Page 14 of Mr. Aster
Admittedly, my people skills were not the best. I wasn’t raised to show weakness, and being kind has always been mistaken for weakness. I was torn, though, because I genuinely did not want to insult anyone, but it seemed they’d purposefully insulted themselves by how they’d conducted their business and allowed their home to fall apart.
They seemed to take pride in everything, but the things that mattered, and it was apparent that they didn’t put any effort into keeping up this estate. At least the vines were in exceptional shape…from what I could see, anyway. However, the vineyard was the last on my list for personal inspection. Today, I had to dig into the numbers and figure out why the hell this place was upside down.
God only knew, but once I returned to the estate and got into business mode, the nice guy routine I’d shown Miss California would be long gone.
Chapter Seven
Darcy
I’d always found my morning run around the vineyard to be the best way to start my day. It took me away from the pressures of life and allowed me to unburden myself, so the last thing I expected this morning was to run intohim, El Diablo—the man who was creating all the problems from which I wanted to escape.
I was happy I didn’t wake up with the man on my mind. I’d let it all go after I returned to my room and started reading up on Titus Hawk, the billionaire tycoon who’d recently moved to California. He and his brothers, who were known for their fancy hotels and other lavish real estate, were here because they recently partnered up with none other than James Mitchell. It was only a matter of weeks before the company was soaring through the roof with record growth and establishing an entirely new client base.
Titus, Colton, and Wyatt Hawk were just as gorgeous as the next male model, which seemed to be a perplexing trendamongst these types of guys. I couldn’t help but wonder about this new generation of billionaires and how these playboys were coming into so much money. Of course, many were trust fund kids, actively doing nothing but spending their parents’ cash, but those aren’t the ones I was curious about. The Adonis types who came from nowhere and had the Midas touch were the ones I was interested in, and I wanted to write about them. They were all unnaturally gorgeous, sure, but they also had to be extremely intelligent to be so successful in all their ventures. My only issue with selling that to the magazine was that the billionaire who owned it was an ugly troll who might not want to read about the fresh new meat in town.
“So?” my mom asked with a question in her voice. “I heard Mr. Aster met you up on the hillside this morning.” She licked the jam off her finger after making her toast.
“Sure, yeah,” I said, pulling a mug out of the cabinet and walking over to the freshly brewed coffee I’d started before I jumped in the shower.
“Well, is he as handsome in the morning as in the evening?”
I turned with my hot cup of coffee, walked over to the bar stool lined up with three others on the other side of the enormous kitchen island, and took a sip.
“Mom,” I started, not knowing how to break this to her, “I know that youlovea good love story.”
“Well, your father and I have one, and I have been longing for the day you will, too,” she said, smiling and tucking a frizzy curl behind her ear.
“That’s very cute, but times are different now, and Dad wasn’t a complete asshole billionaire who hated everything about your home. So,” I smirked at her, “let’s just say that you’re barking up the wrong tree for a sweet little love story with the man sent here to—wait. What was the analogy he used last night?” I stopped, pretending to search for the right term. “Wasit something about being sent here to serve a prison sentence…or about hell on earth?” I blew out a breath. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. He’s not here to rescue your daughter; he’s here for your winery.”
“You never know,” she said.
“You know, I should be irritated with you for thinking this way, but I love how much of a hopeless romantic you are.”
She walked over and touched the tiny dimple on my chin. “I know you would, but you shouldn’t discount the possibility that?—”
“Mom,” I interrupted her, eyes darting over her shoulder to where the man she would drag me down the aisle to marry in a heartbeat was walking into the kitchen. “Easy,” I said with some reproach in my voice.
“Good morning,” he announced, entering the kitchen looking lost with no idea what to do with himself.
I took another sip of my coffee, studying him. He was a powerful man but also weak in many ways, one of those ways being how he entered this kitchen, doing half-turns like a five-year-old looking for his mother in a crowd. I could only guess he was looking around and wondering why his breakfast wasn’t being held out on a silver tray by servants for him to take back to the rooms he hated.
“Mr. Aster,” my mom said, “can I help you find something? Anything? I’ll have Antonio make you anything you would like?—”
“Antonio isn’t needed, ma’am,” he said. “I’m merely looking for your espresso machine.”
I closed my eyes in humor and irritation. Of course, he needed anespressomachine.
My mom seemed embarrassed and lost for words, like she’d let down the King of Englandagain,so I decided to give her a moment to gather herself and help the man out.
“There’s coffee over there. I just brewed it,” I pointed to the coffee machine. “But if you desire an espresso, tiny espresso cup and all,” I smiled my smart-ass smile while his dark eyes studied mine, “you’re not going to find that here. That machine is in the tasting room where we begin tours and such. Steph is the one who can help you with that.”
“That won’t be necessary,” he said, frowning and turning to the coffee maker. “Do you have any mugs, or are those in the reception portion of the wine-tasting building as well?”
“Right here, Mr. Aster,” my mom hurried to the cabinet to give the man a mug. Hopefully, regular coffee would provide enough caffeine before he made his way to the wine-tasting rooms and reception area of the vineyard to give his critique.
“Thank you, and please, just call me Sebastian,” he said, eyeing me with humor, given his remarks from last night when he gave me a crash course on last names and whathepreferred to be called when he allowed it.
“Not a problem,” Mom answered, smiling, then looking at me. “I’m going to get the yoga studio ready for pregnancy yoga today. I’ll be doing classes all day, so you won’t see me until late tonight unless you want to join any of them?”
