Page 28 of Christmas in Vines

I bit my lips to hold back a snort. At seventy-one, Paula had enough life experience and smarts to run circles around anyone at the table; she didn’t give a damn about Maxmillian’s timeline.

“It’s best if you listen, Winslow,” Dad said, “You do not want to get on her bad side.”

The mogul’s lips flattened. “I suppose I can pencil that in.”

“Good,” Paula nodded, closing her folder. “Happy to be doing business with you. Jackson—” she looked toward Dad. “—we’ll be in touch.”

“I appreciate it,” Dad replied.

He stood and shook hands with everyone before I added, “Mister Winslow invited us to his Christmas party, and I accepted, Dad.”

“Oh,” he turned to Maxmillian. “Thank you.”

The older Winslow nodded curtly, then checked his watch again. “I must go. Thank you, Clarkston.”

I stood as Dad did and shook their hands, too; Maxwell held my hand a little longer than I would have liked, but we walked them out anyway. As we got to the door, Maximillian’s driver came around the corner, but from the corner of my eye, I spotted Tyler and two other guys heading to the mess hall.

His hat was off, and his face, cleanly shaved, was plain as day. I went still, hoping Maxwell wouldn’t shift his head to the left and see him—but he kept his head straight. At one point, he even pulled out his cell right as Tyler and his friend ducked into the hall.

As the car came to the steps and Maxmillian headed off, Maxwell turned to me and hugged me tightly. I fought the urge to deck him when he whispered into my ear. “Does your dad know you’re fucking a fruit picker? If not, should I tell him?”

I stood still, nailed to the patch of floor I stood on, as he left for the car, smirking smugly all the way like the asshole he was. God, I wished I could throw him in a mud heap and stomp him into the second layer of the earth.

Dad turned to me. “What was that about? What did he say?”

“Thank you,” I lied, “He said thank you. I don’t know why, but I suppose it was about… heck, I don’t really know why. That’s odd.”

“Maxwell is an odd guy,” Dad shrugged. “But who knows? At least the meeting went well.”

“It did,” I replied while trying to keep the bile scorching the back of my throat from spewing out. “I think I need a shower.”

Laughing, Dad held my arm. “Beer coolers are in the fridge, too.”

I headed to my room, kicked my heels off, grabbed a pillow, pressed it to my face and screamed.

ChapterNine

Cole

Laughing at the guy's antics, I slipped away from the mess hall into the outside, away from the jesting and joking inside. I plucked my cell out, and with my back resting on the wall, I called Ethan.

When he answered, his tone was dry. “Let me guess, you’ve screwed up?”

I rolled my eyes. “Ha, ha, you big old buzzkill. No, that is not what I called you for.”

“What did you call me for then?” Ethan asked. “Mia and I are about to—”

“I don’t want to hear that!” I grated. “I will never want to hear that.”

“—about to watch a movie.” Ethan snorted. “Get your head out of the gutter. Now, what is it that you want?”

“Don’t ask me how I know this because I will not tell you,” I said, rubbing my face. “Go look in Dad’s old records and see if he had once noted an invitation from Jackson Clarkston about a meeting to collaborate on a marketing project. As a matter of fact, give Mia the message, too. I have it on good authority that Clarkston reached out to both of you.”

Ethan was silent for a long moment, then said, “…What?”

“You heard me,” I said, “Don’t act like you didn’t. And don’t ask me how I know all this. Just do me a solid and go and check.”

“And if I do find that information, what do I do with it?” he asked.

---