Page 54 of Wallflower
The manager hands Chord the keys. “Of course. Take your time.”
When we’re alone, Chord moves further into the cavernous space, towing me along with him. The room is fitted out with tall, wide shelves that span its full length, and there are six aisles of them. As I draw close enough to a shelf to make out the labels on the individual wine bottles, I frown at the image printed on a yellowing white square. It’s a Silver Leaf Ranch & Vineyard bottle of pinot noir and the vintage is seven years old. There’s an identical bottle next to it, and another next to that. There are even more above and behind. There’s a whole section of the same bottle set on sleek, sturdy wine racks that look purpose-built for this space.
I walk a little further as Chord follows, silently watching me, and stop in front of a batch of Silver Leaf chardonnay. It’s a year younger than the pinot next to it.
Chord runs his thumb over a label and then drops his hand. “I haven’t told you much about the ranch, have I? What we do now? What we used to do? How much trouble it’s in?”
I grimace with guilt. “Daisy filled me in on some of it. I hope that’s okay.”
Chord’s brows lift before he rolls his eyes, but there’s an affectionate tilt on his perfect lips. “Of course she did. And yes, it’s okay. She has as much right to talk about it as anyone, and at least she had the good sense to talk to you instead of someone else. So, you know that the ranch isn’t doing as well as it should.”
“Daisy said as much. She told me your mom used to run trail rides, and there were plans for a spa.”
We stroll up and down the aisles of wine, Chord checking random bottles as we pass. “Yep. And it’s the end of July. The height of wedding season in this part of California. Do you know how many weddings we’ve got booked this summer?”
I’ve noticed none since I arrived, and I’ve been on the ranch for three weeks. It seems cruel to point that out, but my silence speaks volumes.
“Exactly,” Chord says. “There was one earlier in the month, and there’s another in August, but it’s not enough. Once upon a time, we were turning couples away three years in advance. But we haven’t had the funds to improve our facilities in years, and people are choosing more modern venues.”
“But what about the restaurant? Daisy said it does well.”
“It does all right. Dylan’s a talented chef.”
“And the weekend tourists?”
“They help,” Chord agrees.
“And then there’s that big catering client. The one that orders all that wine every month.”
Chord stops and turns to face me, his eyes burning into mine as he tries to tell me something without words. It takes a moment, but when understanding dawns, my mouth drops open, and I look around the warehouse again, more in awe than before.
“You’rethe big catering client?” I whisper. “You bought all this wine from your own business?”
Chord lets out a resigned sigh and looks up at the shelves of wine over our heads. “Yep. Every month for ten years. And I think I fucked up.”
“What?” I frown and take hold of his hand, tugging until he looks at me. “What do you mean?”
“Nobody knows about this. Not my brothers. Not Daisy. And not—”
“Charlie.”
A loaded breath hisses from my puffed-up cheeks as I scan the room, trying without success to calculate how many bottles there are and the value of each one. How much money has Chord spent over the last ten years keeping his family’s business afloat? It’s got to be tens of thousands of dollars. Hundreds of thousands. Quite possibly a million. And his family knows nothing about it.
“Oh, my,” I mutter.
Chord’s rich chuckle startles me, but not nearly so much as the broad grin on his gorgeous face. I look up at him, stunned at how beautiful this man is when he’s happy. I get the distinct impression that he’s laughing at me, and maybe I should be offended, but I’m not. I can’t be. Not if I’ve done something to make him smile like this.
The electric heat of his touch dulls against the nuclear warmth exploding inside my chest.
“Oh, my?” Chord laughs again. “That’s a pretty mild curse for the fact that I’ve been lying to my family for a decade and given them three million dollars against their will. No, against their express wishes. Charlie’s going to cut off my appendages one by one when I tell her.”
Three million dollars? Chord spent a fortune to stop his family’s business from going under because they were too proud to accept his help. My dad is the most important thing in my world—if three million dollars could solve his problems, I’d beg,borrow, and steal to give it to him—so Chord’s gesture quite literally takes my breath away.
But I can’t see how a secret this big can be kept forever, and it sounds like he wants to confess the truth to his siblings, but why now? And why am I the first person he’s told?
“Chord, I’m confused.” I roll my lips and search for a polite way to ask what I want to know. “Why did you bring me here? What does any of this have to do with me?”
“I had a… conversation with Charlie last night. I said some things. She said some things. Not many of them felt good. I’ve spent every minute since trying to see this situation from her perspective.”
