Page 62 of The Potter

“You know, I can take it from here. You don’t have to personally deliver me to Astor.”

Always hiding his true feelings, Vance straightens. “Who said I was delivering you? The car is here for you, not me.”

He’s full of adorable shit. “Then, why did you bring a bag?”

Smirking, he turns around and walks out of the lavatory without a word.

It isn’t until we pull up to the winery that excitement hits me square in the chest. “This place is gorgeous.”

“Mhmm.”

Vance has gone back to being his tense and broody self all in the span of ten minutes. It’s certainly disheartening, considering his earlier mood on the plane. Where’d that Vance go? The one who joked and smiled. The one who played my body like an expensive instrument?

“Do you not like wineries?” I ask as our driver turns into the entrance.

“I don’t like medical conferences.” His voice seems far away as he stares out the window—a beautifully broken mirage of pain.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Turning to face me, Vance offers me a smile. “I suggest you try the wine tasting at six o’clock. It’s one of the best around.”

He doesn’t offer to go with me, and I’m too chicken to ask. I need to remember that while Vance sank his fingers deep inside me and made me feel alive for the first time in years, he’s my doctor, first and foremost. And faced with his patient possibly having a PTSD episode, he did what he had to do to keep me calm.

“I’ll do that,” I tell him. “If it’s anything like the entrance of this place, it’ll be magnificent.”

Vance doesn’t bother answering or even smiling, for that matter. He simply gets out of the car, opens the trunk, and grabs the box of pamphlets while the driver helps me out. “I’ll check us in while you find Astor.

Vance looks at the bellhop approaching. “Ms. Belle is looking for Dr. Astor Potter.” He places the box in his arms and turns to me, his face rigid like the first time we met. “I’ll find you later.”

His statement comes out like an order, and I don’t bother arguing to go with him. Clearly, something is troubling him, and he needs space to work it out. Normally, I would use the power of persuasion to convince him, but not today. After what Vance and I shared on the plane, I owe him the space to face his own demons. I will be here for him just like he was for me.

“Okay. I’ll see you inside then.” I would hug him since he really looks like he could use one, but he walks off before I can.

“Ms. Belle.” The bellhop—is he a bellhop or a valet? I can’t tell. Uppity is not a language I speak or even care to study. So, I’ll just refer to this nice man carrying the box of pamphlets as a really sweet guy. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to Dr. Potter.”

His saying Dr. Potter makes me think of Vance, since he’s the only one referred to by that name. At work, we refer to Astor as Dr. Astor and Duke as Dr. Duke. I wonder if, at these types of events, they all are referred to as Dr. Potter. Seems like things could get confusing.

I follow behind the nice man into the grand banquet hall full of more crystals than Kim Kardashian’s closet, weaving through the expensive suits and pencil skirts. Gah, it feels stuffy in here. Like bad conversations and terrible perfume. No wonder Vance doesn’t like these conferences. Who would in these conditions?

I finally find an opening, where I spot Astor easily. He seems out of place with his shirt unbuttoned at the top and his tie hanging loosely. He’s like the bad boy on the yearbook committee. “I can take it from here,” I tell my helper, taking the box from his hands and offering my sincerest thank you. I really could have carried the box myself, but since Vance was already in a mood, I didn’t think it would be wise to insist. But now, with Vance not here to witness me taking the last few steps to Astor while carrying the box, I go all in. Just call me a rebel.

“Astor,” I call out, making my way toward the best boss ever.

“You made it.” Vance’s charming brother reaches me quickly, taking the box from my hands. “You didn’t carry this all the way from the car, did you?”

I take it back. He’s not more charming than Vance. They both are Neanderthals.

“No, the man up front carried it.”

Astor’s eyes narrow as if he’s weighing whether I’m lying or not.

“If you don’t believe me, ask Vance. He’s the one who made him carry it.”

Astor sucks in a breath. “Vance came with you. Here?”

I nod slowly. “Was he not supposed to?”

“No, it’s just…” Astor scans the room, dropping the box on the floor. “I need to warn him.”

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