Page 7 of Mr. Aster
“Because,” she arched an eyebrow at me and then reached in front of me to pull my iPad away from her mother.
My mind blanked for a moment when the aroma of coconuts and strawberries collided with my black-and-white train of thought, giving me visions of a tropical destination for a split second.
Jesus Christ,I thought, feeling like I’d betrayed my late wife by having a beautiful thought enter my dark world for the first time in over a year.
“All of this will be loud and obnoxious, and for how long?” she questioned me as if I were a child and not a powerful man.
“At least a month, two months tops,” I answered, trying to gather my senses.
“That’s not going to work for me.”
I grew defensive, “Well, the current living arrangements donotwork for me.”
“Why not?” she demanded, piercing blue eyes peering into mine.
I would not be bewitched by a woman’s fragrance or her beauty. So, the spell Miss California was trying to place me under would not work. I was intelligent, powerful, and mostly miserable, and I preferred that over succumbing to the charms of a golden beach goddess.
“Because I need it quiet to work,” I said. “I prefer to be isolated when I retreat to my room. Unfortunately, I can’t do that while sharing the floor with you. I was told there would be a suite of rooms and an entire wing of this home at my disposal where I would be working and living.” I looked at her mom to get answers, but mostly to get my senses back from this unexpected assault, “I’m still unsure why your husband mentioned those would be the arrangements, given the room you have chosen for me.”
“Well, we assumed that having a thirteen hundred square feet to yourself would be enough,” Tina said with a look of confusion and embarrassment.
“But apparently it’s not,” Miss California smoothly cut in.
I turned back to her, hoping to silence her with my gaze, but it didn’t work. Instead, she challenged me with a brilliant smile and bleached-white teeth, “It isn’t. I will be honest.”
“If there’s one thing I’ve caught onto with you,Mr. Aster,” she said, taking a margarita adorned with a slice of lime and handing it to me, “you are extremely honest, from your booze preferences to your other demands. So, you don’t need to tell us you’re being honest because your actions prove that.”
“That makes no sense,” I answered her as she took a margarita for herself and downed the damn thing like she really was on spring break. I was surprised to admit that it was probably one of the sexiest things I’d ever seen.
“What doesn’t make sense is that my parents are babying and accommodating you by spending twelve thousand bucks on booze so you can have a margarita tonight. And now this?” She sat back and waved her hand over the plans I’d been showing her mother.
“You’ll have to forgive my daughter?—”
“It’s fine,” I smiled at Tina, not needing her tosave mefrom her spoiled child, who was entirely out of line.
Even though Darcy was out of line, strangely enough, I found it sexy. What was weirder than that was the feeling I was betraying Melissa. I knew a therapist would give me hell for thinking such a thing. I was aware that thosethoughts were morbid and unfair, but this was the first time since Melissa’s death that I’d had these types of thoughts—thoughts a single man would have—and it made me feel guilty on some level.
“I see I’ve irritated you,” she said unflinchingly.
I smiled, “No, Darcy, you have done quite the opposite.”
“Excuse me?” She frowned, obviously confused by my reaction.
It was the first time I’d smiled or felt somewhat challenged and revitalized in months, so even I wasn’t sure what to think about my reaction.
“You haven’t irritated me; you’ve inspired me to imagine there will be a lot of refurbishing of this winery, starting with this room.”
She rolled her eyes, “That’s coming out of your pocket, then.”
“Darcel!” her mother snapped, and I tightened my lips when I saw the same horrified expression on Darcy’s face that I’d seen earlier when I’d called her by that name. It’s almost like someone poked her with a hot stick. Her sky-blue eyes popped open wide, and she covered her mouth to stop from spitting her margarita on me.
“Martina,” she shot back at her mom. “Can I askwhya name I’ve never been called has come up notoncetoday,” her eyes moved to mine as if I’d planned this assault on her, then back to her mom, “but twice?”
“Because you’re out of line,” her mother responded without hesitation. “I suggest you find your place immediately before you are reminded why Mr. Aster is here.”
Her gaze grew solemn, and the repulsion in her expression for her full name was now being directed toward me.
“Very well, then,” she smiled at me, pissed as fuck. “Go on. I’mverycurious to learn how you’ll be remodeling this entire estate for your comfort, all while improving the business,Mr. Aster.”
