by Tessa Teevan
“Engaged?” I ask, not because I want to know, but more for him.
She releases a deep sigh. “Can I tell you a secret?” she asks, leaning in close.
I nod, intrigued.
“I am engaged. To Benjamin Cunningham the fourth.”
It doesn’t exactly sound like she’s thrilled with the impending nuptials. I take another look at her and then the rock. Suddenly, it clicks.
And fuck me. That’s why she looks so familiar.
Cunningham and I, unfortunately, run in many of the same circles, though I try and keep my distance from the jackass as much as possible. Rumor has it he’s marrying for money, because rumor also has it that he does a great deal of gambling it away. Though I’m not entirely sure why her father would approve of such a match if he was aware of Cunningham’s problems.
Intelligence and wealth don’t always mix.
I’m about to tell her I know her fiancé, but she continues.
“And the thing is…I don’t love him.”
“Then why marry him?” I ask, wanting to shake the girl and warn her away from the man.
A pensive expression crosses her face. She taps her chin with one finger and gazes up at me. “You know what, pretty stranger? That’s a fine question indeed.”
With that, the familiar brunette twirls around, her hair flowing all around her, and walks away. As I watch her depart, Branson makes his way to my side.
“That’s quite an ass,” he remarks.
“I could say the same about you,” I grumble.
Branson takes a sip of his wine. “Touchy, touchy. You know, you’re the one who wanted to come out, get a change of scenery. So I agreed even though going to wine tastings isn’t really my thing.” He continues to watch the woman walking away. “But if that’s the scenery at these things? Call me a conformer, a connoisseur, a sommelier—whatever it takes to get that one into bed.”
I ask, deciding to call his bluff. “So why don’t you go talk to her?”
Branson waves me off. “Eh, maybe next time. The ink on the divorce papers is barely dry. Not sure I’m ready to go sticking my wick in any ink jars any time soon.”
I could laugh at how terrible of a liar he is right now. I turn to him. “You may talk a big game, Branson, but you forget: I know you better than anyone. Megan isn’t the reason you’re not out there looking for a quick hookup.”
He scowls.
“It’s the girl from the hotel, isn’t it? She’s holding you back.”
His chest heaves with a sigh and his eyes meet mine. “I hate that you know me so well. But you know what? You’re the best fucking friend I’ve ever had. You’ve always had my back, no matter how much of a jackass I can be. So yeah, Shane. I’ll bro-down with you.”
Bringing a hand to my chest, I tell him, “I’m honored, Bran. Would you believe I’ve made it thirty years without a single bro-down? I’m touched you’re my first.”
I raise my glass, and he clicks his with mine.
“Don’t get used to it. This may be your first and last.” He takes a sip of his wine, but then he spills. In the only way Branson knows how: succinctly. “That connection with your resort girl? I felt it, too, with my hotel angel. I…I don’t even remember much from that night, except that she was there. I held her… Or, well, maybe she held me, but we spent the night in each other’s arms, and the memory of it? I’ve never felt safer in my life. At first, I thought I’d dreamt her. Another cruel dream in the misery that is my life.”
“And you’re sure it wasn’t?” I ask, causing him to scowl.
“I didn’t imagine her, Shane. I couldn’t have imagined a woman that perfect if I’d tried. Yeah, I was wasted. Fucked up, out of my mind, and yet…I can still feel her. I can still smell her; the scent of coconut haunts me. I just fucking wish I could taste her.”
I’m shocked into silence. I’ve never heard Branson talk with such passion, especially about a woman. It’s a side of him I’ve never seen, and I have to wonder: Who the hell is this mystery woman?
“I know I didn’t dream her. And I have proof.”
He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a small, folded piece of paper. Then he hands it to me. The paper is worn, creased along the edges, and the ink appears faded, as if he’s read it countless times.
If you don’t want anyone else to give up on you, you can’t give up on yourself. Life’s messy, Branson. All the scotch in the world won’t change that. If you don’t like your life, change it. I’ll make you a deal. You take my advice, and I’ll think on yours. -A
I whistle then hold the note out for him. “One night with drunken you and she has you pegged. Is this why you’ve finally decided to get over the past and get your shit together?”
I’ve never been one to mince words with him, and I’m not about to start. It’s the truth. Branson’s life was royally fucked years ago up, not by only his own doing, and he’s been facing the brunt of it ever since. In the past few months, however, I’ve noticed a change in him. He doesn’t look—or smell—like he’s slept at a distillery for the past seven years. He’s clearly been spending time at the gym, and he’s almost back to his pre-Megan fighting form. In other words, he looks like the confident, well-built cousin who’s been hiding for far too long. And if it’s because of this girl, I’ll move heaven and earth to find her.
After I find my own, of course.
“Yeah, asshole, she’s the reason. At first, I was desperate to find her. I even tried bribing the concierge at the hotel into giving me a full manifest of guests, attendees at any events the hotel had hosted, but it didn’t work. I tried drinking myself into oblivion, in the hopes that in an alcoholic stupor I could remember her name the way I couldn’t forget her face, even sober. The more I couldn’t remember, the worse it felt. And then I realized, even if I did remember, what kind of man was I for her? Not one worthy, I knew that much.” He holds his hands out wide. “So this is me, Shane. For the first time in my life, I’m making myself worthy, and I’ll continue to do so until I find her.”
“Well…fuck me.”
It’s not eloquent. It’s not even really a response. It’s just… Hell, I’ve never seen him like this and I’m shocked.
He pins me with a stare. “Now you know. I, Branson Wellington, am trying to change for the better for a nameless face. Trying being the operative word, of course. And if you tell anyone about this, I’ll cut your balls off.”
I hold my hands up in retreat. “Consider me warned. I can’t allow your brothers to be the only ones to carry on the Wellington line.”
Branson grunts but doesn’t say another word.
“Bro-down officially over.”
A few minutes later, I scan the bar in search of the brunette, wondering if I might be able to give her a nudge in the jilting-a-man-at-the-altar direction by introducing her to my cousin, who seems to be on his best behavior tonight. But it wouldn’t be fair to her when Branson’s thinking of another. When my eyes finally find the mystery woman, I’m taken aback at the sight of the woman she’s with. For the second time in a week, my heart nearly stops beating.
“What is it?” Branson asks.
“It’s her.”
My intuition wasn’t wrong. Alyssa and the woman I’m guessing is her sister look so similar that they could practically be twins. How the hell did I miss it? And now, for the first time in far too long, we’re in the same room.
Like hell if I’ll let her get away.
ARIANA COMES back from the bathroom, her eyes wide. She tugs my arm. “Alyssa… I just met the second prettiest man I’ve ever seen.”
“Second to me?” Ollie asks, his voice teasing.
When Ariana’s dreamy gaze returns to him with a shy smile, I have to give it to him; the man is good at his job.
She leans over the bar, her empty glass in hand. “Ollie, I’ve changed my mind. You’re not pretty. You’re exceptional,” she breathes, “especially when you refill my glass.”
He barks out a laugh
and does just what she’s inadvertently requested. “You’re a woman after my own heart, Ari. Beautiful, funny, and you love a good, clear wine.”
Ari grins at his use of the term. “We’re practically two peas in a pod. Or should we be two grapes on the vine?”
And now I am starting wonder if I’ve created a wino, Australian-loving monster. Not that there is anything wrong with that, of course. In fact, I’m pretty sure that’d make for a great comic book.
I’m about to tell my sister that it’s time to get some food in her wine-filled stomach when the deep rumble of sexy laughter sounds from across the room. I stop in my tracks, because that laugh? It’s one I’ve been dreaming of for months. There’s no way, right? There are nearly half a million people in Atlanta. What are the odds I run into the one man I’ve been running from—and secretly pining for—for the better half of a year?
The odds are obviously in my favor. Because when my eyes wander to the source of the sound, all breath leaves my body. There he is, in the flesh, looking more gorgeous than I remember. My lady bits want me to run toward him, throw myself at him, and ask for a repeat performance. My head wants me to turn and flee. And my heart? My heart’s just freaking confused as to why it’s hammering when I’m not doing a lick of cardio.
Mr. Wellsley’s threats enter my brain and my head wins out.
“Alyssa, do you know that man?” my sister asks, saying something else that doesn’t quite register.
I spout off some bullshit, hoping it’s enough to make her understand what I’m about to do next.
“We’ve gotta run, Ollie,” I say quickly, thankful we’ve been paying by the drink instead of leaving a tab open.
“So soon, ladies,” he pouts, and Ari giggles next to me.
I elbow her, and then her eyes widen as she looks backs me.
“Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh. My. God.” she chants, reminding me of Janice from Friends—without the annoying Jersey accent. It’s apparently her turn to be panicked. “It’s him.”
She doesn’t have to say anything else. I know exactly who she means, and if it weren’t for the fact that he’s currently following as Shane pushes his way through the crowd, I’d wait here and throw Ari to the wolves, so to speak. If any man can get her to break her engagement, it’s the mystery man from the hotel last winter.
Except, I both love my sister and am terrified of the way my heart is pounding as Shane gets closer, so I spin on my heels—proverbially, thanking the heavens I decided to wear flats—grab Ari’s hand, and start toward the opposite side of the room, hoping like hell there’s an exit there.
“Follow me,” I hear just as Ollie takes my free hand. “I don’t know why you’re running from those two men, but the way you were headed would only leave you pinned down.”
Ariana’s still chanting out her oh-my-Gods the whole time Ollie takes us through the wine-processing area until we reach a back door and spill out into what I can only presume is the employee parking lot.
I place my hands on his cheeks and kiss him square on the lips. He laughs when I pull back. “You are the best, Ollie!” I tell him.
“Alyssa!” Ari calls out, and I turn to see her staring into the open back door.
A loud commotion hits my ears. Her eyes are panicked.
“What are we going to do? I can’t let him find me. I want him to find me. Oh my God.”
And here we go again.
The beeping of a car sounds, and Ollie clears his throat. He’s standing next to a sleek black SUV, holding the driver’s door open. A broad, bright, white smile spreads over his tan face. “Ladies, perks of flirting with the owner of this fine establishment. He’ll be your own personal uber when men are chasing after you.”
Ariana casts one last glance toward the open door as if she’s unsure if she wants to stay or go. I feel her pain, wondering the same thing. Part of me wants Shane to catch me. Being this close to him without touching him is torture I can easily stop, yet my heart is terrified of how desperately I still want him after one hot gaze across a bar.
And then I hear his voice calling my name and it sounds far too close.
“Ari, let’s go,” I hiss, and it’s like I’ve woken her.
We race to Ollie’s car. Ari hops in the back as I dart around the front and into the passenger’s side. My new favorite Australian winery owner reverses and peels out of the parking lot just as two tall, incredibly well-built, handsome men, who could be twins, push out of the back door, only to stare after the SUV.
Then one pushes the other, and they race off, probably to their car, hoping to make chase. Ollie makes a series of twists and turns, which has me wondering if he’s done this before. It doesn’t matter though, because the farther I get from Shane, the more easily I can breathe.
“I should’ve probably asked this earlier but…you two aren’t in any actual danger, are you?” Ollie asks.
“Only if you count matters of the heart,” Ariana whispers, still staring out the window at the cars passing by.
He chuckles. “Ah, my dear, I do. In fact, the heart is sometimes the most dangerous of all.”
I glance over and see a pensive expression on his face. “Do you have experience with that, Ollie?” I ask, and his eyes meet mine.
“More than I’d like, Alyssa. More than I’d like.” His eyes soften. “Maybe one day we can share a bottle of wine and commiserate over our love lives.”
“Mine’s not all that exciting,” I tell him.
“Mine’s practically over,” Ariana laments.
Ollie snorts. “I’m sorry, girls, but I’m not buying it. Those two men back there? I’m pretty sure they won’t stop until they find you. So now’s the time to tell me… If they do, will it be good or bad?”
“It’d probably be the best thing to ever happen to me,” my sister whispers, and I wonder if she’s telling Ollie or herself.
I see her head resting against the glass, her eyes closed. The wine clearly did its job.
“And you?” He takes his eyes off the road to look at me for a second.
“I think, Ollie, it could be the best thing to ever happen to me.”
“So why fight it?” he asks, a sentiment that’s been echoing since the day I packed my bags and left the resort.
“That’s something I’ve been asking myself every single day,” I admit.
I mentally curse Filiatrault and the way he’s dragging this whole thing on. Because until it’s over, I know I can’t go there with Shane, even if I want to more than anything in the world.
I REST my hands against my knees and have to catch my breath. You’d think I wasn’t a long-distance runner with the way I’m panting, but the truth is I dashed faster, hurdled higher, and did what I could to chase after Alyssa as she ran away.
Why the fuck was she running away?
God dammit. I know why she’s running away. Because I scared her away. I was hoping six months of separation had done what that stupid saying promised. What was it?
Absence makes the heart grow fonder.
Apparently in Alyssa’s case, that didn’t appear to hold true. At least, not when it came to me.
“Jesus Christ, someone should put a warning label on wine. Do not run on a wine-filled stomach,” Branson says, coming up beside me. “And definitely don’t fucking try any acrobatic moves over kitchen furniture.”
I lift up, still trying to catch my breath.
“Where are they?” he asks. Then he gives me a pointed look. “Who are they?”
I meet Branson’s gaze, wondering if he’d gotten a look at her. “Did you see them?”
He shrugs as a slow grin spreads across his face. “Only their backsides. And what backsides they were.”
His answering grunt is satisfying when I elbow him.
“That was her,” I tell him, watching as his eyes widen.
“Fuck. And she slipped right through your fingers. What fucking luck we have,” he mutters.
“Branson, the girl with her—that was her sis
ter.”
He perks up. “Well, if one sister doesn’t care about a man being a Wellington, what are the odds her sister feels the same?”
I roll my eyes. “The sister’s off-limits.”
He frowns.
“Engaged. Though, for her benefit, I hope she calls the damned thing off well before it happens. The fiancé is a tool.”
Branson’s gaze narrows. “If you know who the sister’s fiancé is, then…”
The smile that stretches my face couldn’t be more full if I tried. I hadn’t known her last name until now. “Then I know exactly how to find my mystery woman.”
Alyssa Covington.
Sure, I knew where she worked. Could’ve found out her last name from Sawyer, but that felt like cheating. Now, however? All bets are off.
When a girl runs out of the back of a wine bar to get away from you, a guy should probably take a hint, right?
Maybe. But I love a good chase, and knowing what’s at the end of this race, has me all the more willing to go the distance.
“I’ve never seen you chase a girl before,” Branson remarks. “What makes this one so different?”
I glance back in the direction the truck took off in then back to my cousin. “Not a fucking clue, man. I just know she is.
In the age of the internet, it’s not all that hard to track someone down. I’m not ashamed to admit that I’ve stalked Alyssa’s Facebook page and followed her on Twitter and Instagram, and I may have liked a few bikini photos posted from earlier this summer.
Yes, I’d respected her wishes thus far, but since I was able to put two and two together due to her sister, I decided it was fair game to check her out online.
It’s been a week since that night at the wine bar, six days since I started stalking her online, and she still has yet to follow back. I’m a complete tool for obsessively checking every day—or hour—but damn. The girl’s starting to give me a complex.
It wasn’t until I found her LinkedIn that I remembered joking with her that I’d never be with a Wellsley girl. It was a joke—mostly. Pops never got along with Wellsley, but he had no beef with Thomas Callahan. And since Sawyer Callahan took over for his father, the competition between our two companies has cooled. It’s the fact that Alyssa works in accounting and I’m the CFO of their rival company that had given her pause.
