginia Sterling, his mother. Carlton Sterling, Peter’s father, emitted an energy that made her stay away from him. She would catch him staring at her at times and in a way that made her skin crawl. Once, Peter had wanted her to travel alone with his father to a family celebration in San Francisco. Peter, who’d been in Seattle visiting a friend from high school, had decided to fly into San Francisco International Airport rather than the Sonoma County Airport. Rosalie had faked having food poisoning just to get out of being alone with Carlton.
Finally, she arrived at the gate of the Sterling Estate. Their vineyard was different from the others in the valley, being that off the main road, a visitor first encountered the massive black iron gate that surrounded the front of the property. Rosalie punched the secret passcode into the keypad. After the locks clicked and the motor activated, the gate rolled open.
She hadn’t been on the property for two years. She mostly visited Edna in Los Angeles or New Orleans. Other times, they would take long vacations together to destinations like Marrakech, Morocco, or the islands of Fiji. They usually traveled during the summer so they could comfortably follow their tradition of taking long walks together. She learned so much about Edna and the Sterlings on those walks.
As Rosalie drove slowly up the path, she saw that the immaculately manicured lawn, the lines of shrubs, and the tall Italian spruce trees still looked the same. The Sterling mansion was the only home in the valley that had the architecture of a large English country house. It had large windows and hefty brick chimneys, which rose above the rooftop at each corner.
She reached the carport, which was attached to the north side of the house. It was where Edna accepted guests. As soon as she stopped under the cover, a short man in a black suit walked up to her door and opened it.
He wore a painted-on smile. “Good afternoon, Rosalie. Mrs. Sterling has been expecting you.”
“Thanks, Mr. Garcia,” she said after reading his name tag.
“You’re welcome.”
Rosalie got out of the car with her purse and the letter Edna had sent with her. She left everything else in the trunk or backseat, knowing her things would magically appear in the room Esther had prepared for her.
“Mrs. Sterling will meet you in the sitting room.” Mr. Garcia pointed a hand toward the doorway, where a small lady with dark hair and wearing a pink maid’s uniform stood. “Teresa will take you.”
All of a sudden, Rosalie’s body shook as she walked behind Teresa, admiring the perfectly coiffed bun at the back of her head. Everything in Sterling Mansion was impeccable, even the staff. Memories came crashing back like waves against the wet shore. Edna had gaudy, Victorian-styled taste, evidenced by a lot of chandeliers, porcelain and gold lamps and trinkets, and huge ornate wooden and silk-cushioned furniture.
Generations of Sterling men lived on in the portraits nailed to the wall, including Conrad Bartholomew Sterling, Edna’s late husband. Conrad was only sixty-two years old when his relationship with booze put him in an early grave. He’d made Edna the administrator of the family holdings, but in the event of her death, their descendants were supposed to inherit everything. Rosalie’s ex-husband, Peter, had acted as if he couldn’t wait for that day to come. He used to say that when his grandmother died, he would be set for life. He’d planned to sell his stake in the family business and travel the world as a free man. According to the last sentence in that letter Edna had sent her, it sounded as if Peter’s wish would soon come true.
Rosalie walked into the sitting room, where Edna always greeted her guests. The space looked different than it had the last time she was there. The walls were painted French vanilla; they used to be bone white. The drapes over the large windows were made of sheer gold silk. Rosalie brushed her hand across the top of the comfy, cushiony chair and took steps toward the curtains to touch them. She just had to get a feel of what looked like the softest material ever.
“What are you doing here?” a man asked.
Rosalie whipped herself around toward the source of the voice. Her mouth fell open. Facing her was the man from the gas station.
TWO
CHANCE STERLING
Thirty Minutes Ago
The navigational system sent Chance Sterling down roads he didn’t even recognize. He was only half-engaged in the directives the electronic voice was giving him. His schedule didn’t allow for the trip to Blushing Green, but the phone call he’d received from his grandmother, Edna Sterling, yesterday had alarmed the hell out of him. A month ago, he had taken a job as general counsel for Lord and Lord Enterprises after receiving an offer from Jack Lord himself. Chance had hit the ground running and hadn’t slowed down since.
Yesterday, Sally Brier, his secretary, had interrupted him during a meeting with the land surveyors for the North Brinks project. Sally knew not to interrupt unless one specific person called.
“Sorry, it’s Edna,” she said.
Chance immediately asked Richard Calhoun, head of legal for the Pacific region, and Derek Post, one of his legal advisors, to give him five minutes. Then he hurried to his office to take the call. Edna wasted no time asking if he could visit her. She wanted to confer with him
in person before her last day on earth.
Her words stunned him. “Your last day on earth? What’s going on, Grandmother?”
“Not on the telephone. Tomorrow around noon?”
Chance scratched his head as he thought about how he had to drive out to Napa the next morning. The company had purchased unviable land due to a bad deal made by one of the company’s land acquisitions agents. It was Chance’s job to make sure the deal was legally nullified and the company was reimbursed the full six-million-dollar purchase price for the one hundred eighty acres of bad land. But first, he had to be shown the defects so that he could present them all in legal terms, which meant he would be in Napa Valley for at least six to eight hours the next day.
“I can make it tomorrow but not at noon. Maybe three or four, or even later.”
“Then that will have to do. And I will need you to remain for the party.”
Chance clenched his back teeth. The thought of being in the same vicinity as his father and uncles made him anxious. “All right.” He would have to come up with an excuse to leave before the big day, which was in three days.
“So what is this meeting about, Grandmother?”
“I’ll give you all the details when you get here.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Never been better,” she sang.
Chance frowned. There was something off about her tone. Regardless, he’d had no time to question her. But he was determined to get the answers he needed to wash away his worry.
So he’d shifted his schedule for the day, waking up at six a.m. He had driven to Napa for a seven thirty a.m. meeting with surveyors, planners, and geologists, along with Richard and Derek. They had wrapped up by two p.m. Afterward, he’d set his navigator to take him the fastest way to Blushing Green by way of back roads rather than the highways in order to avoid traffic. But he hadn’t done a good enough job managing all the calls he needed to make and take while listening to his navigator. After an hour and a half of driving, Chance figured he’d lost his way.
Chance turned off the navigator and used his familiarity with the area. He went down one recognizable road after another until he found Bloom Street. He had less than a quarter of a tank of gas left, so he pulled off into the gas station and stopped behind a car. He was on the phone with one of his assistants, who had forgotten to file plans with Dade County in Florida by the end of the business day, when he got a good look at the woman pumping her gas. He was sure she was Rosalie Stetson, his cousin Pete’s ex-wife. Chance would never forget her face, which was just as exotically beautiful as the first time he’d ever laid eyes on her.
The first time he’d seen her was the day of her wedding. He had been outside at the back of the church, smoking a cigarette. There was one event all Sterlings were required to show up for no matter what, and that was a wedding.
Other than Penelope, his grandmother’s only daughter, there were mostly new brides entering the family, and socialization to the Sterling ways began on day one. Each uncle, including his father, Douglas Sterling, had a way of fucking with each bride. Some made inappropriate jokes, while others asked the bride all sorts of questions about the success of the men in her family, leading her to the conclusion that none of them were or would ever be as powerful as Sterling men. By the time the bride hobbled off to her honeymoon, she would have come to the conclusion that she was insignificant and that her new groom was the boss.
Chance stood in the alley of the San Francisco parsonage, leaning against the wall and regretting having to start as a lawyer for the family business come Monday morning. His father had already recited to him a list of expectations:
I expect you to know how to write an effective brief.
I expect you to shadow David Berger, who is the current general counsel, and learn everything he knows and more by the end of the year.
I expect you to be five minutes early for every meeting and work two hours later than everyone else.
And the list continued to grow on a daily basis. Even on the afternoon of Pete’s wedding, his father had cornered him in the parking lot to say that he expected Chance to know everything about the company’s rules of governance and told him to prepare for a six a.m. meeting on Monday. That meant after hearing Peter and his new bride say their I dos, he would have to head down to the office and read up.
Suddenly, the door broke wide open, and a woman wearing a long white slip bent over, clutching her knees and choking in deep breaths. Chance turned in the opposite direction to look for an escape. He felt as if the woman needed a moment alone. When she finally saw him, she stood straight up, put her hand over her mouth, then took her hand away to whimper, “Sorry.” Then, her face red with embarrassment, she quickly went back inside.
With his mouth agape, Chance stared at the empty space she had left behind. He was still captivated by whatever she had emitted. Beautiful women were a dime a dozen, so he had learned not to go crazy over a sexy body, nice rack, and exotic face. This woman had all of that. But what had captivated him the most was the honest look in her eyes. She was vulnerable and miserable. They were kindred souls. He could run away with her and never come back. He could make her happy, and she could bring him pure bliss. It was a pop-up fantasy, of course. However, Chance decided to stick around after the ceremony to see if he could find the woman and have a conversation with her. When it came to women, he wasn’t the type who was on the never-ending search to find “the one.” But he was in the process of believing that she could be the one for him.
He dropped his cigarette on the ground and smashed it out. He gave the butt one last look as it sat there with the other cigarette butts that had come before his. His mother wouldn’t have approved of him smoking, which was probably the reason he did it. His father was now on his second wife after divorcing Chance’s mother, who was back to using her maiden name, Mandy Ross. At first, he hadn’t understood why she’d so quickly reclaimed her maiden name, but the more time he spent around his father and uncles, the more he understood why. Doug and his brothers were jackasses to all the women in their lives, including their own mother. Chance’s mother wanted to put them and their name eons behind her. For the first time ever, Chance considered honoring his mother’s request that he stop smoking.
He made his way back into the main sanctuary. Like all Catholic churches, the atmosphere was ornate to the extreme. He figured it was their attempt to recreate their idea of Heaven. Chance sat near the back, which was as far away from his father as possible. Then Pete and his best man walked in from a side door to stand up front. He hadn’t seen his cousin in maybe three years or so. Pete was marrying his girlfriend from high school, and Chance had never met her.
Soon, the organ struck up some chords. Then, Chance’s cousin Halo flopped down beside him.
“Fancy meeting you here,” she said, while sitting slumped on the pew.
They hugged each other. Halo was the only cousin he liked, even if she was a little—more like a lot—out there. He scrutinized her gray jeans and black boots with silver spikes on them. She also wore a white T-shirt with a black leather jacket over it.
“I don’t know if you got the memo, but this is a wedding,” he said in a cynical tone.
Her eyes frantically searched the front of the church. “Oh, I got the fucking memo, but don’t cry for me, Argentina, because I won’t be here long.”
Suddenly, she put on a fake smile and waved.
Her mother, Penelope, turned and glared at Halo, obviously not happy to see her dressed as if she were going to a rock concert.
“Now she sees me,” Halo whispered as she patted Chance on the back. “Goodbye.”
Chance grabbed her by the arm. “Wait. You’re leaving?”
“Fuck these people. This marriage won’t last more than a day, anyway. I mean, dude, it’s Pete. I’m out.”
Everyone within earshot heard her. Chance felt slightly embarrassed, even though Halo was right. He let go of her. She rushed out of the pew like someone
who was never going to look back. He watched her until the heavy door opened. The light of the fading day flowed in and faded as the door closed. She was gone. Chance considered following her footsteps. Only as far as the Sterling family went, Halo had no obligations outside the ones her mother forced on her. Her father was Roger Boyd, a famous basketball player who played for the Maryland Tigers. Penelope had never been associated with the family business. She’d built her own empire by starting out as a fashion photographer in Paris. Then she’d created a clothing line, which made her one of the top American designers.
When the wedding march played, Chance faced front. He decided to stay but only because of the girl he had seen in the alley. She must have been one of the bridesmaids. Pete was in place, ready to receive his bride. He wasn’t smiling. Chance recalled his father mentioning that Pete’s mother didn’t want him to marry his fiancée, mainly because she came from the other side of the hill. His aunt Virginia was the worst kind of snob, which was probably the only thing Chance and his mother agreed on.
In shuffled the best man and maid of honor followed by the bridesmaids and groomsmen. Chance studied each woman, looking for the sad beauty with the dark hair. Each passing face left him more disappointed than the last. He started to get the sinking feeling that the woman from the alley was not part of the preliminary show. Was she the main act?
The music paused then started up again, filling the church with a prettier, fuller version of the wedding march. In walked the bride, wearing a painted smile on her face. It was her, the woman who had needed to catch her breath in the alley.
Chance hadn’t seen his cousin’s wife since the day of the wedding. It wasn’t because he was trying to avoid the couple. Working for the family turned out to be hell on earth, especially when he discovered that his father wanted to oust his brother Baylor as CEO. That was why his father had wanted him to come prepared for the meeting on that Monday. His father was on a treasure hunt, looking for anything that could be used to torpedo Baylor.
Secrets & Chance (The Sterlings Book 1) Page 2
