Unfortunately Yours: Chapter 4

Natalie expected a mess. Pizza boxes and dirty gym clothes and beer bottles. Maybe a couple of suspicious tissues. But she could have eaten off the floor of August’s little house. It was that clean. Spices were lined up on the kitchen counter in front of a cutting board. The kitchen and living area were connected and the space was small, so a king-sized easy chair was his only piece of furniture, angled toward the television. He’d managed to make the scene inviting with a rug and a basket holding a blanket. It was . . . nice.

Actually, it beat her wineglass graveyard of a guest room by a million miles.

“Disappointed that I don’t have centerfolds taped to my wall?”

“I’m sure they’re hidden in the closets, along with the rats,” she said breezily, watching the cat prance off with an air of superiority toward the rear of the house.

August circled around to look at her face and let out a booming laugh. “Look at you. You’re shocked. You really expected me to live in a frat house, didn’t you?” He entered the bathroom, which was behind the sole door in the short hallway leading to the bedrooms, she guessed. Flipping on the light, he gestured for her to follow him into the tiny room. She started in that direction but paused on the threshold, unsure about being crowded into such a small amount of square footage with a man that large. A man she couldn’t seem to stop being attracted to, despite the fact that he was judgmental and rude and seemed to see the absolute worst in her. “Did you really give yourself stitches in a dust storm twice?”

August paused in the act of rooting through his medicine cabinet. His hand, holding a bottle of rubbing alcohol, dropped to the vanity. “Yeah.”

“Where?”

He turned slightly, propping a hip on the sink. “Why? You want to judge my handiwork before you deem me suitable to fix your royal boo-boo?”

No. She was trying to delay the moment when they would be standing close enough to touch, because he scrambled her brain to the point where she started to debate the merits of sleeping with him even after over a month of insults and teasing. “It’s a good practice to ask for credentials.”

“Even if those credentials are high on my inner thigh?”

“Both of them?”

“One of them.” He turned away and hoisted up his T-shirt, baring a profusely muscled back, devoid of ink, unlike his arms, one of which proudly bore the navy insignia. Not that she would have a tattoo when his right shoulder was split in half by a puckered, painful-looking scar. “Here’s the other. Not my best work, but I didn’t have a mirror at the time.”

“Yes.” She tried to swallow. Couldn’t. God, he was a human bulldozer. She’d have to hold on for dear life in bed with him. Sounded terrible. Just awful. “Best for you to stay away from mirrors.”

He dropped his shirt with a snort. “Don’t act like you weren’t ready to climb me like a ladder, princess.”

No lies detected. That was then, however. This was now. “Shame you had to open your mouth, isn’t it?”

August dragged his tongue along his full bottom lip. “You would have loved my mouth.”

Her skin was the temperature of the sun. “Can we get this over with or are you hoping I bleed to death?”

In the space of a heartbeat, his expression went from arrogant to concerned. “Sorry. Come here.”

The apology caught her off guard. So much so that she kind of lurched into the bathroom, too stunned to do anything but release the ripped edges of her dress and watch him apply rubbing alcohol to a cotton ball, trying not to notice his fresh, fruity scent while he did so. “Why do you smell like grapefruit?”

“It’s this handmade soap I use,” he said absently, brow furrowed while he dabbed at her claw marks, his slow, warm breath stirring her hairline. “The one and only person who ever liked my wine is too broke to buy it, so she trades me soap for a bottle here and there.”

“How did she lose her sense of taste? Hot sauce accident?”

“Funny.”

“Who is she?” The question was out before she could wrangle it back in her throat. She sounded like a jealous girlfriend, kind of like August had earlier when she’d lied about being on her way to a date. Good thing this man was leaving town, because their dynamic grew more confusing by the day. “Never mind. It’s none of my business.”

“No. It’s not,” he drawled, ripping open the wrappers of two Band-Aids at once. “But I’m going to tell you anyway, so you don’t snap off the countertop.”

Natalie’s gaze flew down to where her hands were death-gripping the ledge of the vanity, releasing the white marble as quickly as possible. “The rubbing alcohol stung.”

“Uh-huh.” Bottom lip fixed between his teeth to trap an obvious laugh, he laid the first Band-Aid on her chest. Slowly. Smoothing it ever so gently from top to bottom with his thumb. And her stupid, duplicitous hormones perked up like a houseplant after being watered. Natalie had to resist arching her back while he applied the second Band-Aid, taking his sweet time, almost like he was enjoying her confusing distress. “She’s a mother of triplets—the one who trades me soap. I’m pretty sure anything that gets her buzzed after bedtime tastes good.”

“Oh. Teri Frasier? I saw her in town last week pushing them in a stroller as big as a tank. She and I went to school together.”

“I know.”

Her nose wrinkled. “How do you know?”

August appeared to be silently kicking himself. “You two seemed about the same age, so I asked her.”

“Why?”

He hesitated. Did his face deepen with color slightly? “Just making small talk.”

At some point during the thrust and parry of their conversation, he’d moved in closer. The sink dug into the small of her back. That part of her that he’d excited months ago, but never fulfilled, was requesting payment in full. His jeans would feel so good on her naked inner thighs. He’d pull her hair in those big fists and she could finally, finally, get this oaf out of her system. What harm could it do? He was leaving, wasn’t he?

Natalie looked up at August through her eyelashes, her right hand lifting with the intention of exploring those hard muscles through his shirt. “I was thinking—”

“She mentioned you spent most of your time drunk back then, too.” He chuckled.

Ice crystallized on her skin, her hand dropping like a stone.

He caught it, frowning. Searching her expression. “Wait. Whoa. What were you going to say? You were thinking what?”

“Nothing.”

“Tell me.”

Disguising the uncomfortable weight in her chest with a saccharine-sweet smile, she scooted out from between his huge body and the vanity, fleeing the bathroom. But not before throwing a parting shot over her shoulder. “Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out of town, August.”

“Natalie,” he growled, stomping after her. “Wait.”

“Can’t. I need fresh air. Your stupidity is obviously contagious.”

“I have your car keys.”

She halted with one hand on the doorknob, turned, and held out her hand. “Give them to me.”

He made no move to take them out of his pocket. Instead, he jerked his chin in the direction of the bathroom. “You going to touch me in there.”

“As you pointed out, my life has been a series of bad decisions.” If that look on his face was regret, she didn’t want to know. Didn’t want to explore why he was regretful, because there was already a notch in her throat and pressure between her shoulder blades. “Look, I’ve had a pretty rough day, so if I was pondering a move on you, it would have been purely out of the need for a distraction.”

She expected him to pounce on that last part. To try and persuade her to spend the next few hours distracted in one of those back bedrooms. To her surprise, he didn’t. “Why did you have a rough day?”

“I’m not giving you that kind of ammunition.”

“What does it matter if I’m leaving?”

He had her there.

And damn, Natalie was suddenly desperate to get the weight off her chest. She refused to interrupt Julian and Hallie’s freakish happiness with her problems. All of her friends were in New York—mostly surface-level acquaintances who also worked in finance. To their credit, when she’d made the bad trade and the firm requested that she step down, they hadn’t abandoned her. But their emails and texts had thinned over the last few weeks, a gradual ghosting that left them with a clear conscience and her with no one to call.

Could she vent to August?

Despite the acerbic nature of their relationship, she couldn’t help but feel like . . . they knew each other. He was not a stranger.

She shook off the comfort it gave her to acknowledge that.

No. Whatever. She’d talk to him because it was a free chance to unload. He was leaving and wouldn’t be able to use any of the information to make fun of her.

“I, um . . .” She crossed her arms protectively over her middle, wondering why he watched the action so closely. “You’ll be gleeful to know that I humbled myself this morning by asking my mother for money. I asked her to release my trust fund and I was denied.”

His brows knit together as he processed that. “Trust fund. Shouldn’t that be released when you become a legal adult?”

“In most cases, yes, but my father made certain . . . requirements.”

“Such as?”

Was she really going to tell him this? Yeah. Why not? Nothing could make today any worse. Not even his ridicule. “Not only am I obligated to be gainfully employed, I am required to be married in order for the trustee to release the assets. Julian, too.”

A full five seconds ticked by. “You’re lying.”

It wasn’t an accusation. He was . . . satisfyingly shocked. “Nope,” she said slowly, hoping she was reading him right. “My father lives in Italy now. Basically, he’s inflicting his will on me all the way from the motherland and his rules are circa 1930 old-school. Both my mother and I would rather stick our feet in a lake full of piranhas than reach out and ask him for a favor after a four-year silence. Imagine if he said no and we sacrificed that final shred of pride for nothing?” She shrugged. “Also, I think there is a part of my mother that enjoys Napa being my only option for a while longer.”

“Your only option for what?” He reared back a little. “You’re not . . . broke.”

“Not broke. But not flush enough to . . .” She paused to wet her dry lips. “I’m starting my own hedge fund in New York along with a colleague of mine, and we need capital to appear appealing to investors.”

“That’s what you were doing before. Wall Street shit?”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes. You know, the that powers the economy.”

He snorted, waved that off. “You’d rather be in an overcrowded city than your family’s vineyard in Napa?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Sounds like complicated.”

“I’ll take complicated over simple.” She held her hands out for the keys, wiggling her fingers, but he ignored the gesture. “

”

“One second.” He folded his arms over his powerful chest, cleared his throat. “You don’t have any marriage prospects, right? You wouldn’t marry just to get that money, would you?”

“I might,” she said, even though it wasn’t really an option she’d considered. Her prospects were nil. What was the point?

Was it her imagination or did lightning strike in the depths of his eyes? “I don’t like it.”

“I want the firm. I . . .

the firm. Otherwise I’m going to be known forever as a disappointment. A screw-up. A story they tell at cocktail hour.”

She was saying too much now. That last part didn’t need to be aired. It was hers. But she couldn’t deny that the pressure in her chest eased on the tail end of the confession.

“Can I please have my keys?” she said quietly. “I need to go.”

August seemed to shake himself, but his attention never strayed from her face. “Sure. Yeah.” He handed them over, but when she turned to leave, he caught her wrist in a loose grip. “Hey, for whatever it’s worth, I know what it’s like to fail. Sank every last dime I had into this place and the bank laughed me out the door when I applied for a loan.”

That gave her pause. “Was his name Ingram Meyer?”

He appeared to search his memory bank. “Yeah. That’s the guy.”

“What a coincidence. He’s my father’s trustee,” Natalie murmured, peering up at the ex-SEAL, seeing him through fresh eyes. Or maybe she was simply looking at him the original way, as she’d done the night they’d met. When he was a perfect gentleman. When they’d gravitated toward each other like magnets.

No. More like the bow of the speeding toward the iceberg.

Finding all of her weak spots and poking them relentlessly. Most likely, he’d softened his demeanor now only because he sensed a chance to get laid. No way was she giving him that satisfaction. Even if it would mean satisfaction for her, too. Somehow she just knew it would. But their obvious chemistry was neither here nor there. This was the end of the road.

“Good luck wherever you land, August,” she murmured, pulling her wrist out of his grip, trying not to show her reaction to his swiping his thumb over her pulse. “If you feel a strong wind behind you on your way out of town, that’s wine country sighing in relief.”

He winked, then sauntered back a few steps with a smirk that never quite reached his eyes. “Maybe. But you were definitely going to kiss me in the bathroom, princess.”

“If I was, it would have been purely to shut you up.”

Not wanting August to get in another jab, Natalie turned and stalked out the door, sidestepping the cat, who’d apparently witnessed the whole conversation and didn’t appear to be the least bit apologetic about assaulting her. She’d almost reached the path leading to the road when August’s voice rang out from across the front yard.

“It’s not too late, Natalie,” he called, echoing his words from the contest a day earlier.

She turned to find August in the doorway of his house, forearms braced on the top of the frame, expression cocky, a swath of stomach muscles on display, biceps popping right, then left, then right. Then left again. Definitely not turning her on.

“Bonehead,” she muttered in the wake of his laughter.

Laughter that died out almost as fast as it started.

Why did her legs feel more and more like rubber as she hiked to the car?

Leaving this man’s company should make her feel free as a bird.

It did.

Right.

With a hard swallow, she slid the keys into the ignition. And after a long pause wherein the most insane idea occurred to her, she started the car with a snort and drove away.

*  *  *

Later that night, Natalie left the house without really knowing why.

She wasn’t the type to take an evening stroll.

Back in New York, her modus operandi had been to work hard all day and collapse on the couch with a glass of wine at the end of it. Tonight, however, she had an unexplained case of jitters. Hallie and Julian were out on a double date with Hallie’s friends Jerome and Lavinia, meaning she had the entire guest house to herself. She should be ordering an obscene amount of takeout and watching reruns, but instead she found herself walking straight out the front door into the fragrant evening in the direction of downtown St. Helena.

Maybe she was in the mood for some atmosphere. People.

A mood lift.

Upon returning home a few months ago, she’d gone on several dates, hoping to find that perfect rebound to occupy her while she wallowed in Napa. But shortly thereafter, dating had totally lost its appeal and she refused to examine why. Refused. She’d swiped left so many times without a good reason that she’d gotten disgusted and deleted Tinder altogether. Man, her phone was a silent, desolate place these days. She should just use it as a paperweight or a doorstop.

The lights of Grapevine Way beckoned as she walked along the dirt path, live jazz music from one of the many cafés winding toward her on the breeze. August was right to question why she preferred the city over this lush valley of grapes and sunshine and merriment. People came from all over to experience the exquisite bliss of St. Helena. But as Natalie stepped onto Grapevine Way and hooked a right, still with no idea of her destination, she couldn’t muster any affection for the town. It was beautiful, classy, inviting. A jewel at the foot of the mountain.

But to her, it would always be the place she wasn’t wanted.

Natalie stopped at the window of a confection shop that had been there since she was a child. It had already closed for the day, but as she peered in through the darkened glass, she remembered one of the times she and Julian had been brought there as children.

Julian couldn’t walk through the shop without a classmate flagging her older brother down, asking him to come sit at their table. Even though the future history professor spoke only in breadcrumbs, those monosyllables were either funny or thought provoking. And, more importantly, never unkind. As a track star and academic wonder, he’d been nothing short of revered. Popularity had come easily—and uninvited—to Julian.

But Natalie could also see herself through the glass, working overtime to be noticed by anyone. Her parents, her classmates, the cool teenagers behind the counter. For some reason, the same wealth that added to Julian’s popularity seemed to reflect nega tively on her. She wasn’t a gifted genius. She was an average student. Didn’t have a lot of athletic ability. All that money at her disposal and she’d probably just coast her whole life, thanks to being a Vos.

Around the time Natalie realized everyone thought of her as someone who’d merely won the last name lottery, she’d started acting out. Playing pranks on her friends. Always accepting the dare. And when she got older, she’d been the one to supply the booze and throw the raging parties that got everyone in trouble. It just seemed to be the only way anyone noticed or acknowledged her. If she was loud. If she was . Softly approaching her parents for affection never worked. They were either busy or their meager amount of free parent time had to be spent on Julian, who achieved honors and medals and scholarships.

She stepped back from the glass and kept walking, at a faster clip this time. She wasn’t that attention-starved kid anymore. After an embarrassing stay in rehab after high school, she’d accepted her mother’s help getting into Cornell. But she’d graduated at the top of her class on her own merit. She’d made partner without any intervention from her parents. She’d proven to herself that she was capable and driven.

Being back in St. Helena, however—and flat on her face—she could sense that old itch under her skin. To come back bigger and better and louder. To do something that would get her the positive reinforcement she’d always craved but could never seem to earn. That was what this firm would be for her. A way back to the top. A way to respect herself again.

A familiar voice reached Natalie’s ears then and she stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, a group of tipsy tourists winding around her in their mules and summer scarves. Up ahead, parked at the curb, was August. As she watched, he unloaded boxes of wine into the trunk of her old classmate—and mother of triplets—Teri Frasier.

“Are you sure about this?” Teri laughed, visibly overwhelmed. “Couldn’t you sell it, instead of giving it away for free?”

“We’ve been over this, Teri. I couldn’t even give this wine away to a man dying of thirst in the desert. It’s all yours.” He gestured to the back of her car where, Natalie assumed, Teri’s triplets were sitting in their car seats. “Besides, I think you deserve it more than anyone.”

“Let me give you some soap, at least.”

“Nah, thanks, but you keep it. I’ve got enough of a supply to hold me over for a year.” He patted her on the shoulder and stepped back. “You tell your husband I said hello, all right?”

“Will do.”

Natalie’s pulse was just about jumping out of her skin. This was it. Really it.

Clearly, August was on his way out of St. Helena. Giving away his final supply of wine, as if it had no value. And it didn’t. To be clear. It was like drinking gasoline that had been marinating with dog shit for a week. But hearing him acknowledge it in such a self-deprecating way made her stomach drop.

Her fingertips started to buzz, the way they did before a hefty trade.

Oh God, she could almost hear the bad idea coming toward her on a conveyor belt of doom. Just bumping along, getting closer and closer even as she tried to talk herself out of acknowledging the possibility of . . . helping August and herself in the process. She should let him drive out of town, never to darken the doorway of St. Helena ever again. They were oil and water. He had a chip on his buffalo-sized shoulder about her status and privilege in this town that he would never shed. And Natalie . . .

Well, offering to help this man and being rejected was just about the scariest thing she could imagine. All her life, she’d offered herself as a friend, a fiancée, a coworker, a sister, and a daughter, and at some point her presence—and even love—was rejected.

was rejected. Fired, dumped, asked to go home. Still, she didn’t even like this man. So why was her heart beating at the pace of a hummingbird’s wings at the thought of saying no?

Why did she care so much?

Natalie started to back up into the shadows to wait out August’s departure, but in the wake of Teri driving away, he rounded the back bumper of his truck and spied her, doing a double take. “Natalie?” He paused mid-stride, frowning. “What are you doing lurking over there in the dark?” He snapped his fingers. “Let me guess. Sucking the souls from children caught outdoors after eight P.M.?”

“That’s right. I wait until they’ve been stuffed full of chicken fingers and ice cream all day. That’s when I strike.” She shrugged. “But you have the IQ of a child, so I guess you’ll do.”

“You sucked the soul out of me months ago, princess.”

“You must have retained some of it if you made a point to give Teri your wine supply on the way out of town.” He reared back a little at the rare—and accidental—compliment. “I mean . . . a broken clock is correct twice a day, right?”

He was still giving her that narrow-eyed look.

Nerves jumped in her belly.

She sauntered forward instead and watched his chest muscles tighten, his spine straighten. Did he do that every time she approached? Why was she only recognizing it now? That proof of his awareness pushed Natalie over the border into bad-idea town. Because at least she wasn’t an afterthought to him. Even if he couldn’t stand her, at least her presence had an effect on him. “So I was thinking . . .”

“You wish you’d kissed me in the bathroom earlier.”

“I’d sooner kiss an active lawnmower.” She realized her hands were gesticulating wildly and folded them at her waist. “Actually, I was thinking you could use my help.”

He snorted. Leaned back against the truck and crossed his thick arms. “What now?”

Natalie kept her features serene, even as the harbinger of rejection hung over her head like a freshly sharpened machete. “You mentioned the bank refusing you a small business loan. For Zelnick Cellar. But if, um . . .” All at once, the ludicrous nature of her idea registered, but she’d said too much to stop now. “If I was an official employee. And attached to . . . you . . . in some way, well, you would almost be guaranteed an approval. As you’ve pointed out on numerous occasions, my last name does carry a lot of weight in this industry.”

For several moments, he stared at her in silence. “I’m waiting for the punch line.”

“There is no punch line, you baboon. I’m suggesting . . .” She felt like she’d swallowed a fistful of dirt, her stomach beginning to churn. “I’m suggesting that—”

“Holy shit.” August pushed off the truck, his arms dropping slowly to his sides. “Earlier. You told me Mommy and Daddy wouldn’t release your trust fund unless you’re married.” His mouth opened and closed. A hand raked through his hair. “You’re not suggesting . . .” Something she couldn’t quite define flickered in his eyes. “You’re not suggesting we get , are you?”

The way he said it, like she’d proposed a stroll through a minefield, had Natalie backing up a pace. A marriage between them be a minefield. Even though they would be . . .

“

married,” she enunciated. “For financial purposes. Obviously this wouldn’t be a romantic union. We would simply need to convince Ingram Meyer, the man who has the ability to solve both of our problems. We would just be in it for the monetary advantages.”

His jaw was slack at this point.

The silence stretched, so she filled it out of nerves.

“The wine train event is tomorrow afternoon. Its inaugural ride after the interior was redesigned. We’re cutting the ribbon—”

“See, it’s shit like that—wine trains and ribbon cutting and redesigned interiors being a big-ass deal that had me looking forward to seeing the back of this town.”

“You’ve made it clear that wine culture is trivial to you, August. Also, the way it tastes. Lest we forget.” She crossed herself. “Anyway. If you are interested in my offer, we could . . .” Her courage was beginning to wane in the face of his visible astonishment. “We could meet with my family in a neutral setting and discuss how to proceed.”

“You’re actually serious,” he mused with a slow, incredulous headshake. “You just to me, Natalie?”

Speaking of souls being sucked out, hers exited her body in that moment and observed the scene from above. There she was, asking this man she hated to be her husband. “Desperate” was the only word she could use to describe herself. Out of options, with nowhere to turn. And this man had to be enjoying every single second of it. Any moment now, he would tell her she was even crazier than he’d originally thought and he’d burn rubber to escape her.

The possibility of that pressed down on her chest.

God, she was weary of being dismissed. She couldn’t let it happen again, especially from August. It would cut especially deep from this Neanderthal. Giving him leverage over her burned like a cattle brand to the throat.

“Forget it,” she managed to push past dry lips. “I don’t want to be married to someone who doesn’t know to seize a good opportunity.”

Laughter burst out of him. “Marrying is a good opportunity?”

Natalie turned and stalked away, ignoring the twist in her breast.

An arm wrapped around her waist before she made it three steps.

“Don’t get pissed,” he said a few inches above her head. “I only meant you’d skin me alive in my sleep.”

“We wouldn’t together, ding dong. It would be in name only.”

“I fail to see the advantage for me.”

Natalie resisted the urge to relax back against his chest. He was so . And that stupid, tatted-up arm could probably lift a station wagon. Why wasn’t she pulling away? Any second now. She would. Facing the opposite direction was just . . . easier. She couldn’t see his scorn and disbelief this way. “Let me lay it out for you, August. We have the same man standing in the way of our success—Ingram Meyer. Loan officer at the bank, trustee of my money, and one of my father’s many fanboys. If I’m married, he’ll release my start-up capital from his clutches. As for you? Marrying and employing a Vos will help you secure a small business loan.” She threw an absent gesture in the general direction of his vineyard. “You could continue making wine. Maybe even wine people can stand to swallow, with my help. Don’t you want the winery to be a success?”

“I did.” Her brows drew together over the gruff note in his voice. “I did. But I resigned myself to the fact that this is the one thing I’m terrible at.”

“You’re forgetting basic human hygiene.”

“I must not smell that bad,” he said against the side of her neck, his lips brushing that sensitive patch beneath her ear, warm breath coasting down the collar of her shirt—and that arm. It flexed where it banded across her belly, making hidden parts of her tense, too, in the process. “You know. Since you’re melting on me like an M&M on the dashboard of a hot car.”

Natalie twisted out of his hold like a shot, ordering her skin to cool down as she turned. It wouldn’t. Was his chest rising and falling faster than before? “Look, if you want to leave St. Helena, I’m not going to stop you.”

A line snapped in his cheek. “That was the plan.”

“Plans can change.”

A sound left him. “You must really want that trust fund.”

“I a new start.” Momentarily, she let herself be vulnerable. Maybe because she was already halfway there after making the proposal to August. Or maybe she’d already been sawed open after humbling herself this morning to Corinne. Whatever the reason, she spoke without censure. “I need a new start. I can’t just stay here, living in the shadow of my family. My brother. I might as well still be that seventeen-year-old screwup that everyone just . . . tolerates. I’m better elsewhere. I’m something. I’m someone when I’m not here.”

The sound of his hard swallow reached her through the cool night air.

She’d given him the motherload of ammunition—and since he was obviously not into the idea, she needed to get out of there before he could use it.

“Good luck, August,” she said, backing away and eventually turning, picking up her pace. “It would have been fun making your life hell.”

She didn’t stop. Didn’t want this man, of all people, to let her down gently. Her pride was all but dismantled, but she could hold on to a scrap. Speed walking down the pathway back to the guest house, however, she wondered how much longer she could maintain her grip.