Feels Like Home. Beth Andrews
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“All right,” Yvonne said. The decision seemed somehow life-altering. Then again, maybe all stupid decisions seemed that way at first. “I’ll have a few sample invitations ready for you to look at during lunch tomorrow. Maybe we can also discuss some ideas I have for advertising events at the winery.”
She’d spent the entire five and a half hour drive from Charleston brainstorming ways to promote the new venture. She wanted to be prepared, to do a good job. Plus it’d kept her from thinking about what a possibly colossal mistake coming back here was.
“I’m not really involved in all that,” Diane said as she headed toward the door.
Frowning, Yvonne followed her. “You’re not?”
“No. You’ll have to discuss any changes or ideas with Aidan.”
Yvonne curled her fingers into her palms. “But you hired me.” She’d thought she’d be working with Diane. Yes, she’d realized she’d have to be around Aidan, but for the chance to finally be accepted at the Diamond Dust by Diane, she’d been willing to risk it.
“Your contract is with the winery, which Aidan runs. For the next few months, anyway.” Yvonne must’ve looked as horrified as she felt, because Diane’s expression softened. “Don’t worry. He’ll treat you fairly.”
“How can you be sure?”
She shrugged, then opened the door. “Because you’re what’s best for the company. Aidan always does what’s best for the Diamond Dust.”
CHAPTER THREE
THOUGH THE DOOR to Aidan’s office was open in welcome, Yvonne couldn’t force her feet forward. One thing was for certain, that welcome wasn’t meant for her.
She squeezed her eyes shut, hard. When she opened them again, spots danced in her vision. Those spots, she reminded herself, were like her memories. Real enough, yes. But quick to fade.
Elongating her spine as she’d been taught during her years on the pageant circuit, she raised her hand to tap on the door frame, then caught sight of Aidan staring out the window.
She slowly lowered her arm. The sunlight picked up the golden threads in his hair, and though his hands were in his pockets, one hip leaning against the windowsill, there was still an…edge to him. A hardness he couldn’t hide even when he thought he was all alone. The same hardness she’d detected in him earlier.
She was afraid she was the cause of it.
As if sensing her presence, he stiffened and turned, catching her staring at him like a lovesick newlywed. It was as if she was transported back to when her entire world had revolved around him. When all she’d cared about was making him happy, and her greatest fear had been of not being the woman he wanted her to be.
She bit the inside of her cheek.
“Do you have a minute?” she asked, when it was obvious he wasn’t going to invite her in.
He wanted to say no. She could see that clearly in the set of his jaw. The coolness in his eyes. Instead, he inclined his head. An affirmation? In condescension? She wasn’t sure.
She stepped into the room. He didn’t move, but looked her over from the top of her freshly heat-ironed hair to the ruffle on her blouse and the edge of her skirt at her knees. Her scalp prickled.
And when something cold and wet nudged her hand, she about jumped right out of her Jimmy Choos and hit the ceiling.
Her heart in her throat, she glanced down at a large dog with brown eyes and shiny, rust-colored fur. She lifted her hand to her mouth, biting gently on the knuckle of her forefinger—something she hadn’t done since she was ten and had finally given in to her mother’s constant nagging and broken the bad habit. She dropped her hand. The dog barked and Yvonne recoiled.
“She won’t hurt you.”
Unwilling to take her eyes off the dog—or those teeth—for more than a second, Yvonne didn’t so much as glance at Aidan. “No. I…I’m sure she won’t.”
Except that for every hesitant step back Yvonne took, the dog took one forward.
“Lily,” Aidan said in his deep voice. “Come here.”
The dog—Lily—sniffed at the laptop Yvonne gripped in her hand. Sweat broke out along her hairline. She hoped Aidan couldn’t hear the wild thumping of her heart.
Aidan, however, with his watchful eyes and quick mind, never missed anything.
He snapped his fingers. “Lily. Now.”
After one more sniff, the dog padded over to him. He patted her head—as a reward for obeying him or because the dog hadn’t ripped Yvonne’s hand off at the wrist, she didn’t know.
Maybe both.
“I…” She swallowed and tried again. “I didn’t know you had a…a dog.”
Unrolling the sleeves of his denim shirt, he raised his eyebrows. “I hadn’t realized I was to keep you abreast of any pets I may or may not have. Or did I miss something in our divorce agreement?”
She blushed furiously. “No. No, of course not. I just… I had no idea you liked—” she glanced at the dog, which seemed to be watching her with more interest than was warranted “—animals.”
“Now you do.”
“Right.” But…what else didn’t she know about him? After all, it’d been almost seven years since she’d seen him last. A lot could happen in that amount of time. A lump formed in her throat. Oh, dear Lord. “Did you…have you remarried?” she asked, looking around the room for signs of a wife.
She cringed. But it was too late to take her question back, much as she would like to.
He paused in the act of buttoning his sleeve. “No.”
She felt light-headed. “Oh. That’s…” What? A relief? A disappointment? She wasn’t sure which one would be the bigger lie. “I was engaged,” she heard herself blurt out, the nails of her free hand digging into her palm. “It didn’t work out.”
Aidan went completely still. For a moment she wondered if he was even breathing. But then he lifted his head and his expression was so dispassionate, goose bumps rose on her arms. “I don’t remember asking.”
No. Of course he hadn’t. Why did she bring it up? She hardly enjoyed discussing her broken engagement or her ex-fiancé—the man her parents had chosen for her once her divorce from Aidan had been final. A man who’d wanted her because of her name.
She needed to stay calm and get her rioting emotions under control before he saw through her facade and took that control away from her.
Yvonne smiled, professional, confident and totally fake. “I was hoping we could go over a few things—if you have time, that is.”
“Actually, I’m in the middle of something.”
Her expression never faltered. “Yes, I could see how busy you were when I came in. But, perhaps when you do get a free minute, we could—”
“My schedule seems to be full for the next few days,” he said, crossing his arms. “Sorry.”
She set her free hand on her hip. “Diane said you were running the winery. That I had to speak to you about any ideas regarding hosting events.”
“That’s right.”
“So when, exactly,” she said through barely moving lips, “can this conversation take place?”
He crossed to his massive mahogany desk and flipped a page of his appointment book. “I can give you thirty minutes Monday morning at eight.”
“But that’s—” she did a quick calculation. “—five days from now.”
“Look